LIB RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N I VLRSITY 
 
 or ILLl NOIS 
 
 82,3 ^ 
 
 v.l
 
 TALES OF PASSION 
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 
 TPIE BOHEIVnAN. SECOND LOVE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "GILBERT EARLE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 HENRY COLBURN, NfiW BURLINGTON-STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXXIX.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED liY WILLIAM CLOWES, 
 
 Stamford-street.
 
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 I WISH to say a few words concerning the title 
 of this book, that I may not be considered as 
 having failed to accomplish that which I never 
 attempted. I mean that it has been in no degree 
 my design to write a series of Tales of the Pas- 
 sions — devoting each Tale to the development of 
 one of them. Whether, indeed, such a method is 
 well-fitted to fictitious composition of any kind, 
 may be matter of considerable doubt. At the time 
 that the attempt was made in a dramatic shape, 
 by a lady of unquestionable powers, the subject 
 underwent very full discussion. The chief me- 
 taphysical objection brought forward was that 
 the Passions, as embodied in action, are, for the 
 most part, so interwoven one with another, that 
 the endeavour to delineate them singly almost 
 necessarily leads either to a misnomer, or, which 
 is of far more importance, to the sacrifice of the 
 general truth of the representation, in favour of 
 the passion singled out to form the main subject 
 of the piece. 
 
 Whether or not there be any real foundation
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 for these objections, matters not as far as the 
 present volumes are concerned. They bear the 
 title of ' Tales of Passion," from its being neces- 
 sary to give some collective name to a set of 
 stories, the object of which has been to throw 
 the interest upon the stronger feelings of human 
 nature, rather than upon the complicated con- 
 struction of the plot, or the melo-dramatic and 
 picturesque character of the incidents. The 
 tales have been written with the view to display 
 the effects of strong passion, both in action and 
 in its general influence upon character ; and the 
 progress of the narrative has been subservient 
 to that intention. 
 
 With this slight explanation, the author leaves 
 his work to the candour of its readers. 
 
 January llth, 1829.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER; 
 
 a Catt of rtjf JStformation. 
 
 Vot. I. B
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/talesofpassion01stle
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It is in vain to dispute about the matter; — mo- 
 ralists may moralize, preachers may sermonize, 
 about it as much as they please, — stiJl beauty is 
 a most delightful thing, — and a really lovely 
 woman a most enchanting object to gaze on. I 
 am aware of all that can be said about roses fading, 
 and cheeks withering, and lips growing thin and 
 pale. No one, indeed, need be ignorant of every 
 change which can be rung upon this peal of bells, 
 for every one must have heard them in every 
 possible — and impossible — variety of combina- 
 tion. Give time, and complexion will decay, 
 and lips and cheeks will shrink and grow wrinkled, 
 sure enough. But it is needless to anticipate 
 the work of years, and to give credit to old 
 Time for his conquests before he has won them. 
 The edge of his scythe does more execution than 
 
 6 2
 
 4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that of the conqueror's sword ; we need not add 
 the work of fancy to his, — it is more than suffi- 
 ciently sure and rapid ah'eady. 
 
 When things are good, I am wilHng to take 
 them as they are; when faces are beautiful, I 
 am content to gaze on them, without too 
 accurately calHng to mind what they will pro- 
 bably be when five or six additional lustres shall 
 have passed over them. I cannot, indeed, claim 
 any great originality or singularity of taste on 
 tliis head. Most persons agree with me, more 
 or less consciously, and with greater or lesser 
 degrees of analysis. What I mean is this : — 
 There are few men who do not intuitively 
 love to look upon a pretty face and well-moulded 
 form ; but certainly there are yet fewer who 
 can duly judge of the various gradations 
 of beauty upwards, from that lowest one 
 which I have just named — prettiness, — still less 
 of the latter item, symmetry and perfection of 
 form. The man of more coarse perceptions, 
 indeed, is less likely to have his taste offended ; 
 but neither does he enjoy the gratification which 
 arises from the refined and delicate distinctions
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 of the real judge of beauty. There is a last 
 criterion of its full appreciation, to which the 
 ordinary observer has still seldomer pretensions 
 — I mean the admiration of loveliness for its own 
 sake, wholly uncoupled with any feelings of a 
 sexual kind. I am far from saying that, if a man 
 be fortunate enough to combine the woman of 
 his love with the incarnate figure of his ideal 
 perfection of beauty, — I am far from saying that, 
 in this case, each circumstance does not infinitely 
 heighten and assist the other. But it is equally 
 certain, that the intense and extreme admiration 
 of abstract loveliness, of which I have been 
 speaking, may, and often does, exist as a feeling 
 totally apart and separate from any of those 
 more usually recognised and mentioned. 
 
 I am the more certain of this, from the fact 
 that, perhaps, the strongest admiration of beauty 
 I ever felt was towards — a picture. I have 
 stood before it for hours — all consciousness of 
 surrounding objects, of the world, of myself, 
 lost in the absorbing influence of that pervading 
 loveliness. But as this picture is, in fact, the 
 origin of the following tale, I will give a some- 
 
 B 8
 
 C INTRODUCTION. 
 
 what detailed account of the circumstances under 
 which I saw it, as well as of itself. 
 
 I was on a visit in one of the midland coun- 
 ties, at an old manor-house, built towards the end 
 of Henry the Eighths time. I have a passion 
 for old houses, and this was quahfied to gratify 
 it in every way. It was, in style, what is called 
 a Cardinal Wolsey's house, — like the old part of 
 Hampton Court Palace, and some private places 
 in that neighbourhood — of red brick, namely, 
 with tall twisted chimneys, numerous gable ends, 
 and an infinite irregularity of outline. But how 
 different is such a building from that which is 
 commonly associated with the term '* red brick l" 
 Instead of a gaping, square, hospital-looking 
 edifice, dropped in the middle of a field, this 
 stood in the elbow, as it were, of a secluded val- 
 ley — with a line of gigantic firs, in which the 
 owls built, at each side of the entrance, — and a 
 fine mill-stream of a brook running through the 
 bottom. The small bricks, peculiar to that date 
 and style of building, were darkened by age — 
 and overgrown, in places b}^ ivy, in places by mag- 
 nificent pear-trees, which were trained along the
 
 INTRODUCTION. f 
 
 face of the house. Grass, shaven as smoothly as 
 the scythe could crop it, stretched down to the 
 bank of the stream, which, after taking a bold 
 sweep through the valley, disappeared in a wood 
 of dark foliage at its extremity. 
 
 The moment I saw the place, I exclaimed— 
 « This must have been a monastery !'' The monks 
 always nestled in sheltered laps of land like this, 
 with a hill to protect them from the north and 
 east, and a smiling exposure to the south, and, 
 above all, with a brook to turn their milL Such 
 spots abound in England ; and form, at once, 
 one of the most pleasing and peculiar of the cha- 
 racteristics of its scenery.— I was right, and I 
 was not right. The land had been abbey-land ; 
 but the house had been built by one of those 
 barons who had joined in the destruction of the 
 religious establishments, to participate in then- 
 spoil— and who had done so amply. His castle, 
 considerably the worse for wear, had stood a 
 little higher up the stream than the site of the 
 present house ; the monastery something lower. 
 The very water which joined these temporal and 
 spiritual potentates had been a cause of discord 
 
 B 4
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 between them ; and right willingly did the Lord 
 L.ovel accept the offer of the Lord Vicegerent, 
 Cromwell, — to whom, probably, his style of feel- 
 ing towards his neighbours was known, — to be- 
 come one of his deputies; — and his worst enemy 
 could not accuse him of being lax in the execu- 
 tion of his duty. His reward was the annexation 
 of the abbey-lands to his own; when, instead of 
 removing to the monastery from his own old, 
 dilapidated hold, he pulled them both down, and 
 built a new and spacious Hall-house between 
 them, in the most approved fashion of the times. 
 Its disposition within corresponded with its 
 outward character. Considerable space had, 
 as usual, been sacrificed to the hall ; which was 
 lined with dark oak, and flagged with stone ; — 
 and which stretched to the height of the first 
 story. — But this did not prevent space being left 
 for a long gallery-like room, stretching along the 
 south-side of the house, and opening upon a 
 terrace of close-mown turf and flowers. This 
 room, although certainly of by no means good 
 proportions, being considerably too long for its 
 Avidth — was nevertheless one of the most charm-
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 insT I ever was in. It was wainscoted with 
 cedar, fashioned into Gothic arches, recesses, 
 and ornaments, of which the taste still prevailed 
 in England. The wood was considerably deco- 
 rated with gilded mouldings, and elaborate carved 
 work; and yet it did not, in the least, appear 
 tawdry or over-wrought. The compartments, 
 into which the wainscot was divided, were fitted 
 alternately with books and pictures — the bright 
 frames of the one relieving the dingy appearance 
 of the other — and again the darkness of the books 
 preventing the pictures from being too glaring. 
 The windows were casemented — and the centre 
 one had been lowered to the ground. The fire- 
 place was at one extremity of the room, within an 
 arched niche made to correspond with a splendid 
 oriel window at the other end of the gallery. 
 The mullions and stone-work of this last were so 
 peculiarly splendid, that I suspect they had been 
 transferred from the demohshed monastery. Be 
 this as it may, it now was emblazoned with the 
 arms of the Lovels, which were proudly painted 
 on the rich glass. 
 
 This room goes by the name of " the Lady's 
 
 B 5
 
 10 IXTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 Chamber," having been built for the withdraw- 
 ing room of the only daughter of the Lord Lovel 
 who erected the house, who was a widower. 
 Her portrait still hangs over the fire-place, within 
 the niche of which I have spoken ; and that is 
 the picture which, I have stated, has had so 
 powerful an influence upon my mind. It would 
 seem that it had been painted before the house 
 was built, and while the family were still Catho- 
 lics — for a crucifix is on the table before her, 
 and her rosary is between her hands. Who the 
 painter was I do not know ; but I should think 
 not Holbein, the great portrait-painter of the 
 period, and who has left samples of his works 
 in almost every family of that date in England — 
 for the piece has none of his rigidity of outline, 
 and general crudity of execution. On the con- 
 trary, nothing can be more soft and rich than 
 both the drawing and colouring of the whole 
 head especially — a head, indeed, enough to have 
 inspired, for the nonce, the dullest dauber that 
 ever existed, with the genius of Raphael himself. 
 The countenance, however, was more like that of 
 a Guido — of Guido's male heads, perhaps ; for
 
 INTRODUCTION. II 
 
 his women are too soft, and his men are women. 
 I never saw anything which reminded me of this 
 picture except a St. John by Guido * ; and pro- 
 bably that it is which has brought his name into 
 my mind. The resemblance in the expression 
 (for there is but little in the features) is the 
 greater, from that of the Lady being of religion. 
 Her beads are passing through her fingers, and 
 it is evident that she is at prayer. The figure 
 is in an undress — the brightest and richest hair 
 in the world streams down the shoulders — lips 
 of a fresh and voluptuous fulness are parted in. 
 aspiration — and the eyes, upturned to heaven, 
 receive, and reflect again, a ray of brilliant light 
 which enters from above. " How radiant !" I 
 exclaimed in one of my extacies before this pic- 
 ture — '' how radiant is the expression of devo- 
 tion on a face like this ! — how fervently does 
 that strong and pure passion beam in those eyes, 
 fitting to mix with angels. — And yet," I con- 
 tinued, after a pause, '^ and yet she could feel 
 human passion also — there is something about 
 
 * At IMoor Park in Hei-tfordsKire, the seat of 3Ir. Roberfc 
 Williams. 
 
 B 6
 
 12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that rich and exquisite mouth which betrays the 
 fond and fervent woman, while the eyes and 
 brow might belong to a spirit." 
 
 " Truly, you are an excellent physiognomist,"" 
 exclaimed my host, who had come behind me 
 unperceived. " You have stumbled upon the 
 very truth. The Lady Alice, indeed, could 
 love, yet her feelings of religion were of equal 
 violence, (for that is the most fitting word,) 
 with those more earthly. The crucifix and the 
 rosary suit well her picture.'^ 
 
 I looked at my friend inquiringly. ^' I won- 
 der," he continued, '' that you, who are always 
 raving about her picture, never heard her story. 
 It is no common one, I assure you. It is too 
 long to tell you now, but you shall have it at 
 full after dinner.^' 
 
 He kept his word. I found it to be, indeed, a 
 *' Tale of Passion." I was so struck with it that 
 my friend, the next day, after rummaging in a 
 private pigeon-hole of an old japanned cabinet, 
 produced a bundle of papers, grown brown, 
 Avhile the writing had become yellow, through 
 age ; and, putting them into my hands, lie said.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 " You will find^ in these old musty leaves, mat- 
 ter which should have been warm enough to 
 keep them from decay. They are the pilces 
 justificatives of the story I told you last night. 
 I think they will interest you, both from the 
 curiosity of their style, and their subject-matter.*" 
 I found them to be copies (all made in the 
 same hand, which seemed to be a female one) 
 of various letters, &c., of the Lady Alice, and 
 one or two others of the persons with whom her 
 fortunes were connected. On them, and my 
 friend's narrative, the following story is founded ; 
 both accounts being checked by a comparison 
 with the dates and circumstances of the public 
 events which bore upon them. There are few 
 cases in which public and private interests and 
 fates were more intertwisted.
 
 THUS, INDIAN- LIKE, 
 
 RELIGIOUS IN MINE ERROR, I ADORE 
 
 THE SUN, THAT LOOKS UPON IIIS WORSHIPPER, 
 
 BUT KNOWS OF HI3I NO MORE. 
 
 SIIAKSPEARE.
 
 LOED LOVEL'S DAUGHTEK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of prayer. — ByRON". 
 
 It was in that part of the reign of Henry VIII. 
 which immediately preceded the Reformation, 
 that the inhabitants of all the adjacent villages 
 were assembled in the church attached to the 
 Abbey of the Holy Cross. The congregation 
 was more numerous thau usual, for the preacher 
 was a monk who had recently risen into great 
 celebrity, as well for the activity with which he 
 discharged his duties among his penitents, as 
 for the peculiar energy and effect of his popular 
 eloquence. When it was known that he was to 
 preach, the church was thronged with gentle and 
 simple, from miles around ; — not as, in modern 
 days, a London chapel is crowded to hear a 
 favourite preacher, where religion is the last 
 thought or feeling of either party, the pastor or
 
 16 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 the flock ; but from the deep conviction of the 
 superior sanctity of him who was endowed with 
 such gifts, and from a reverence scarcely short 
 of awe for the truths on which he was dilat- 
 ing. For, if superstition reigned at that 
 time throughout the land, she had, at all 
 events, the one merit, (and among so many and 
 such evils it were hard to deny it her,) of im- 
 pressing the minds of men with a more imme- 
 diate feehng of religion, and making it a matter 
 far more of heart, and less of lip, than it is now. 
 
 The church in which the inhabitants of the 
 Valley of Holy Cross were assembled, was a 
 gloomy, low-browed building, coeval with the 
 monastery, which had been built shortly after 
 the First Crusade, by the piety of a lord of the 
 soil, who brought back from Palestine a piece 
 of the true cross, and erected this abbey for its 
 shrine and worship. Oak, black with age, and 
 rudely and scantily carved, formed the altar and 
 the pulpit. To this last all eyes were turned. 
 
 Father Hubert, the monk who now occupied 
 it, was, in person, worthy of belonging to that 
 church, whose ministers " set their sandalled
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 17 
 
 feet on the necks of kings." His singular 
 dignity of aspect needed the addition of vene- 
 rable age only to soften the flashing of the eye, 
 and to touch, with a more silvery tone, the 
 fine and sonorous voice. Hubert was in the 
 prime of manhood ; the frame of manly strength, 
 tempered by grace, — the rich dark hair, which 
 appeared around his tonsure, — the glance of fire 
 which flashed from his eyes — these things would 
 have bespoken him to have been under, rather 
 than over, thirty ; — but the expression of chas- 
 tened sense, — the deep, awful exhortation, — the 
 tremulous note which mingled with his strain of 
 supplication, when in prayer — these again would 
 have made him appear considerably above that 
 age, which, therefore, was probably his real one. 
 He was a man, too, of strong powers of 
 mind, cultivated and enriched by study, which 
 he had followed as a passion — of ardent tempera- 
 ment, which, being forbidden all other outlet, 
 had concentrated its whole force and glow upon 
 his profession — of pride kept under, scarcely 
 subdued, only by religion — of a quick flow of 
 rich and vigorous ideas, and of rushing words to
 
 18 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 clothe them with. The time, also, when he 
 had taken the vows, was one peculiarly calcu- 
 lated to call into full action these stirring qua- 
 lities, which, at an earlier period, would either, 
 from disuse, have ceased to be ; or would have 
 preyed upon, and consumed their owner. But 
 now, happy was that religious body possessed 
 within its bosom of individuals capable of gird- 
 ing on tlie armour of controversy, and of wield- 
 ing its weapons with strength and skill. Men 
 of soaring minds and brilHant talents were no 
 longer repressed by personal or professional 
 envy. In troubled times like these, the most 
 buoyant spirits are certain to rise to the top, — 
 the swiftest of foot is sure to head the race. 
 
 Luther had appeared : his doctrines had gone 
 forth upon the surface of society, and had 
 stirred up, as with a tempest, the feelings of 
 men. The remote valleys of England had heard 
 the voice of the German monk. Her king had 
 written to confute him : her clergy were striving 
 in the same cause. The sermon of Father 
 Hubert this day was, as they had of late most 
 frequently been, on doctrinal points. Strong
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 19 
 
 internal conviction — ^horror of heretical tenets, 
 and mingled scorn and anger against their pro- 
 pagators — these feelings contributed to render 
 his manner peculiarly forcible, his matter pecu- 
 liarly impressive. He first inveighed against 
 those who endeavoured to seduce sheep astray 
 from the fold of the Lord. He compared them 
 to Satan tempting our common mother in Eden, 
 — trafficking with them for the salvation of their 
 immortal souls. He next proceeded, with a 
 mass of theological learning, to attack the doc- 
 trines of the reformists. He scoffed at Luther 
 personally as a visionary — as a chamberer and 
 man of worldly appetites — he spat at him as an 
 apostate — he consigned him to perdition as an 
 enemy to his God ! He then addressed his 
 hearers more immediately, to warn them of the 
 wolf who was going about to devour — to shew 
 the pit-falls which were gaping for them — to 
 paint the damning consequences of falling off 
 from the true patli. He set before them, in 
 ideas the most vivid, in words the most glowing, 
 the joys of heaven, the pains of hell — and he 
 pointed out the deeds to which each were meted.
 
 2(r TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 He, by degrees, warmed from the calm solemn- 
 ity of manner with which he had begun, into 
 that rapt abandonment of eloquence, which is, 
 perhaps, the most beautiful and the most im- 
 pressive form in which manly genius is ever 
 arrayed. The eyes kindle, and flash forth the 
 fire of the mind — the gestures are free, animated 
 and forcible — and graceful and picturesque be- 
 cause they are so. The intellectual essence of 
 the man prevails over his more corporeal nature, 
 calling beauty into double life where it exists, 
 and creating it where it does not. 
 
 All those who heard Father Hubert this day, 
 hung enthralled upon the accents of his tongue 
 — all who saw him, bowed before the presence 
 of the youthful saint. But there was one in 
 comparison with whom, the warmest of tlie feel- 
 ings of the rest were but as ice — there was one 
 whose eyes rested upon his form with a gaze in 
 which devotion had grown pale before the fond- 
 ness and ardour of passion — there was one 
 whose ears were but a channel for his voice 
 to pass into the heart ! This was the Lady 
 Alice.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. • 21 
 
 It is said, and, I believe, most truly, that 
 religion commonly exists with greater force in 
 the bosoms of women than of men. They are 
 less thrown into collision with the world — they 
 live more in solitude — their dispositions are 
 more confiding. In the Catholic religion espe- 
 cially, it is, I should think, natural for the 
 female votary to be the more devout one. The 
 sterner mind of the man repulses the great calls 
 which that creed makes upon our faith ; — the 
 woman's bows before it without scruple or in- 
 quiry. Nay, religion with her is often a matter 
 of passion ; and, in such cases, it is difficult to 
 define the exact limit at which the heavenly feel- 
 ing ceases, and the human one begins. In the case 
 of the youthful and sensitive being of whom I am 
 speaking, it was certainly impossible to draw the 
 line. She could not be upon her guard, for her 
 aspirations were at first those of religion, and she 
 continued to think them so, long after they had 
 become otherwise. Generally, nothing can be 
 more contemptibly absurd, than the assertion 
 that the heart does not know when it is in love 
 — that a passion is felt unconsciously. This
 
 22 TALES OF PASSIOX. 
 
 does not even amount to self-deception: it is 
 only an endeavour to deceive others. But, 
 here, the great apparent distance at which the 
 object was removed from the sphere of such 
 sensations ; the, not merely indifference, but, 
 merit of the thoughts being constantly bent 
 towards him as a minister of religion, — these 
 things would naturally tend both to create irre- 
 vocable attachment in a young and ardent mind, 
 and to disguise its existence for a long time after 
 its being so created. 
 
 I question if, in the whole of that crowded 
 assembly, there was a heart more pure in intent, 
 or more strong in its aspirations towards virtue, 
 than that of this lovely and unhappy creature, 
 who would have recoiled in astonished horror at 
 her guilt, if its existence had been revealed to her. 
 Here was a bosom burning and beating with all 
 the force and fervour of the fiercest and most 
 engrossing of human passions, yet which be- 
 lieved that that love was fixed on heaven, which 
 was rooted so inextricably to earth — that religion 
 was the object of those sighs, and gushing tears, 
 and convulsive throbs, which were in truth excited
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 23 
 
 by that religious minister ! And thus it is that 
 sin and virtue are intertwined in frail humanity. 
 So strait is the path, and so narrow is the way, 
 which we should tread, that the deviations from it 
 are imperceptible ; and we do not discover that we 
 have erred, till the effort to return is one which, 
 alas 1 few have the strength and resolution to 
 undergo. 
 
 For some months, Father Hubert had been 
 the chief, if not the sole object, on which the 
 mind of the Lady Alice had rested. As the 
 effect of the reformed doctrines had increased, 
 he had more frequently been put forward in the 
 pulpit, and had, by degrees, become of great 
 celebrity in the neighbourhood. About a fort- 
 night before the date of which I am now speak- 
 ing, he had, in despite of his youth, been ap- 
 pointed confessor to the family of Lord Lovel. 
 What were the feelings of Alice at the moment 
 when he first addressed her individually I For 
 months, he had been the first and the last, the 
 Alpha and Omega of her thoughts, while he 
 scarcely knew of her existence. How strange 
 does this seem ! — and yet, with reference to per-
 
 24 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 sons whose position places them in pubHc situa- 
 tions, how often does it happen! How many 
 there are on whose every word and glance multi- 
 tudes hang enraptured, who look upon each 
 individual of that multitude but as an atom of a 
 mighty mass. How truly is the idea realized 
 which the poet * borrows from the figurative 
 phraseology of the East ! — 
 
 The moon looks on many brooks, 
 The brook beholds no moon but one. 
 
 And thus it was in this case: the brook had 
 basked in the beams of this refulgent moon, 
 ■which shed its rays unconsciously upon it, among 
 hundreds of other streams. 
 
 The Lady Alice had hitherto only once con- 
 fessed to Father Hubert. The service had been 
 brief; but every note of his full voice thrilled 
 to her very soul — every word which he uttered 
 was treasured in heart's memory : — 
 
 And truths divine came mended from that tongue. 
 
 This was sufficient to render the sermon of 
 the evening of peculiar interest. She compared 
 every inflexion of his voice with its sound] when 
 • Moore,
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 25 
 
 he had spoken to her in private ; she tried 
 to catch any expression, the turn of any phrase, 
 any pecuHar word even, that had dropped from 
 him in their brief interview. None but woman 
 can thus cast, as it were, her soul from out 
 of her own identity — and Hve, breathe, and 
 tliink solely through and in the feelings and 
 person of another. Let us compare the minds of 
 these two individuals. The one was bent upon 
 subjects which combined the welfare of kingdoms, 
 with interests immeasurably higher than any of 
 this earth. He felt himself to be a labourer in 
 the richest of all vineyards, — a soldier of trust in 
 the noblest of all armies. The importance of 
 the matters in which he was engaged shed a re- 
 flected lustre upon him, and gave the dignity 
 and value of religious interests, even to the sug- 
 gestions of self-love. And the other? — The 
 other was the mind of a young girl, raised, in- 
 deed, into comparative strength by the dawn of 
 the passions of maturity — conscious also of her 
 own beauty, and of her father's power and rank ; 
 but still the mind of a girl, and of a girl at that 
 period, when intellectual cultivation, generally. 
 Vol. I. C
 
 26 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 was SO slender, and in women almost non-exis- 
 tent. Neither had it that ennobling impulse 
 which springs from self-reliance. It was but as 
 the moon to the nobler orb of day — its very 
 existence might be said to arise from th.e reflec- 
 tion of that stronger light. She lived no longer 
 for herself. It was but as she saw and heard 
 Father Hubert that she had food for thought. If 
 he was casually spoken of, she almost considered 
 it as a personal appeal. She felt kindly towards 
 those who mentioned him with favour ; and enter- 
 tained a feeling very little short of hatred against 
 the few who affected to name him with dispraise. 
 Let us follow the Lady Alice to her home ; 
 let us contemplate her in the solitude of her own 
 chamber. There she sits in the calm light of the 
 rising mioon — her virginals are beside her, un- 
 touched — her missal lies open, but unread. She 
 gazes from the window upon the glittering line 
 of liffht reflected in the stream, and she strains 
 her eyes to follow its course to tlie monastery 
 below. The apartment of Lady Alice was in a 
 flanking tower of the old castle, and it occupied 
 its whole area. And veiy diflercnt was it from
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 27 
 
 that most charming of human habitations, — a 
 lady's boudoir of the present day. Nothing, I 
 think, can be more fascinating than these Peris' 
 palaces. Books on one side, paintings on another, 
 • — music on a third ; — here, writing implements, 
 the pen perhaps still wet from tracing a three- 
 cornered note which lies on the portfolio, and 
 the contents of which one would give a finger 
 to know — there, those thousand and one inde- 
 scribable knackeries, trinkets, and toys, which 
 are scattered in profusion around. Of all these 
 things the turret-chamber of Lady Alice af- 
 forded but slight indication. There were her 
 virginals, indeed, on which the very slender 
 skill which she possessed was, in the valley, 
 esteemed extraordinary: but, instead of paint- 
 ings, there was only the tapestry on which the 
 story of Cephalus and Procris was worked ; and, 
 for books, besides the missal of which I have 
 spoken, there were but a small collection of 
 songs and sonnets by Lord Surrey, and the first 
 volume of Lord Berners"' translation of Froissart 
 which had then recently appeared — the typo- 
 graphy of which, carefully as it had been looked 
 
 C 2
 
 28 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 to, bore about as much resemblance to a modern 
 quarto, as the chamber in which it lay to the 
 dressing-room of any Lady Charlotte or Lady 
 Jane in Grosvenor Square. A tall japanned 
 jcabinet stood in one corner — and a carved chair 
 «of ebony, with ivory knobs and ornaments, 
 formed Lady Alice's seat. The furniture of the 
 •room was completed by rushes, with which the 
 floor was strewn — another point which it would 
 not a little surprise a fine lady of these times to 
 iind in her apartment. 
 
 Lady Alice sat at her window in that dreamy 
 mood of mingled contemplation and melancholy, 
 to which the mind is subject M'hen it feels the 
 dull ache of some undefined want — the dreary 
 sickness of heart, arising from the real object for 
 which it unconsciously pines, being, for the 
 lime absent, and at all times unattainable. The 
 salt of youth — that ingredient M'hich, more than 
 all, gives zest and savour to the banquet of life — 
 had passed from her. She took no joy in what 
 occurred around her ; she had not that elasti- 
 city of spirit, which youthful frames and minds 
 nearly always mutually communicate to each
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 29 
 
 Other: she loved and sought solitude — she in- 
 dulged in vague and abstract musing — she was 
 irritated at being roused from these misty and 
 ideal visions, to the reality of her existence. 
 She cultivated her religious duties, it may be 
 said to excess : for hers was not that pure and 
 refreshing essence which re-invigorates an ex- 
 hausted mind, and disperses the clouds from a 
 gloomy one. It was rather the very fuel of the 
 unhealthful fire which was consumins; her— 
 it was infected and desecrated by the impulses of 
 earthly passion — its incense did not soar through 
 the free air to heaven, but hovered among the 
 vapours of more gross humanity. 
 
 " Why do I not,"" she said to herself, '^ why 
 do I not enjoy these sights of beauty, and sounds 
 of sweetness, and scents of fragrance ? — the 
 brook in its smiles and bubbling song, the moon 
 of high summer, the flowers of blooming June ? 
 I was wont to stroll through my native valley, 
 with a step as light, and a spirit as free, as the 
 fawn which grazes by its waters. My carol was 
 as lively as the heart that prompted it — my 
 mind was unclouded and joyous — I took delight 
 
 C 3
 
 $9- TALES OF PASSIOX, 
 
 in the festive hall, the gay dance, and the sweet 
 liiusic — wherefore, oh ! wherefore, am I thus 
 changed? Why does everything seem to me 
 spiritless and unprofitable ? Whence this leaden 
 oppression on my heart ? this vapourous misti- 
 ness of spirit ? — Why do I neglect alike my 
 former duties and my former pleasures — and 
 thus dream away my time in lone reflection, that 
 causes me only pain, and yet which I cannot 
 resist ? This is not wise, this cannot be right, 
 Alas ! I will seek the aid of him who alone is 
 all that is kind, and good, and wise, and great ; 
 — of him in whose voice religion speaks so im- 
 pressively, so irresistibly. Yes, I will pour out 
 all my heart to Father Hubert ; he is a leech 
 for the spirit, who can alike discover the disease, 
 and prescribe the cure. To him, if to none 
 other, I may strive to describe that which is well 
 nigh indescribable — all the phases and fluctua- 
 tions of this wayward and rebellious heart.'"" 
 
 And her blood mounted into her cheek, and 
 a hot tear brimmed from the full eye slowly 
 adown it, as her thoughts reverted to that object 
 from which they had originally sprung — that
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 31 
 
 being who swayed every feeling of the mind 
 of whose waywardness she complained, who 
 caused that very state of isolation and vacuity 
 for which she was about to apply to him at 
 once for explanation and for cure. Poor thing ! 
 at least the veil was still before her eyes : she 
 had not yet tasted of the misery which the 
 knowledge of the real state of her heart was 
 destined to cause her. But the time was fast 
 approaching when she was to be undeceived. 
 
 C 4
 
 32 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 O' Thursday, tell her, ' 
 She shall be mai-ried to this noble earl. 
 
 SlIAKSPEARE. 
 
 The Lord Lovel was an aspiring and ambitious 
 man, and he used those means by which such 
 men were, in those days, wont to push their for- 
 tunes. The entire extinction of the factions of 
 York and Lancaster, under Henry VIII., joined 
 to other clianges brought about in the progress 
 of society, had contributed to render those means 
 considerably different from what they had been 
 during the preceding century. Tlien, the num- 
 ber, equipment, and discipHne of his armed 
 retainers, the strength of his castle, the degree 
 of his warlike disposition and talents, were the 
 qualities which fitted a baron to prosper in the 
 world. But, under Henry VIII., there arose 
 what may be termed a court nobility — a race of 
 men equally different from the aristocracy of the 
 present day, and the provincial barons of our
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 33 
 
 earlier history. They existed during the reigns 
 of the Tudors and the Stuarts ; being, in fact, a 
 very natural appendage to an arbitrary monarch, 
 and almost necessarily arising from that style of 
 government. Hence their long prevalence in 
 France, and, from the converse of this cause, 
 their disappearance in England after the Revo- 
 lution. 
 
 Of these Lord Lovel was a distinguished mem- 
 ber. Endowed with considerable talents for 
 business, much tact in discriminating the varia- 
 tions of the tide of court favour, and possessed 
 of but little severity of principle, he was well 
 calculated to make his Avay in a court full of 
 activity and intrigue, like that of Henry. At the 
 period of which I now write, the Reformation 
 was not yet fashionable with the ruling powers 
 in England. And, although Lord Lovel was 
 afterwards to become so great an enemy to the 
 Catholic church, he was, while Henry was earn- 
 ing the title of Defender of the Faith, and while 
 Wolsey was lord of the political ascendant, not 
 only firm to the apcient religion, but conspicu- 
 ous in opposing the progress of the new one. 
 
 c 5
 
 M TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 This had partly contributed to his appointment 
 of Father Hubert to be his family confessor ; and 
 it materially tended to check those ebullitions of 
 ill will against the abbey of Holy Cross, to which, 
 at more favourable opportunities, he was always 
 ready to give vent. 
 
 Lord Lovel passed the greater part of the year 
 at court ; but as his daughter had scarcely yet 
 arrived at an age fitting to appear there, she had 
 resided almost constantly at the Castle of the 
 Cross, as her father's abode was called, from the 
 same circumstance which had given name to the 
 monastery, and the whole valley. He had 
 arrived at the Castle the night before this story 
 opens, with a retinue even more splendid than 
 that ao^e of maOTificence rendered usual. The 
 cause of this increased display w^as, that he tra- 
 velled in company with a young lord, a favourite 
 of Wolsey, and consequently basking in the 
 sunshine of royal favour, — who had conde- 
 scended to accompany him into the country, 
 there being on foot between them a treaty of 
 alliance, in which one, at least, of the parties 
 principally concerned had, according to the
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 35 
 
 fashion of those times, never been consulted, and 
 of which, indeed, she continued uninformed. 
 The Lord Peyto had imbibed from his great 
 patron the taste for pomp and splendour dis- 
 played at York-Place ; and it was to suit the 
 ideas of his guest that Lord Lovel, on the occa- 
 sion of his reception, added to the already hand- 
 some appointment of his household. 
 
 In one thing, however, he was disappointed. 
 His daughter, of whose beauty he had contrived, 
 without the indelicacy of direct praise, to insi- 
 nuate a high idea to his young companion, he 
 found grown pale and thin — with a clouded 
 aspect obscuring her bright eyes, and a vague 
 languor substituted for the life and gaiety of her 
 manner. It was partly, indeed, her father's 
 observations, which were almost reproaches, on 
 this score, that had drawn her attention so 
 strongly to her altered state ; and had given rise 
 to the painful self-examination of which I have 
 spoken above. She was, however, little pre- 
 pared for the tidings which the next morning 
 was to bring — tidings which were to give a 
 
 C 6
 
 36 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 direct and palpable affliction, in lieu of the 
 dreamy melancholy which now pervaded her. 
 
 " Alice, child,"*' said her father to her, the 
 next day, '^ I cannot think what ails thee. I 
 left thee as fresh and blooming as a rosebud, and 
 I find thee as if thou wast, indeed, a rosebud, 
 and had withered at the touch of winter. Come, 
 wench, busk up thine head-gear, and put thy 
 smiles in order, for here is a gay gallant from 
 the court come a-wooing, and he has not been 
 accustomed to such pallid cheeks, and bedimmed 
 eyes, as thou hast gotten thee to greet us_, — nay, 
 nor did he expect to find them here any more 
 than I did, I can tell thee." 
 
 Alice was silent : the hint which these words 
 contained struck, like an ice-bolt, upon her heart. 
 She strove to hope, from the light tone in which 
 her father spoke, that he did but jest ; but this 
 was not a matter which he would be inclined to 
 treat wath bantering, — and one or two slight 
 indications, which she had scarcely noticed at 
 the time, now reverted to her memory, as giving 
 increased probability to the reality of what her 
 father hinted.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 37 
 
 He paused for an answer ; but receiving none, 
 be continued : " You have been mewed up here 
 so Jong in this old castle, that you have become 
 as moping as your companions, the owls that 
 haunt it. We must have you to court, child ; 
 where all your megrims will be soon driven out 
 of your head, I warrant me. And here is Lord 
 Peyto come down ; who will shew you the 
 latest mode from Venice, and tell you the last 
 bit of court news. He is well looked upon at 
 York-Place : and I desire,"'' continued Lord 
 Lovel, in a more serious and commanding tone 
 than he had hitherto used, '' that you will re- 
 ceive him with fitting favour; and, setting aside 
 the toys and fopperies of maiden coyness, that, 
 in a word, you will look upon him as the person 
 I have chosen for your future husband." 
 
 The first part of this speech was sufficiently 
 unpleasing to poor Alice ; for there are few 
 things more painful than to find those feelings, 
 over which we have brooded in solitude till they 
 acquire that importance which must attach to 
 the sensations nearest to heart, treated with 
 lightness and derision — made the object of a
 
 38 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 careless jest, or of a still more galling sneer. A 
 degree of humiliation is mixed with anger and 
 sorrow, and the result is bitter in the extreme. 
 But all ideas of this kind merged in and were 
 swallowed up by the appalling conviction which 
 the last words of her father conveyed — ** Her 
 future husband !" The thought seemed to shock 
 and revolt every feeling of her nature. The Lord 
 Peyto — a stranger on whom she had scarcely 
 looked — whom she had but two days before for 
 the first time seen — he to be her husband /— 
 the object of her respect and her affection — the 
 nearest to her heart — the cherished of her bosom 
 — the partner, the confidant, and the sharer of all 
 her joys, and cares, and hopes, and sorrows ! He 
 — a stranger ! — Afrightened sense of astonishment 
 — a recoiling of her whole being, — were mingled 
 with the bitter pain of the shock which her fa- 
 ther's communication caused her. It is plain, that 
 her heart did not yet reveal to her the real reason. 
 She continued silent, — for she was mentally 
 stunned. ** Art dumb, girl ?" said her father 
 somewhat impatiently: " here am I telling thee 
 of what half the girls of your age would be wild
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 39 
 
 with joy to hear, of a husband, young, hand- 
 some, and rich, and a favourite at court withal, 
 whither he will take thee, and where thy state 
 shall make half the beauties there burn with 
 envy — and there art thou as pale and as silent as 
 the marble image in the garden yonder. By the 
 mass, I almost think thou art turned to stone in 
 sober sooth." 
 
 And the condition of his daughter gave some 
 colour to this hyperbole. For she stood by his 
 side, with her eyes and lips fixed, and her whole 
 frame rigid, and gave no further sign, than that 
 of a wild stare, of being conscious that her 
 father spoke to her. '^Why girl, why Alice, 
 art spell-bound ? What is all this ? Dost hear, 
 child ? Here have I brought the most noble 
 gallant of the court as a suitor to thee ; and I 
 command thee," continued Lord Lovel, who saw 
 his daughter's attention ao^ain become alive at 
 these words — " I command thee to receive him 
 as befits his rank and merits, and my wishes.''* 
 
 "Oh ! father," at length Alice said, "leave 
 me as I am — I am tpo young to marry yet — I 
 am a poor weak child, and not fit for courts and
 
 40 TALES OF PASSION". 
 
 palaces. And this Lord Pejto, I know him 
 not — how can I love him as I should my hus- 
 band ? — Oh father ! let me abide as I am — for 
 a while, at least, dear father, for a wliile !"" 
 
 Lord Lovel was surprised. He had never 
 seen his daughter display so much earnestness. 
 Accustomed, as a courtier, to scan tlie weight 
 and meaning of voice and manner, he perceived 
 that there was some strong motive at work within 
 her breast. He determined to discover this. 
 Fond of his daughter he was, though not to a 
 degree to sacrifice any scheme of ambition to 
 ■what he would have termed the fancies of a silly 
 girl. Therefore, tliough nothing was likely to 
 make him swerve from IjIs purpose of her be- 
 coming the wife of Lord Peyto, he was wilHng 
 to find out w hat the bar was which stood opposed 
 to his design, that he min^ht remove it witli as 
 little pain to his daughter as consisted witli its 
 peremptory removal. He was far, however, 
 from guessing at the truth that she loved 
 another: — for, during his absence, nobody came 
 to the Castle; and he Imd never, during his 
 residence there, seen her evince the least 2:)refcr-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 41 
 
 ence for any one. He was, as well he might be, 
 completely at a loss. 
 
 *' Why Alice/' he resumed in a milder tone, 
 ** these are mere maidenish vapours arising from 
 dwelling so much alone, in this melancholy old 
 place, and wandering o' nights along the stream, 
 looking at the moon, and reciting silly trinkets 
 of sonnets. Too young, quotha ? Why, our 
 last-made duchess is nearly a year younger. 
 Not fit for courts ? Tittie, tuttie, there's no- 
 thing like a court itself to teach you to befit 
 one. And as for your not knowing Lord Pey to — 
 I don't ask you to marry him to-morrow. He 
 will be here for a fortnight, at least ; and it will 
 be a month before we can be ready for the wed- 
 ding. So, prythee, no more of this ; surely that 
 is no lack of time for you to learn to love so 
 handsome a wooer, and, if it be, after marriage 
 you will have plenty and to spare. So put on 
 your riding-gear, and mount your nag, and 
 come out with my lord and me to see the hawks 
 strike a heron, above the mill. — I will wager a 
 rose-noble, sweet-heai;t," continued he patting 
 her cheek, '*that my new falcon Fve got from
 
 42 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 Flanders, beats thy tassel-gentle — so to horse, 
 to horse !" — 
 
 To a dweller in the country, like Alice, the 
 sport of hawking was both familiar and favour- 
 ite. And when her mind had been in its natural 
 state of healthful freshness, she had indulged in 
 it with great frequency. But, of late, like 
 ever3'thing else, it had become insipid to her, 
 and she had scarcely been on horseback for a 
 month. And, after the conversation of the 
 morning, she was not likely to take renewed 
 enjoyment in the exercise, ^^^e have all felt 
 how sickness of the spirit takes their charms 
 from even our most favourite pursuits ; and 
 leaves us incapable of anything except giving 
 way to its own excess. 
 
 Her beautiful managed jennet. Bayard, — (so 
 named after the hero of the period) pawed witli 
 delight, at the sight of his lovely mistress, and 
 turned round his graceful neck towards the 
 stirrup to greet her ; but she did not notice his 
 caress. Lord Peyto, at the moment, was assist- 
 ing her into her saddle : she shivered under his 
 touch — and her mind had room for no other
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 43 
 
 idea. The young lord, albeit accustomed to 
 the beauty of a court where beauty was plenti- 
 ful, had been considerably struck with the 
 surpassing loveliness of Lord Lovel's daughter. 
 Pale she was, it is true ; but this did but serve 
 to shew in still stronger relief the contrast be- 
 tween her ivory skin and brilliant hair ; a shade 
 of melancholy pervaded her aspect, but it only 
 added, like the unguents of the East, to the deep 
 voluptuous expression of her lovely eyes. Her 
 form might have been fuller with advantage ; 
 but her gracefulness of outline and of motion 
 could not be surpassed. 
 
 Lord Peyto rode at her bridle-rein ; and took 
 care to display as well the advantages of his per- 
 son, as of that courtly manner and conversation, 
 which he thought more likely than all else to 
 please and dazzle a rustic beauty. But the 
 caracoles of his horse and the flourishes of his 
 rhetoric were equally unheeded. A cold, unva- 
 ried abstraction seemed to pervade her whom he 
 addressed — she could scarcely be called hia 
 hearer. At last, a heron is put up from an. 
 osier bed on the banks of the stream — the hood
 
 44 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 is removed, the jesses are unloosed, and away [ 
 away ! the hawk soars into the sky, and away 
 gallops the whole field, their horses at speed, 
 their eyes fixed in the air — and the animating 
 spirit of the chase pervading every look and 
 every gesture. Alice alone remained listless 
 and uninspired. Bayard burst away at speed 
 ■with the rest ; but his course was left almost to 
 his own pleasure. At last, the quarry was 
 struck down : with a faint scream, the beautiful 
 bird sank under the blows of his fiercer foe ; 
 and, with drooping wing, and gaping beak, and 
 bloodshot eye, came fluttering in his talons to 
 the earth " Poor creature !" thought Alice, 
 endeavouring, as the unhappy ahvays do, to as- 
 similate the misfortunes of others to her own — 
 ''how pitilessly do men pursue thee to destruction, 
 harmless as thou art ! — how little do they heed 
 thy cries of fear and anguish ! — how indifferent, 
 if their pleasures be answered, are they to thy 
 pain ! But, at least, death speedily closes thy suf- 
 ferings. If they are severe, they are not lasting." 
 Often had Lady Alice been in the hawking- 
 field, but, probably, these sentiments had never
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 45 
 
 occurred to her before. So true is it that our 
 own unhappiness leads us to be alive to the pain 
 of others, which in our unchecked pride of youth, 
 and health, and joy, we constantly pass over 
 unseen. 
 
 As the moon rose that evening over the 
 shoulder of the hill, it again found the Lady 
 Alice at her window. But her feelings were of 
 a very different character from what they had 
 been when it shone upon her last. They had 
 then been of a gentle and subdued sadness — now 
 they were painful even to agony. The veins 
 were swollen upon her brow — her face was 
 flushed and disordered — her bosom struficgled 
 with the chokinf]^ sobs of human ano;uish in its 
 power. The reflections of the day had revealed 
 to her the state of her own heart ! What a total 
 revolution was created within her! She had, 
 before, thought herself the object of undeserved 
 wrong and injury. She now had communed 
 with her heart, and had discovered in it a guilty 
 passion — not to be named without abhorrence, 
 not to be thought of without dread. She, whose 
 reverence for religion had been so great, now
 
 41B TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 found that she had been offending heaven in its 
 own sanctuary — that her very offices of prayer 
 had been devoted to the service of Satan. And 
 if she had been totally unconscious of the real 
 fact before, now her previous blindness amazed 
 her. And yet, it is very easy to assign a reason 
 for the scales having fallen from her eyes at this 
 particular moment. The circumstance of mar- 
 riage with another having been set before her, 
 revealed to her who really was master of her 
 heart. 
 
 If anything could have aggravated a discovery 
 so fraught with horror, it was that the staff of 
 support on which she relied in every doubt, in 
 every difficulty, in every sorrow, was stricken 
 from her grasp. The source of consolation to 
 which she was wont to apply, had become itself 
 the fountain of her sorrow. To whom, to 
 whom could she turn, to aid her faultering 
 steps, to comfort her desolate soul ? Alas ! to 
 none. When a woman''s breast entertains an 
 unlawful passion, it must still foster the viperous 
 guest. Like the Spartan boy, the guilty object 
 may gnaw her very heart, but she must not
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 4j7 
 
 dare to bring it forth into the light of day. Oh! 
 what throes of the spirit's agony did AHce un- 
 dergo that night ! That which had caused her 
 despair in the morning, was now faded into no- 
 thing. Before this greater grief, it was as a star 
 before the rising sun. She loved i — yes she 
 loved, with fervour, with fierceness, with very 
 madness ! — and whom ? gracious heaven ! to 
 "whom had she dared to raise the eyes of earthly 
 passion ? — to whom had she been offering the 
 desires of a sacrilegious love ? To one whom 
 she considered almost as hallowed as those saints 
 who had passed the ordeal of death — to one 
 whose lips breathed holiness, whose life practised 
 purity — to one who would shrink from her with 
 the horror with which the angels -of God recoil 
 from those of Satan^ if he were to divine the ex- 
 istence of her unspeakable guilt. 
 
 We must remember, too, that Alice was a 
 Catholic ; a rigid one in faith, and in observance ; 
 — and to them the concealment of offences in the 
 sacrament of confession is a mortal sin. And 
 how could she desecrate the confessional with the 
 recital of an offence against heaven, in the very
 
 48 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 person of its minister? How could she speak an 
 avowal of love in the language of religious con- 
 fession ? All these thoughts thronged through 
 her mind, as she leaned her face upon lier arras, 
 and shook, with the convulsive agitations of 
 mental agony ! " This then," she exclaimed, 
 *' this was the cause why all pure and peaceful 
 occupations had become distasteful to me ! This 
 was why my eye faded, and my cheek grew pale, 
 and my form wasted I Yes — it was the corrod- 
 ing influence of sinful passion that was doing 
 its work upon me ! My heart enclosed a canker 
 which dried the spring of all that was good 
 within me. No wonder that tlie slave of sin felt 
 her spirit chained ; that she no longer took joy in 
 the discharge of active duties — that her mind 
 was available for nothing but to brood over its 
 own guilt. For so I did. I thought my sighs 
 were breathed to heaven ; tliey were the very 
 exhalation of gross earth ; — 1 thought I was 
 worshipping God, and I was obeying the insti- 
 gations of the devil !" — And she aoain buried 
 her face in her hands, and sobbed bitterly. 
 The calm moon shone upon the peaceful scene
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER. 49» - 
 
 which lay beneath the window of the turret ; 
 every thing smiled in serenity in that lovely light. 
 Stream, and shore, and meadow, and bower, and 
 tree, all lay silvered by the soft beams, and 
 spoke, if ever external nature spoke, of rest, and 
 purity, and peace. But the fairest object in 
 that beautiful scene — as human loveliness sur- 
 passes all other created beauty — afforded, in her 
 own person, an awful contrast to these proper- 
 ties. In lier bosom was a fearful war ! passion 
 was struggling with virtue: — love, sorrow, re- 
 gret, remorse, despair, all mingled in the strife. 
 Alas! that one human heart can give room to 
 so much misery ! — that one young and lovely- 
 woman should congregate in her own bosom 
 such guests as these ! Surely, if ever a tenement 
 seemed framed for gentle habitants, it v.as the 
 form of Alice Lovel ; so beautiful a temple should 
 Jiave been the shrine only of full happiness and 
 crowned love. What the flames ivere which 
 burned upon the altar of her heart, the reader 
 already knows. 
 
 Vol. r.
 
 50 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I look through the glass, 
 
 Till my eyes are dim ; 
 The threshf)l(l I pass, 
 
 Alone for him. 
 
 His lofty step, 
 .^^. And his forehead high. 
 
 His winning smile. 
 
 And his beaming eye. 
 Lord F. L. Gower's Translation of Faust, 
 
 If Lord Lovel had been surprised and vexed 
 at the change in his daughter's appearance, which 
 he had perceived on his return into the country, 
 — he Y/as now positively startled at tlie alteration 
 ■which four-and-twentj" hours had wrought. 
 She appeared, the next day, with her eyes swol- 
 len, sunken, almost extinguished — with a face 
 of monumental paleness — and a general languor 
 and sadness of aspect, which sufficiently beto- 
 kened how much the body had suffered from the 
 conflicts of the soul. Her step trailed, her eye 
 was fixed, she seemed heart-stricken . Her father
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 51 
 
 T^as astonished. He could figure to himself no 
 cause for a state so unusual both to her age and 
 her disposition. At last he bethought him of 
 applying to her spiritual director for information 
 and advice. 
 
 As Lord Lovel proceeded down the side of 
 the brook towards the monastery, he paused, 
 for a moment, at the large stone which was 
 erected as a boundary between his estate and that 
 of the Abbey. — " This might all have been 
 mine," he muttered, ** had it not been for the 
 folly of my ancestor ! What a plague had he to 
 do in Palestine — And then to give the best half 
 of his lands to these lazy swine to fatten upon ! 
 And they pretend they have a right of multure 
 from me too !" — his mind reverting to a recent 
 cause of quarrel — " from me, without whose 
 family they would have had neither mill, nor 
 stream, nor corn, nor lands: well, well, there 
 may be a better world, soon — the Cardinal has 
 turned out some of the Observantine friars, al- 
 ready. Who knows what colour will go next ? 
 — But let us to this gear — let us see whether 
 this monk of whom men speak so loudly has had 
 
 D 2 
 
 lINiVFRSITY OP.
 
 52 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 the wit to see what maggot my silly daughter 
 has got into her head."" 
 
 But Father Hubert could not give him the 
 information he desired. He had seen the young 
 lady only once, he said ; and then, although 
 he had observed that she was staid beyond her 
 -years, he had not perceived any of those striking 
 symptoms of a spirit ill at ease, of which the 
 Lord Lovel spoke. He promised, however, to 
 go to the castle, and see the Lady Alice ; when, 
 he would endeavour to discover the source of 
 her disquiet, if any there were ; and, as lier 
 father begged, would urge her compliance with 
 his wishes, with regard to Lord Peyto. 
 
 The next day Hubert came. He was not, as 
 it may be supposed, long in perceiving an ex- 
 traordinary change in the person and manner 
 of his penitent. Instead of a maiden, rich in 
 all the gifts of youthful beauty, and reserved, 
 as it appeared to him, only through the excess 
 of virmn diffidence — he beheld a countenance 
 bearing plain traces of an inward agony — and, 
 in the eyes which were, for a moment, raised 
 upon him, and then cast down, were written re-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 53 
 
 morse and despair, mingled with an expression 
 approaching to fear. The monk was struck. 
 He had not before given any particular notice 
 to Lady Alice, further than his strict duty 
 demanded ; but now, so interesting an object as 
 that before his eyes, — the contrast, namely of 
 strong distress and its effects, with all the deli- 
 cacy of youth, and bloom of beauty, — could not 
 fail to attract and fix his attention. 
 
 " Daughter," he said — and the sound of his 
 voice thrilled through her every nerve, — 
 ''daughter, I am informed; and, indeed, your 
 appearance sufficiently bespeaks it, that you 
 nourish some secret sorrow in your breast — 
 which preys upon your peace and health — and 
 renders you unmindful of your duty towards 
 your father, and of all the manifold advantages 
 and blessings which heaven has heaped upon 
 your lot. Speak to me — not as a stern judge,, 
 but as to a spiritual comforter, a Christian 
 friend. Fear not to pour out your griefs to me, 
 whatever they may be. I have indulgence and 
 support for weakness, as well as reproof for 
 guilt; and to that your sorrow cannot be allied." 
 
 D 3 .
 
 ^ TALES OF PASSION". 
 
 He paused, and bent his eyes with scrutiny 
 upon her face, which she hung down on her 
 bosom, not daring to look upon him, and almost 
 shrinking from the effect of his mere voice. 
 The blood mounted in volumes into her face, 
 which it crimsoned to the very brow. She did 
 not speak — she shed no tear — no sigh escaped 
 her. The thickness and rapidity of her respira- 
 tion, as evinced by the heaving of her bosom, 
 alone gave evidence of the tumult which was 
 passing within. 
 
 '* One so young and uncontaminated as you 
 are, cannot," the monk continued, " have any- 
 thing of deep dye wherewithal to reproach your- 
 self. A few days back, I found you serene; no 
 agitation like this was visible ; and you listened 
 to my exhortation as befitted a daughter of the 
 true church. I trust in heaven," he added, 
 and his voice grew sterner as he spoke, " I trust 
 the accursed poison of schism has not been able 
 to touch your mind. Speak, daughter, is It pos- 
 sible that you can be so unhappy as this ?" 
 
 «' Oh ! no. Father, no,'' exclaimed Ahce, ^ith 
 that eagerness of denial which attached to the
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 55 
 
 sin being so widely different from lier real one ; 
 and in a free tone of voice which, prompted by 
 the momentary relief she felt at the Confessor 
 being so far from the truth, conveyed to his 
 penetrating mind a full assurance at once of her 
 veracity. She had looked up to him as she 
 spoke ; but, when the fleeting impulse was past, 
 her head again sank upon her breast, and blushes 
 overspread her cheeks with increased force and 
 depth. Hubert was at fault. That something 
 there was, he saw plainly, — and that she was 
 exceedingly reluctant to avow it was equall3" 
 clear. He began upon a new track : — 
 
 '' Your father tells me," he said, *' that lie 
 has chosen for your husband a young man of 
 noble birth and eminent qualities, who is now on 
 a visit at the Castle. Report speaks highly in 
 his pi'aise, as a noble and accomplished gentle- 
 man. Tell me, how is your heart inchned 
 towards your father's choice .^" 
 ; Alice seemed, whilst the monk had been 
 speaking, to gather together her energies, for a 
 great effort ; — this time she answered him : '^ I 
 doubt not," she said, in a low, tremulous voice, 
 
 D 4
 
 56 TALES OF PASSION-. 
 
 *' I doubt not that the world does Lord Peyto 
 no more than justice; but, oh! Father, I 
 cannot, cannot wed him. I cannot love him 
 — I cannot feel towards him as I ought to- 
 ivards my companion through life, my lord, 
 my husband ! My heart is closed — the affec- 
 tions of my sex have no hold upon it — they 
 never can take root there. No, Father !" slie 
 continued, and her voice grew firmer as she pro- 
 ceeded, " my feelings can find no resting-place 
 in the world — the service of heaven is the only 
 ark in which they can find refuge ! Oh ! per- 
 suade my father not to press this hated marriage 
 xipon me. I should sin — sin mortally — if I 
 yielded to it. Oh ! Father, keep this great guilt 
 from my soul, of profaning the holy sacraments 
 of the church — of committing perjury at God's 
 altar ! Do not make me invoke God and saints 
 to bear witness to an impious lie ! To swear 
 that I would love him always, when my soul 
 sickens at the very thought ? Horrible ! hor- 
 rible !"" — and she burst into a flood of convul- 
 sive tears. 
 
 Hubert was amazed. He saw that she was
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 57 
 
 agitated by some motive of no ordinary force. 
 Personal hatred to Lord Peyto it did not seem 
 to be — she spoke of him with no individual 
 bitterness — towards any one else Hubert thought 
 it would be the same. Was it a vocation, as 
 she had half hinted, towards a religious life? 
 Though an enthusiast in his religion, he did not 
 think so. She would, in that case, have spoken 
 more calmly and more distinctly. She would 
 not have anticipated any strong disapprobation, 
 at least, from a man of his character, at such a 
 declaration — this did not seem to be the impulse 
 by which she was swayed. He saw that her 
 agitation was extreme, — he, therefore, accosted 
 her mildly : — 
 
 " You surprise me, daughter," he said, " by 
 this unseemly burst of passion. What can have 
 caused this tumult in your mind ? You can 
 have no powerful distaste towards the Lord 
 Peyto, — the short time that you have known 
 him renders this impossible. And whence this 
 dread of the married state ? This is something 
 more than mere maiden bashfulness, — you speak 
 with an earnestness which proves to me it arises 
 
 D5
 
 58 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 from a deeper feeling. You say your heart 
 shrinks from the world ; I fear it adheres to it 
 but too closely. You do not speak like one 
 whom heaven has chosen as a vessel wherein to 
 pour its grace. You are deceiving yourself, or 
 me, or both. Is this broken voice, — is this 
 tumultuous aspect, — the property of one who 
 seeks the calm, pure hfe of religion, — shunning 
 the passions and agitations of the world, and 
 seeking only to devote life, and love, and heart, 
 and hope, to serve God in peace ? No, daughter, 
 no, — such is not your vocation. The Lord 
 Lovel's daughter has ties to the world which, 
 perhaps, ought not to be broken — and which 
 certainly are not. These sobs, — these gushing 
 tears, — ^bespeak a spirit at war with itself, — 
 they are the offspring of the passions of morta- 
 lity — ^not of a yearning for everlasting hfe. Your 
 father has chalked out for you the course to which 
 your lot in the world should call you. He has 
 singled out one fitting your age and quality, 
 to be united to you for life. Do not lightly 
 dash his hopes, — do not let the suggestions of a 
 wayward and rebelUous spirit excite you to dis-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 59 
 
 obey your father's will, — to disappoint his care 
 and kindness." 
 
 Alice did not answer. Gracious heaven ! what 
 were her feelings.'^ Here was the man whom she 
 adored, whom she almost worshipped, pleading 
 the cause of another — speaking to her calmly in 
 the language of admonition, totally unconscious 
 of that passion, which, perhaps, he might have 
 pitied while he condemned it, — which might 
 have excited his commiseration for the sinner 
 amidst his horror of the sin ! In the bottom of 
 his heart, Hubert believed that she had formed 
 some unworthy attachment that she was ashamed 
 to own, and which stood in the way of the mar- 
 riage which her father had chosen for her. He 
 had been, in his early youth, a man mixing with 
 the world, having studied both at Paris and 
 Bologna, and was well acquainted with the mo- 
 tives that ordinarily sway the actions of man- 
 kind. His experience, as a confessor, had 
 opened up to him many recondite and diversi- 
 fied pages of the great book of human nature ; 
 and he was not too ready to believe, that a 
 young and beautiful girl shrank from marriage, 
 
 D 6
 
 so TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 through a mere abstract hatred of the insti- 
 tution ; or that she had conceived an insur- 
 mountable disHke for a suitor, of whom she 
 knew only that he was handsome, young, and 
 prosperous. The probability was, that some 
 previous passion occupied her heart. The object 
 now was to discover by whom it had been excited. 
 
 In this research, Hubert had but few data to 
 guide him. He had only lately become con- 
 nected with Lord Lovel's family ; and he had 
 no means of judging who was likely to have 
 made an impression upon the Lady Alice's heart. 
 The real person w^as, probably, one of the very 
 last men in Europe upon whom his suspicion 
 would have lighted. 
 
 *' Lady Alice," he resumed, *' confide in 
 me. I see, evidently, there is something weigh- 
 ing upon your mind, — to whom can you more 
 iitly turn for counsel or for consolation, than to 
 me, whose duty it is to administer both as your 
 ghostly guide, and whose inclination it is to do 
 so as a pitying father towards a daughter'*s 
 suffering? Repose, then, your confidence in 
 me; my experience may assist you — my re-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 61 
 
 ligious functions will comfort you. Open your 
 heart to me, and I will pour into it that balm 
 which arises only from trust in Him, who is the 
 comforter of all the afflicted.'^ 
 
 As Hubert spoke, which he did in a voice, 
 and with a manner, as encouraging as possible, 
 he had chanced to take the hand of Lady Alice 
 between his, and he held it while he concluded. 
 He was surprised to feel it quiver like a spray 
 of the aspen beneath his touch. He imagined, 
 at first, that physical illness had overcome her; 
 but he looked in her face, and there were the 
 tokens of mental tumult depicted in colours 
 which could not be mistaken, yet the real form 
 and tendency of which he was unable to define. 
 Fear was there, and something which resembled 
 pleasure, and confusion, and shame. Her eyes 
 met his for a moment — and their look ! — oh I 
 bow could mortal man misinterpret its expres- 
 sion? — how could one who had a human pulse 
 within his breast not feel it throb with tenfold 
 fulness at the tale which that glance revealed ? 
 What lavish profusion of love — what utter aban- 
 donment of passion, did it not betray ! Is there 
 not, then, an electric chord in man's heart, which
 
 62 TALES OF PASSIOX. 
 
 the fire of affection cannot fail to strike ? Are 
 not its strings, like the JEolmn harp, awakened 
 to life and speech by the breath of female fond- 
 ness? — It should seem, No! — Or, at least, the 
 force of education and habit is stronger than the 
 nature upon which it works. The length of 
 time that Hubert had looked upon himself as 
 belonging to no sex, but merely as a being de- 
 voted to the service of heaven, caused that fire 
 of the soul, which beamed through the eyes of 
 Alice, to fall upon him as though his heart were 
 of impassive ice — as though it retained no kin- 
 dred spark of humanity to burst into burning at 
 its touch. 
 
 Alice shook under the hand of Hubert, 
 throughout her whole frame, as though her 
 spirit were about to part from it. She could 
 not speak — she could not — at least she did 
 not — move. Hubert gazed at her in silence : 
 he was touched, deeply touched, at the agony 
 of soul under which he saw this young creature 
 to be suffering. He could not divine the cause, 
 and he saw, every moment more and more, 
 how difficult it was to extract it from her. 
 
 ^^ Then you will not trust me. Lady Alice,' '
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 63 
 
 he exclaimed — " you do not think me worthy 
 of your confidence — you are not wilUng I should 
 be your friend." 
 
 '' Oh, no, no ! — not so," she said, eagerly, 
 " God knows I consider no one so worthy, so 
 
 excellent, so " she checked herself, fearing 
 
 she was going too far, and then, changing the 
 form of her phrase, she added, " there is no one 
 whom I respect so much — whom I would so 
 gladly trust— but — oh ! no, no, it is impossible 
 — I will follow any advice you give, I will fulfil 
 any penance you impose — but the secret which 
 preys upon my heart must go down with me to 
 the grave — it will," she continued, in a voice so 
 low as scarcely to be audible — " it will carry me 
 thither soon!" 
 
 ^' Daughter," said Hubert, " this is weak 
 and wicked, both. You will obey me in all 
 save that in which I desire to be obeyed — you 
 will do all save that which contravenes your 
 own wayward wishes, and headstrong passions. 
 Daughter, I see whence arises this reluctance 
 to conclude the honourable union your father 
 has proposed — I perceive that it is not dislike
 
 64 TALES OF PASSION". 
 
 towards the Lord Peyto which is your motive, 
 still less is it, as you strove to insinuate to me, 
 a vocation towards a religious life. Religious 
 vows for thee ! dost thou not tremble at the 
 thought of such profanation ? — Dost thou not 
 shrink under the fear of Heaven's vengeance for 
 thus disguising sinful passions under the sem- 
 blance of holy desires? Yes, Lady, your man- 
 ner, your aspect, your whole bearing betrays 
 you — You love another !" 
 
 Who has not felt the truth of the saying of 
 the great master of Nature, that " conscience 
 doth make cowards of us all?" — Who has not, 
 even in the most casual remark, traced an appli- 
 cation to the subject paramount within his bosom ? 
 How many have betrayed themselves from be- 
 lieving that they were discovered, when all idea 
 of the truth was as remote from the mind of the 
 supposed detector, as the object of Alice's love 
 was at this moment from that of Father Hubert? 
 But poor Alice thought otherwise. Love had 
 never been connected in her mind, consciously 
 or unconsciously, but with one object. To say 
 that he knew she loved, was, to her apprehension,
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 65 
 
 to say that he knew she loved him. Whom else 
 was it possible for her to love ? Who else could 
 have excited a passion so engrossing, so over- 
 whelming, as to have swallowed up every other 
 feeling of her being within its vortex ? — a pas- 
 sion which overshadowed her whole soul — which 
 rendered every other sense numb, torpid, almost 
 non-existent ? Alice's heart made answer — No 
 one ! She thought the full extent of her guilt 
 discovered. She nearly sank under the belief! 
 
 For many minutes she continued in a pa- 
 roxysm of distress that almost suspended con- 
 sciousness. At length, she raised her eyes, and 
 beheld Father Hubert standing over her with 
 a calm look of pity, in which condemnation was 
 somewhat joined — an aspect that, to her bewil- 
 dered senses, seemed the expression of mingled 
 contempt and anger. 
 
 " Oh ! Father, spare me !*" she exclaimed at 
 length, " do not cast me from you with scorn! 
 — I wish you only to pity me — I beg no 
 more than pity ! — Oh ! do not look upon me 
 with anger and abhorrence ! — it will kill me ! — 
 I cannot live if you spurn me ! — consider my
 
 66 TALES OF PA.SSION. 
 
 youth, Father ! — my unsuspecting innocence f — 
 I knew it not, indeed I knew it not, till yester- 
 day — till my father proposed this marriage to 
 me — I know the full extent of my guilt — but it 
 was not consciously I incurred it ; — I would 
 have fled from you to the uttermost ends of the 
 earth could I have guessed this ! Oh ! Father, 
 look on me with pity — do not curse me, Father — 
 oh ! do not curse me ! It would strike me dead! 
 — I will fly from you — I will never speak to 
 you or listen to your voice more — but do not 
 curse me ! Spare me from that perdition ! — oh ! 
 si^are me — spare your wretched, wretched, 
 
 child ! ^^ Sobs, terrible sobs, here choked 
 
 her speech. She threw herself on her face upon 
 the earth, and clung to Hubert's knees, and 
 kissed his feet, and flooded them with tears, in 
 all the unconscious extravagancies of madden- 
 ing agony. 
 
 The monk stood transfixed. An idea of this 
 nature had never, at any moment of his life, 
 flitted, however transiently, across his mind. One 
 minute ago, and he was as unconscious of it as 
 he had ever been. And now, here was the
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER. €7 
 
 heart of the loveliest creature upon whom his 
 eyes had ever rested, bursting through all the 
 bonds of maiden diffidence and religious restraint, 
 to throw itself prostrate before his love^ though 
 it should break in the violence of the effort ! 
 He could not mistake her: her words were too 
 plain — and if they had not been so, her looks 
 and frantic gestures bore too convincing witness 
 that he had rightly seized their sense. He was 
 shaken to the centre of his soul! That word 
 which, in modern language, has been so lightly 
 and frequently applied as to lose the force of its 
 strong original meaning, was descriptive of him 
 — he was shocked I He raised the Lady Alice 
 from the ground, and, placing her on a seat, 
 paced the room with hurried steps, to strive 
 to regain his composure. Yes ! he had need of 
 it ; for, priest as he was, and truly religious and 
 <jhastened as was his mind, he was a man still. 
 He was in the flower of manhood — of passions 
 naturally strong, v/hich it had required all the 
 exertion of a still stronger mind to bring under 
 his control — and the suddenness of the blow 
 (for such it may well be called) which he had
 
 68 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 received, had thrown his feelings from their 
 centre of calm, and somewhat stern, coUected- 
 ness. He looked upon the Lady Alice, whose 
 face was buried in her hands — whose whole 
 frame shook with her sobs, — while her beautiful 
 hair, having burst from its braidings, streamed 
 over and veiled her drooping head : — '^ And she 
 has thus," thought he, " been devoting to me 
 the first-fruits of her warm and sensitive heart, 
 while I was scarcely conscious of her existence ! 
 — I have been the sole object of her hopes and 
 thoughts, — while her image never once entered 
 into my mind ! Poor, poor creature !" — and he 
 gazed on her with a softer feeling than had ever 
 before warmed his breast towards woman ! 
 
 But Hubert was not a man to give way to 
 such sensations. His passions were too tho- 
 roughly disciplined to be ever able to escape 
 beyond the command of his volition. He started 
 at the unusual feeling which had crept over him ; 
 and, rousing himself from an abstraction so 
 likely to become dangerous, he recollected that 
 he must gird his loins to the conflict which 
 awaited him — that he must up and be doing in
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 69 
 
 the cause of that God to whose service he was 
 sworn. 
 
 Hubert had, probably, never before felt so 
 much embarrassment in the most difficult situa- 
 tions of his life, as he now did to find fitting words 
 to address the poor girl, who trembled and qui- 
 vered before him. " Lady," he began in a tone 
 more of sorrow than of anger, *' I am ashamed 
 that I should have been so much moved at the 
 avowal you have made to me ; — for all else I 
 might have been prepared — but, for this, it was 
 impossible. I will confess to you, that never 
 was my heart more stricken with surprise and 
 dismay, than at the words you have just spoken. 
 Curse you. Lady Alice? — No — it is not for a 
 poor worm like me, to shut the gate of repent- 
 ance to an erring sister ! Rather should I call 
 back the lamb to the fold from which she has 
 wandered, than drive her forth to become the prey 
 of the destroyer. You seem to know how awful 
 is the guilt into which you have fallen : — deep, 
 deep, indeed, it is — and it is only that mercy 
 which is unbounded that can reach and pardon 
 it ! Lady Alice, I have walked through the
 
 7a TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 paths of the world, by the side of which fair 
 flowers and tempting fruits have invited the 
 hand to gather them, and the Lord has given 
 me strength to pass steadily on my way. It is 
 not now tliat I should fall into such a snare. 
 But it would be neither doing my duty to your- 
 self, to your father, nor to him who is the Father 
 of all, if I were to see you more. I will not 
 betray you — the trust you have reposed in me is, 
 for every reason, sacred ; but we must meet no 
 more. I will go on a mission which our house 
 is sending to the court, which will detain me 
 some time. Before my return, I trust you will 
 be gone from hence." 
 
 Alice, who had been, while the monk was 
 speaking, like a culprit receiving sentence, 
 looked mournfully up as he said these words. 
 Her paroxysm of passion had passed ; and the 
 usual revulsion had succeeded. She was now 
 calm, subdued, exhausted. She turned her 
 beautiful eyes upon him despairingly, their long 
 lashes still studded witli tears — and when he 
 asked her whether he might rely upon this proof 
 of her repentance and obedience, she summoned
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER* 71 
 
 sufficient composure to answer steadily, though 
 lowly — *' You may !" — and as she said these 
 words, she felt as if she had pronounced the sen- 
 tence of her own death. 
 
 Hubert paused some little time, under more ' 
 awkwardness of feeling than probably he had ever 
 experienced, before he reverted to the subject 
 concernino; which their conversation had ben^un. 
 '' With regard to the Lord Peyto," he said, at 
 length, " I shall beg your father to allow you 
 time to consider so important a change. I shall 
 enjoin him not to press you further on the sub- 
 ject, at present. And I trust, that, in return for 
 his forbearance, you will bend your mind towards 
 the duty you owe to your father ; and, eschew- 
 ing all the devilish instigations which have 
 found their way into your heart, that you will 
 come, like the pure gold from the furnace, 
 through this ordeal of fiery passion. And now. 
 Lady Alice, fare thee well ! May the merciful 
 God guide and succour thee ! May he who 
 tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, make this 
 burden easy for thee to bear ! May our Lady 
 of Anguish free so young a sufferer from her
 
 72 TALES OF PASSION-. 
 
 affliction ! — May he, who intercedeth for all 
 sinners, assoil thee of the guilt thou hast in- 
 curred !" 
 
 " Then you forgive me, Father ?'' 
 ^' I do, my child ;'' — and the Lady Alice 
 'knelt, and the Father invoked the benediction 
 of heaven upon her head ! And who, whatever 
 may be his faith, shall say that such vows are 
 not heard on high ? — vows breathed by one who 
 has escaped from the toils of a sore temptation, 
 to implore the pardon and the peace of another, 
 for the weakness of whose nature it has proved 
 too strong ! 
 
 The friar departed ; and Lady Alice felt as if 
 the light of life had left her soul for ever ! The 
 words ^* AVe must meet no more,"' rang in her 
 ears like the knell cf hope. '^"\Ve must meet 
 no more i'"* she repeated. *^No! the purity of 
 his mind will not commune with so fallen and 
 foul a thing as I am ! I have told him, — gracious 
 heaven, have I told him that I love him? How 
 could my tongue speak such words to him ? — 
 Why rather did I not tear it from my jaws, and 
 cast it from me^ than suffer it to offend me thus ?
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 73 
 
 I have owned my love for him whose affections 
 are not of this eartli — for him who might, even 
 now, be transferred to that heaven, whose ways he 
 makes plain to men ! And yet, he pardoned me ! 
 Oh ! how good, how merciful is his nature ! In- 
 stead of anger, he gave me pity — instead of curses, 
 he called down blessings upon my head ! Oh ! 
 could I calm these struggling passions — could I 
 cool this harassed mind into that blessed calm 
 which fits it for holy thoughts, and pious resigna- 
 tion — I might still follow his guidance, though he 
 is absent ; I might obey his voice, although he is 
 far away ! Oh ! Mother of Heaven !'' she ex- 
 claimed, as she sank upon her knees, " thou who 
 hast known grief, and suffered pain, when thy 
 mortal coil was on tliee, pity thine afflicted ser- 
 vant ! — Ave, sancta Maria ! or a, ora^pro me!'* 
 
 Vol. I.
 
 74 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 See thou shake the bags 
 
 Of hoarding abbots ; imprisoned angels 
 Set at liberty 
 
 Use our commission in its utmost force. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The course of my story renders it necessary for 
 me to take a cursory glance at the state of public 
 affairs at this time. The events, I have been 
 relating, took place at that critical period when 
 the agitation of the question of the legality of 
 the king''s marriage had placed his adherence to 
 the see of Rome upon the hazard of a die, which 
 seemed likely to turn up against its continuance. 
 Campeggio had just left England; and the 
 cause of the king''s divorce was evoked to Rome ; 
 a proceeding that may be said to have been the 
 cause of the Reformation in England, as it was 
 decisive of the breach between the Pope and the 
 king — whose power was sufficient to turn the 
 scale in favour of either of the faiths, between
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 75 
 
 which the minds of men were wavering. This 
 result was hastened by the disgrace of Wolsey, 
 whose colossal power was, at the time of which 
 I write, already tottering to its fall. The great 
 Cardinal who had raised his hand towards the 
 tiara, and still looked upon it wistfully, would 
 never have consented to the separation of these 
 realms from the Papal See ; and the energies of 
 his great mind would all have been directed to 
 keeping Henry in that close connection with 
 Rome in which he had been bred, and to which 
 he was naturally inclined. But passion, stronger 
 than opinion, broke this chain : Wolsey fell, and 
 England shook off the yoke of Rome for ever. 
 
 The same storm that destroys a fleet, or levels 
 a forest with the earth, overwhelms, also, the 
 bark of the poor fisher, and the humble solitary 
 shrub. Thus do the great events which sway 
 the destinies of nations decide the fortunes of 
 individuals. Their fate is influenced by the 
 same impulse which directs that of the state. 
 The same event which overthrew the proudest 
 and most powerful minister whom the world had 
 yet seen, and which severed a great nation from 
 
 £2
 
 ^6 TALES OF PASSION'. 
 
 the spiritual ties by which it had been bound for 
 centuries, released the Lady Alice from the im- 
 portunities of an unwelcome suitor, and left her 
 leisure to brood, unmolested, over her deeper 
 griefs. The Lord Lovel received some intima- 
 tion of the approaching downfal of the favou- 
 rite. He hastened to London with his guest; 
 and, when he asertained the rumour to be justly 
 founded, he speedily sought means to break off 
 the alliance about which he had hitherto been 
 so anxious. He was by no means a man to suf- 
 fer himself to be crushed under the ruins of a 
 falling edifice ; and he plainly saw that this was 
 not a moment to connect himself witli a follower 
 of Wolsey"'s fortunes. He broke off the alHance 
 in time. The Cardinal fell ; and Lord Lovel, 
 like many of the worshippers of his greatness, 
 shunned and abandoned him in his disgrace. 
 
 Whatever be the opinions we may hold touch- 
 ing Wolsey in the zenith of his power, — it is 
 impossible to contemplate his fall without a pity 
 mingled with awe. The mighty height on 
 which he had stood, — the suddenness and com- 
 pleteness of the reverse, and the utter derelic-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER, 77 
 
 tion in which he found himself, who had been 
 flattered and cringed to by the greatest and 
 proudest in the land, — present a picture which 
 can never fail to be of deep and saddening inte- 
 rest to humanity — upon which it can scarcely turn 
 its gaze too often. Well do the reflections 
 which the great poet has put into his mouth 
 befit both the subject and the speaker : — 
 
 This is the state of man !— to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 
 And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 His greatness is a ripening — nips his root, — 
 And then he falls, as I do ! 
 
 The Cardinal was truly a man of vast mind 
 — of a haughty and aspiring soul; and the 
 spectacle of his arriving at Leicester Abbey, 
 broken in frame and spirit — and of the self- 
 humbling words which his dying voice breathed 
 to the abbot^ has always appeared to me to be 
 one of the most impressive which the page of 
 history presents to us. 
 
 But, amidst all this self-seeking, and hollow 
 heartlessness, there is one contrast on which the 
 
 E 3
 
 fg TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 mind may repose with delight, in the contem- 
 plation of the loyalty and self-devoting courage 
 of grateful and unswerving friendship. The 
 defence of his fallen master by Cromwell, — in 
 that age, too, of tyranny and violence, — is an act 
 that commands our love and admiration, the more 
 from the infrequency of a similar occurrence. 
 And, perhaps, one of the actions of his hfe which 
 the most bespeaks that frankness, and even ge- 
 nerosity, of feeling, which occasionally gleamed 
 over the cruel and furious humours of Henry ""s 
 character, was his taking Cromwell into his 
 service, for the very conduct that would have 
 lost for ever the favour of a narrower mind. 
 
 It was to this rising sun that the Lord Lovel 
 no\^ paid his worship ; and, in proportion as 
 the Reformation advanced, he adhered to its 
 prospering tenets. The dissensions between 
 Henry and Clement^ arising from the divorce, 
 ended, as is well known, in a final breach be- 
 tween England and Rome. The king declared 
 himself Supreme Head of the Church in Eng- 
 land, and Cromwell was appointed his Vice- 
 general and Vicegerent. And now, those per-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 79 
 
 secutions began which, as each party rose into 
 power, disgrace our annals during the progress 
 of the Reformation. Cranmer was made Pri- 
 mate, Fisher and More were beheaded, and the 
 clergy of the church of Rome began to per- 
 ceive that their day of reckoning was come — • 
 that the period of their downfal was at hand. 
 
 During the progress of these events, Father 
 Hubert had not remained a mere spectator. 
 He had joined, heart and hand, in support of 
 the old religion, with the few who dared to 
 stand up in its defence. He had sided with 
 Fisher and More while they lived, and he 
 preached their martyrdom after their death. 
 The last, especially, had been the object of his 
 admiration, and now was of his regret. To a 
 man of literary cultivation, like Hubert, the 
 distinction of More, as one of the chief revivers 
 of learning in England, was certain to be an 
 object of respect and applause. And, even 
 those blemishes which cast their dark spots 
 upon the bright disk of the chancellor's cha- 
 racter, in his persecution of the Protestants, were 
 not likely to lessen him in the eyes of one whose 
 
 E 4
 
 80 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 zeal was as warm as that of Hubert, and who 
 lived in times when every property of religion 
 was called into play except that which, of all 
 others, should distinguish our religion — forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 At a time when learning was so much needed 
 to contend against the enemies of the Catholic 
 Cliurch, and when talent of every kind was 
 certain to find a field for its exercise, Father 
 Hubert could not fail to draw the attention of 
 his superiors, and to be employed in the difficult 
 and dangerous negotiations which the circum- 
 stances of the time rendered necessary. He 
 had been sent into Flanders, and into Italy; 
 and he had had the more willingness to under- 
 take these distant missions, from the recollection 
 of the Valley of Holy Cross — and of that poor 
 unfortunate who had suffered so much for his 
 sake, and towards whom his memory strayed 
 more often than he himself noticed, or tlian lie 
 would have approved if he had done so. Often 
 and often, when journeying through the soaring 
 Alps, or the dark Apennines, when evening 
 overtook him in the lonely valleys wliich lie
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 81 
 
 among their bosom, would his mind revert to 
 the calm scene of Holy Cross — the monastery, 
 quiet and secluded on the bank of the fair 
 stream — and the Castle, at the extremity of the 
 horizon, with the small turret-chamber in which 
 the most agitating scene of his life had taken place, 
 and her who had given to that hour at once it& 
 fascination and its danger. He heard occasion- 
 ally from his Abbey — and his ' former peni- 
 tent' was sometimes mentioned, as adhering tO' 
 that faith from which her father was back- 
 sliding, and as assisting constantly at the service 
 at the monastery-church, in despite of her fa- 
 ther's remonstrance. This was communicated 
 to Hubert as a token of the signs of the times, 
 and as a circumstance which immediately came- 
 under the cognizance of his own community. 
 But it spoke more nearly to his feelings; and he 
 never failed to close such letters with a sadness, 
 which it required an effort to drive from him, 
 that he might prosecute the great interests to 
 which his life was devoted. 
 
 And she ? — what did she feel, when days and 
 weeks swelled into months — and they again 
 
 E 5
 
 82. TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 almost became years, and Hubert still was far 
 away? How little do men, in the active pur- 
 suits of the worldj and the eager employments 
 of enterprising or ambitious manhood, think of 
 the lonely heart which pines for them in secret ! 
 — of the still, deep, sorrow which withers the 
 rose of the young cheek before its time, and 
 plants premature wrinkles upon the brow of 
 beauty, and all for their sake ! The youth of 
 the Lady Alice was wasting, like a flower which 
 dies in the bud. Her form was drying up — 
 her eye had lost its brilliance — an unvarying 
 gloom was heavy on her brow. After many 
 painful conflicts, her father had ceased to urge 
 her to appear in the world; and, setting her 
 down for a person incurably hypochondriac, 
 pursued his schemes of ambition, scarcely be- 
 stowing a thought upon the cause of such a 
 state, or striving to remove the effect. His 
 only anxiety concerning her was occasioned by 
 her obstinate adherence to the Catholic faith, 
 while he was daily becoming more and more 
 attached to the new doctrines. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Reformation was proceeding.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 83 
 
 Lord Lovel was appointed one of the Com- 
 missioners^ under Cromwell, to visit and examine 
 into the state of the monasteries ; and he set 
 about his office with a zeal equally inspired by en- 
 mity and by avarice. Among the first he visited, 
 was the Abbey of Holy Cross. Various petty 
 disputes about boundaries, manorial rights, and 
 other subjects of that kind, concerning which 
 country neighbours quarrel and hate each other 
 to this day, had disposed Lord Lovel very 
 strongly against the Monks of the Cross — and 
 had rendered their house the object of one of 
 his earliest and most jealous visitations. This 
 abbey ranked among the lesser monasteries ; and, 
 accordingly, it had not had that warning which 
 the greater ones received by their fate, to secrete 
 their moveables, and otherwise to prepare for the 
 storm which was about to burst over them. Lord 
 Lovel, therefore, found sufficient wealth to tempt 
 his cupidity — and his report to the Vicegerent 
 was drawn up with all the rancour which the 
 united spirit of revenge and covetousness could 
 produce. The Abbot, at this time, was a man 
 of decent life and regular conduct; but he had 
 
 E 6
 
 84 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 not that activity of disposition which was ne- 
 cessary to render the monks under his control 
 of equal purity of conversation. And thus 
 Lord Lovel was able to find sufficient ground 
 whereon to build up his exaggerated repre- 
 sentation of misconduct against the Abbey gene- 
 rally. Terrified at the severity with which 
 other religious houses had been treated, the 
 monks determined to follow the example of 
 those who, by voluntarily surrendering their 
 revenues into the hands of the king's com- 
 missioners, received, individually, pensions, as 
 a gratification for this act of submission. A 
 day had been appointed for this deed to be 
 formally executed in the presence of Lord Lovel, 
 and delivered into his hands : — on the eve of 
 that day Father Hubert returned to the abbey 
 from abroad. 
 
 His indignation, when he learned what had 
 passed, was extreme. '' What," he exclaimed, 
 " will you, like the accursed Judas, sell your 
 duty to your Saviour for a few pieces of money ? 
 Will you voluntarily abandon the post in which 
 he has placed you ? Is this the account you will
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 85 
 
 render of your stewardship ? No ! my brethren, 
 if force be employed against us, we must yield 
 to force ; but never, without it, shall we for- 
 sake these 'walls, which Piety raised for our 
 use ; and which sacrilege and heresy would now 
 demolish !" 
 
 The arrival of this distinguished brother 
 tended greatly to revive the drooping spirit of 
 the monks. They knew his undaunted firm- 
 ness and courage, — they felt strong when he 
 was at their head. It was determined that they 
 should refuse to yield up their revenues to Lord 
 Lovel, when he came to receive their deed of 
 transfer, the next day. 
 
 The monks were all assembled in the refec- 
 tory — a long, low, gloomy hall — the narrow 
 windows through the thick walls of which shed 
 a feeble and uncertain light upon the venerable 
 men who were seated within. — There, probably, 
 could scarcely be a finer subject for a painter 
 than the examination of the different character 
 of the heads which were grouped around the 
 long board. The^lress, leaving the neck bare, 
 and, together with the tonsure, shewing the
 
 ft6 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 entire outline of the head, gave a general aspect 
 of reverence to the whole body — but the indivi- 
 duals who composed it differed widely. Some 
 had the heavy, bloated, look of gross indulgence, 
 that gave rise to the popular outcry against the 
 order, and which we find recorded in the Pro- 
 testant writers of the period with suck a degree 
 both of frequency and of virulence, as renders 
 it something more than suspicious that their 
 statements are exaggerated. Others had that 
 spare, pale, character of countenance, which 
 might have befitted an ascetic of the early ages 
 of Christianity. Faith undoubting beamed in 
 the keen eyes of these men, mingled, perhaps, 
 with a touch of additional sanctity from the par- 
 ticular circumstances of their immediate posi- 
 tion. Others, again, had nothing peculiarly dis- 
 tinguishing in their appearance, farther than the 
 air of decent and composed gravity which befit- 
 ted their calling. The Abbot was one of these ; 
 save that his splendid costume gave additional 
 dignity to a figure, sufficiently comely, it is true, 
 but unmarked by any decisive trait of character 
 and energy. Hubert, as always, was distin-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTlftl. 87 
 
 guislied from among his fellows. He sat on the 
 left hand of the Abbot, — (an empty seat on 
 the right was reserved for the Lord Love!)— 
 but it was far less his superiority of place, than 
 his manly bearing and noble countenance which 
 singled him out as a being of a superior order to 
 those by whom he was surrounded. The im- 
 portance of the affairs in which he had recently 
 been engaged, had stamped a still firmer air of 
 determination upon his brow ; and the con- 
 sciousness that both he himself and all his fel- 
 lows relied upon his resources alone, added that 
 expression of calm and assured decision which is 
 the property of strong minds when about to call 
 all their powers into action. 
 
 Lord Lovel came. He started a little at the 
 sight of Father Hubert ; but recovering him- 
 self immediately, he said — " Father, you have 
 been so long a stranger to this Abbey, that you 
 have now, at last, returned to it only to quit it 
 for ever. Your brethren have, doubtless, in- 
 formed you, that, in compliance with the desires 
 of his most gracious Highness, the supreme 
 head, under Christ, of our English church.
 
 88 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 they have, like loyal and well-disposed subjects, 
 determined to grant to his Majesty''s use the 
 lands and revenues of this house — thereby fore- 
 stalHng the operations of that law now in pro- 
 gress for the forcible suppression of the lesser 
 monasteries, and ensuring to themselves a fitting 
 modicum for their future support. I am glad. 
 Father, that you have returned to put your hand 
 also to the deed." 
 
 «^ And I am glad, Henry Lovel," said Hu- 
 bert, rising, and speaking in a slow, sonorous, 
 and solemn tone — " and I also am glad that I 
 have returned to this sanctuary of the Holy 
 Cross; — but rather than put my hand to a 
 paper alienating its patrimony, I would that the 
 leprosy of Gehazi might cleave unto me, and 
 that my arm might rot off at the elbow-joint. 
 I had heard, when abroad, of the heresies and 
 schisms which were distracting this unhappy 
 land ; — but I scarcely thought that the work of 
 sacrilege had gone so far — that the temples of 
 the Lord were being converted into dens of 
 thieves. Yes! I do rejoice that I have re- 
 turned hither; for my feeble voice has dis-
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER. 89 
 
 suaded my brethren from completing the act 
 which they had been betrayed to promise. No I 
 Lord of Lovel, thou shalt not cast this guilt 
 upon thy soul ! The lands which thy pious an- 
 cestor gave to the church, shall not be taken 
 from it by his sinful descendant. Tlie Abbey 
 of the Cross shall still be preserved unto its holy 
 
 use I 
 
 I" 
 
 Lord Lovel was quite taken by surprise. He 
 had expected merely to have to receive the sub- 
 mission of the monks, and to make those ar- 
 rangements for receiving over the Abbey from 
 them, with which frequent use had made him 
 familiar. But he found that by the exertion of 
 one strong and determined mind, the labour 
 which he had been months in accomplishing had 
 vanished like a house built on the sands, before 
 the advancing tide. He had to recommence 
 from the beginning. But he determined, at 
 least, not to abandon the game without another 
 effort for success : — " Father Abbot,'' he said, 
 *' I heed not what is said by one of your sub- 
 ordinates. You, Sir, have undertaken to place 
 this house, its lands, revenues, and chattels, in
 
 90 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 my hands, as deputy of the lord Vicegerent ; 
 and I now summon you so to do, unmindful 
 of the rebelHous words of a schismatic and pre- 
 sumptuous individual." 
 
 '* My Lord,"'"' answered the Abbot " our bro- 
 ther Hubert hath spoken the determination to 
 which we have ultimately come. We have 
 weighed the matter anew ; and we find that we 
 cannot, due regard being had to the trust, the 
 life-trust, which is reposed in us of this Abbey, 
 deliver it to the use of any mortal being, not 
 even of the King himself. It encloses a frag- 
 ment of that cross by which mankind was saved, 
 it is dedicated to its worship — we dare not, we 
 cannot, alienate it. We have assembled all our 
 brethren together, that, when your lordship came 
 in the public state that you had advertised us 
 you would do, you might hear the final resolu- 
 tion of our whole body." 
 
 ''""Tis false !" exclaimed Lord Lovel, neglect- 
 ful, in the first bitterness of his disappointment, 
 of all sense of decency and decorum — " 'tis false ! 
 — 'tis the resolution of that traitorous viper who 
 has been collecting his poisonous venom at the
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 91 
 
 fountain-head in Italy ; and now comes to vent 
 it at home : *tis not the resolution of your body 
 — you promised to yield the house which your 
 disorders had polluted, and to submit yourselves 
 to the pleasure of the King's Majesty. But lo ! 
 this bhght comes from over the sea, and withers 
 your purpose in the bud. Thou art a traitor" 
 — continued Lovel, addressing Hubert, his eyes 
 flashing fire as he spoke, " a rebel to the king's 
 supremacy — a supporter of the bishop of Rome 
 — Thou shalt be dealt with conformably : think 
 not to bring back your damnable doctrines hither, 
 and to rivet again those chains of monkish craft 
 which we have burst in sunder. Thy nest shall 
 be pulled from over thy ears ; — and if thou resist, 
 thy carcass shall be flung forth to the dung- 
 hill."— 
 
 " Rude man !" said Hubert interrupting him, 
 his tone and manner betraying indignation rather 
 than anger — " these are not words to use to 
 God's minister in God's house ! If thou hast so 
 far fallen away from the right path as no longer 
 to hold those things sacred which all good men 
 revere — which the blood of the blessed saints was
 
 92 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 poured fortli to hallow, — still these holy walls 
 shall not be desecrated by thy blasphemous and 
 heretical speech ; thou shalt see that in the Abbey 
 of the Holy Cross, its ministers can protect them- 
 selves from foul words — their holy faith from 
 insult." 
 
 "Beware," whispered a monk who sat next 
 him — " beware, brother Hubert — he is clothed 
 with the Vicegerent's power." 
 
 " And I^ brother, — and we all, are clothed 
 with power from him who is the sovereign Lord 
 of heaven ! — Our holy father Paul, is his only 
 Vicegerent upon earth*." 
 
 "Hear him!" exclaimed Lord Lovel, '• he 
 denies the king's supremacy ! — This pestilent 
 schismatic brings hither all the foul usurpations 
 of Rome, and treats the king, as though he were 
 another Becket. Look to thyself, Sir monk — 
 thy frock will scarce protect thee, at this day. 
 Father Abbot," he added, " I grieve that this 
 stiff-necked man hath driven you and your bre- 
 thren from the course you before were following 
 
 * Pope Paul IIIo successor to Clement VII.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 93 
 
 — you, too, will grieve for it, ere long. — You 
 shall hear more of this !" — 
 
 So saying, the Lord Lovel left the hall, fol- 
 lowed by his attendants; — revenge in his heart, 
 fury in his eye, rage in all his gestures. As he 
 passed the boundary stone, he spurned it with 
 his foot, and muttered a deep curse alike on him 
 who raised, and those who continued to maintain 
 it. But the immediate object of his wrath was 
 Father Hubert.
 
 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Old Adam's likeness set to dress this garden. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 When Lord Lovel arrived at home, he had not 
 yet recovered from the rage into which he had 
 been thrown by his sudden disappointment. 
 Although he was sure of his prey ultimately, he 
 had missed his blow for the present, and he felt 
 the most implacable longing for revenge upon the 
 object by whom he had been foiled. Alice knew 
 the purpose for which he had gone down to the 
 monastery; and, feeling as a Catholic, she was 
 shocked at what she considered her father's sa- 
 crilege. It may readily be supposed that AUce 
 had continued unshaken in her faith. With a 
 motive like that which burned at the bottom of 
 her heart, it was not likely that she should fall 
 away. She had not beheld -Hubert since the 
 day on which her passion had been betrayed to 
 him ; but her tlioughts had never ceased to 
 dwell upon him — her whole soul had never
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 95 
 
 ceased to be his I Yes, time had passed, and 
 borne many and great changes on its wings ; but 
 her heart remained the same. His image was 
 still the first, the last, the one feeling of her 
 existence : in that the whole of her world con- 
 sisted. She had heard of the transactions in 
 which he had been eno-ao^ed. She had listened 
 with a woman's pride in a loved one, to the 
 celebrity that had attached to him ; equally 
 evinced in the hopes and confidence of his own 
 party, and the dread of the other, which were 
 nearly always coupled with his name. That 
 name was connected with those of the most cele- 
 brated men of that celebrated time. He was an 
 ao-ent in the vast events which were then taking 
 place in the world ; and his fame was sweet to 
 the ears and to the heart of Lady Alice, — she 
 heard such tidings with joy, and brooded over 
 them in secret luxury. 
 
 She had no knowledge, however, of his return; 
 and was not in the least prepared for the com- 
 munication her father made to her, — more to 
 vent his own spleen than to give her information. 
 *^ A plague light upon them all !" he muttered.
 
 -96 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 in a tone of passion, " poor, weak, vacillating 
 fools, false both to themselves and to me — not to 
 be trusted for a day's space, but blown about 
 Avith the last breath of opinion, — aye, though 
 the blast came from hell. Would you believe 
 it, Alice," he continued, " the monks refuse to 
 execute the deed ; and all because that arch- 
 traitor Hubert has returned from Italy, and in- 
 terposed his high and mighty pleasure against 
 their so doing. But he shall rue this," — and he 
 clenched his hand, and set his teeth as he spoke, 
 — " he shall repent this bitterly. He must be 
 dealt withal, and that right quickly." 
 
 It was well for Alice that her father was so 
 much occupied with his own schemes and pas- 
 sions as not to cast his eyes upon her ; for, if he 
 had, he could scarcely have failed to have ob- 
 served the effect of his words. Hubert was 
 returned, then ! — he was in the same valley with 
 her, he breathed the same air that she did, — she 
 was near him ! Such Mere the thoughts which, 
 at first, wholly occupied lier soul ; she allowed 
 herself to float upon the surface of this flood of 
 joy : but, the last words of her father were suf-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 97 
 
 ficient to rouse her from this dear deUrium. 
 They threatened danger too plainly to be mis- 
 understood, against him for whom she willingly 
 would have laid down her life ! She knew her 
 father's disposition too well to think she could 
 change his purpose by positive entreaty. She 
 endeavoured to soothe him by indirect means. 
 '* Why should you," she said, " bring down the 
 hatred of the whole country upon you ? You 
 know the monks of the Holy Cross are suffi- 
 ciently beloved for their alms and hospitalities ; 
 but the whole country venerates and adores 
 Father Hubert:" (her voice shook as she pro- 
 nounced the name :) " and if a hair of his head 
 be touched, dear father^ think of tlie peril which 
 will fall upon us." 
 
 " Alice," answered her father, in a voice 
 trembhng with rage, " it is your contumelious 
 adherence to that idolatry which makes you 
 speak thus for these ministers of Baal. After the 
 insults I have received this day, I will not leave 
 one stone on another x)f that proud Abbey : — no 
 two of the community sliall congregate in one 
 place ; and that pestilent priest, the ringleader 
 Vol. I. F
 
 98 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 of this las mutiny, shall be taught the which is 
 the stronger, — the deputy of the King's High- 
 ness, or tlie emissary of the Bishop of Rome, — 
 and that before yon moon has waned I" 
 
 Alice shuddered. She knew the vindictive- 
 ness of her father's disposition ; and she doubted 
 not that what he had said he would endeavour, 
 at least, to do. This it was her business to 
 prevent. She did not give way to despair ; or 
 suffer her fears to master her powers of action. 
 She was a woman in whom all the delicacy of her 
 sex was conjoined with the energy and decision 
 of ours, which awaited only field and opportu- 
 nity to be called into the activity of full life. 
 Nothing, indeed, can be more erroneous than to 
 suppose that those women who appear the most 
 gentle and timid, will not, when occasion re- 
 quires, evince a boldness, and strength of reso- 
 lution and of endurance, which would do honour 
 to the bravest of manly friends. In the present 
 case, it needed only, in addition to the difficulty 
 of once more addressing Hubert, the quickness 
 to conceive, and the promptitude to execute, the 
 idea of warning him of the danger in which he 
 Stood. Thus she contrived it.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. $9 
 
 Besides the Lady Alice, only one person in 
 the castle continued a Catholic ; this was the old 
 gardener — a man who had dandled her father 
 upon his knee, and who was as much a part of 
 the garden as any of the trees which were there 
 rooted. This man, when the new doctrines 
 became fashionable at the Castle of the Cross, 
 declared that he was too old to change, — that he 
 would die as he had lived, a faithful votary of 
 the church, and of the Holy Cross. To confess 
 the truth, old Hugh believed that the presence 
 in the valley of that holy relic which gave to it 
 its name, was the cause of the great fruitfulness 
 of its trees, and the beauty of its flowers ; and, 
 thence, he held the Abbey in the deepest rever- 
 ence. In despite of the violent quarrels which 
 had lately supervened between Lord Level and 
 the monks, Hugh had continued frequently to 
 go down the brook to the monastery, — now to 
 give, and now to take, — now with a basket of 
 peculiar pippins for the abbot, — and now to re- 
 ceive himself the consolation of spiritual exercise. 
 Lord Level, strong protestant though he was, 
 had forborne to molest this poor old man in his 
 
 F 2
 
 1^0 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 declining age ; and had suffered him to keep up 
 the observance of the ancient religion, with a 
 publicity he scarcely allowed to his daughter. 
 
 It was a fine evening in August ; the western 
 sun gleamed upon the brook, and made the old 
 grey walls of the Castle look bright under its 
 influence. The garden lay upon the bank of 
 the stream, which sloped down towards the 
 south, and thus received all the warmth of that 
 gentle quarter into its bosom. The air breathed 
 of its rich load of odours, the bees hummed 
 around their hives, and the many-coloured 
 flowers gained additional brilliance under the 
 rich light of the declining day. Old Hugh was 
 in the garden, watering the Lady Alice's fa- 
 vourite bed of flowers. An appropriate Adam 
 was he for such an Eden : old and grey as the 
 rude tower which rose above him, yet of a frank 
 and goodly countenance, like the open-breathing 
 meads around. 
 
 '^ This rose-tree,'' said he, leaning over the 
 plant which he was watering, " this rose tree is 
 sore shaken. T do not think it will live, for it 
 droops more and more every day. Alas !" con-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. K/l 
 
 tinued the old man, as he plied his water-pot, to 
 belie, if possible, his own prophecy, " every 
 thing that is worth preserving dwindles and de- 
 clines now a-days ! No wonder this poor rose- 
 bush should go the way of the rest : — there will 
 be neither bloom, nor beauty, nor worth, nor 
 wisdom left in Old England soon !'^ 
 
 A gentle sigh from behind him startled the 
 gardener in this melancholy strain of moralizing, 
 and, turning round, he beheld the Lady Alice 
 close beside him. I don't know whether an 
 additional application of the simile of the sickly 
 rose struck the old man, but it is certain that a 
 dash of sadness mingled with the tone of strong 
 affection in which he said, '' The blessing of our 
 Lady and the Holy Cross be upon you, my 
 sweet lady ! It does my old eyes good to see 
 you in the garden at even-song. Poor old Hugh 
 is, mostly, gone to his rest, before you take to 
 wing ; but the flowers are sweet and bonny ta 
 welcome you ; and there has not been a brighter 
 evening in the heavens since Whitsuntide." 
 
 " Hugh," answered Alice, in a voice which 
 spoke some higher and all-engrossing subject to 
 
 F 3
 
 102 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 occupy her mind, " I am come to ask a favour 
 of you." 
 
 " A favour of me, my dear young lady ? — It 
 must go hard, indeed, ere I denied it to you ! 
 I am old, and good for little, to be sure ; but it 
 would take a score of years off my shoulders to 
 think that I strove for you. Lady Alice." 
 
 <' Nay," said Alice, with a melancholy smile, 
 '^ it needs not any great strength or speed to do 
 that which I am come to ask of you, — only a wil- 
 ling and a loyal heart ; and if that does not beat 
 in your bosom, Hugh, heaven help me ! for I 
 should not know where to seek one. But you 
 are true to the ancient faith, and I know you 
 love your young mistress; and the errand on 
 which I wish to send you is in the service of 
 both. Have you heard that Father Hubert is 
 returned to the Abbey?" 
 
 He had; — an archer who had attended the 
 Lord Lovel thither in the morning, had brought 
 back tidings of what had passed, exaggerated 
 after the fashion of tidings in general ; which, 
 moreover, had passed through two additional 
 mouths before they had reached Hugh.
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER. 103 
 
 " I hear, too," continued the old man, " that 
 he hath brought back with him a commission 
 from Rome to stay these sacrilegious doings 
 against the holy houses ; and that my lord was 
 compelled to bow to it."' 
 
 " Believe it not," answered Lady Alice; '* in 
 these times, listen only to the half of what is 
 said, and believe only half of that ; and still it is 
 odds that you believe more than the truth. 
 Father Hubert is armed with no powers from 
 Rome. Alas ! so sadly is the world changed in 
 England, that the commission of our hol}^ Fa- 
 ther would not be respected here. No, Hugh, 
 Father Hubert is himself in danger from the 
 unhallowed powers which are now given against 
 all that is sacred and venerable in the land ; and, 
 •what touches me nearly, which are wielded by 
 that hand which, above all others, I am bound 
 to respect. It is to warn the blessed Father of 
 his danger that I would employ you. Take this 
 billet,"" she added, drawing one from her bosom, 
 *' and hie thee to the Abbey, and deliver it to 
 the Father Hubert himself. Trust no third hand 
 in this matter, as thou shalt answer it at the last 
 
 F4
 
 104 TALES OF PASSION". 
 
 day ; for ruin and safety, — alas ! perhaps life 
 and death, depend upon the message/** 
 
 " Fear me not, lady," answered the old man, 
 " I will do your bidding faithfully and well. 
 If aught could make your service a gladder 
 office in my eyes, it is that it is also that of 
 Father Hubert. Four years ago, come Martin- 
 mas, I lay sick; — there was no one at the Castle; 
 — my lord was at the court, and you, lady, at 
 your aunt's, the Lady Gertrude's. There I lay 
 in my old cottage, sick in body, and feeble and 
 a-faint in spirit ; and the good Father Hubert 
 came to me every day, and tended my ailments 
 like a skilful leech, and comforted my soul like 
 a sainted minister ; and I grew cheered and 
 hopeful in mind, and then whole again, and strong 
 in body, — and it was all his doing, — bless him ! 
 bless him !" 
 
 The sweet savour of the praise of one we love 
 filled the soul of Alice, as she listened; and a 
 tear trembled in her eyes, as she inwardly 
 breathed a fervent " Amen !'' to the old man's 
 concluding benediction. 
 
 The gardener took the letter, and sped down
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 105 
 
 the brook, towards the Abbey. He carried with 
 him a basket of figs, as an outward excuse for 
 his visit, and he laid the letter among them. 
 How different an office was this from the cele- 
 brated instance in which this fruit figures in 
 history ! — when, instead of the warning of affec- 
 tion concerning the danger of worth, the instru- 
 ment of death was hidden, — of the death of the 
 wicked, self-inflicted through despair ! 
 
 Old Hugh was well known at the monastery ; 
 so, when he knocked at the gate, and inquired 
 for Father Hubert, the only chfficulty which 
 arose with regard to his seeing him, was that 
 the monk was engaged in business of high mo- 
 ment with the abbot, and the officers and elders 
 of the house. 
 
 '' The reverend Father is busy, so leave thy 
 basket with me," answered the lay-brother who 
 came to the gate, eyeing the rich purple fruit 
 as he spoke; " I will tell him of thy devotion,, 
 and grateful inquiries, touching his well-being. 
 Thou canst not see him to-night, so leave thy 
 fruit with me, and hie thee home, ere the dusk 
 deepens into darkness.*" 
 
 F5
 
 106 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 '' There is a moon," answered Hugh, who 
 by no means relished the manner in which the 
 porter endeavoured to hurry him ofF; *' and, 
 with the blessing of the holy cross, I know every 
 stone, and every blade of grass, within its valley, 
 an' it were as dark as it is at the bottom of the 
 Donjon of the Red Rose, at the Castle above *. 
 I will sit me down, and wait in the porch, and 
 when the holy Father is at leisure, tell him that 
 old Hugh, the gardener, craves to be admitted 
 to speak with him ; and that he would not in- 
 trude upon him, having affairs of weight to 
 busy him, were it not that the matters on which 
 Hugh wishes to speak are of moment also, as the 
 worthy Father shall hear, when he admits him to 
 his presence;" and, so saying, the old man sat 
 
 * I was in some doubt, from tins expression, whether the 
 Levels had held for York or for Lancaster. But, well 
 knowing the degree of interest attached to such points by- 
 persons of an antiquarian turn, I have made inquiries of my 
 friends at Crossland Court, who tell me that they were 
 Yorkists ; and that the name of the Red Rose was given to 
 this donjon, not as a compliment, but in consequence of the 
 mmiber of the adherents of that party, who, during the civil 
 wars, were immured within it.
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER. 10/ 
 
 himself down upon the bench, with the air of 
 one who purposes to abide, and who has closed 
 a colloquy without any need or expectation of 
 further reply. The porter stared at him for a 
 moment, and then went in without speaking 
 more. 
 
 " These walls were raised,"" thought Hugh, 
 as he looked up at the Gothic carving of the 
 porch, " by the piety of one Lovel, and they 
 will fall through the heresy of another ! If old 
 Sir Remnald could g-et inkling; of what his de- 
 scendant is doing, sure am I the marble image 
 on his tomb within would take down the mace 
 which hangs above him, and beat his brains out, 
 as it has often done those of many a Saracen, 
 scarce worse infidel than he. Surely, a blessing 
 can scarce be on me, to remain in the service of 
 such an arch heretic ! But it is ill transplanting 
 an old tree. I was born at the Castle, and I 
 must die under its shade. I little thought," 
 continued the old man, after a pause of melan- 
 choly retrospection, *^ that the little brown- 
 haired boy I dandled on my knee would have 
 turned such a Judas in his age ! Hearty Harry, 
 
 F 6
 
 108 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 as his grandsire used to call him, ^vhen he 
 wrestled on the brae with all the youths of the 
 valley, and beat those a head taller than himself! 
 He has proved his heart to be no truer metal 
 than that of the greater Harry on the throne. 
 By the rood, they are almost worthy of him 
 whose name they bear ! And yet," he re- 
 sumed after a time, '' the old cankered trunk 
 hath shot forth the fairest sapling ! The bless- 
 ings of the morning in IMay be upon her sweet 
 face and kind heart ! And she is true to Holy 
 Church ! — Pity, pity, 'twould have been if that 
 dear young lady had been an heretic f And 
 yet she does not seem to bloom as she used to 
 do ; there is some blight which should not be 
 upon so young and lovely a blossom. But my 
 sweetest flowers always fade the first !'"* 
 
 While this worthy old man thus ''chewed 
 the cud of sweet and bitter fancies,'" in his 
 simple faith, and rude honesty, and strong affec- 
 tion, Father Hubert was informed that he was 
 waiting to see him ; and although he did not 
 lay much store by the announced importance of 
 his purpose, yet he immediately desired him to
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 109 
 
 be ushered in, — for, for so proud a man, Hubert 
 had great consideration for the feelings of others 
 — especially for those whom, upon any occasion, 
 he had been able to serve ; — to be sure, this last 
 quality is very compatible with pride. 
 
 '« AVell, old man," he said, as Hugh entered 
 his cell, " what is it which makes thee so im- 
 portunate to see me ? Say thy say, quickly, — 
 for I have much to do. I would not send thee 
 home without giving thee my blessing, after 
 thy having come out, at dusk, to visit me ; — but 
 do not keep me, Hugh, for, in these times, the 
 vineyard of the church needs her labourers to 
 work and watch unceasingly." 
 
 " Holy Father," answered the gardener, 
 bowing reverently as he spake, " I had not 
 ventured to obtrude upon your time, if it had 
 been only to gladden my old eyes with your 
 sight, and to ease my heart by pouring forth my 
 thanks to you, that I am come hither. This 
 humble offering,"" he continued, placing the 
 basket on the table, '' was only the cover to my 
 real errand." He removed the first layer of 
 fruit, and, lifting the letter, added, " The Lady
 
 110 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 Alice commends her to your prayers, with this 
 billet, which she bade me deliver into your 
 own hands. Give me a token, Father, that I 
 have fulfilled my message."" 
 
 It was well that the hour rendered the small 
 cell dusky, for, in despite of his efforts of self- 
 command, Hubert felt the blood mount into his 
 cheeks, as the old man handed him the paper. 
 The thought of that lovely lady had dwelled 
 within his heart more than he himself had known, 
 and even the degree to which he was aware of 
 it was far more than he approved. He could 
 not conceive the object of the present communi- 
 cation. Lady Alice's extreme delicacy of mind, 
 — her relin^ious feelintrs, — her reverence for his 
 calling and his character, — alike precluded all 
 likelihood of her taking such a manner for re- 
 newing the subject of their extraordinary .inter- 
 view two years before ; — and yet on what topic 
 could she write to him? Her faith, under 
 the influence of such a father, might have been 
 shaken, — some of the reformed priesthood had 
 mar)-lcd, — nay, even the primate, who still ad- 
 hered outwardly to most of the doctrines, though
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. Ill 
 
 not to the government, of the cathoUc church, 
 had a wife ; and in Italy^ where for a consider- 
 able time Hubert had so lately been, many 
 instances had come to his knowledge of the 
 ordinary intercourse of the sexes being reversed, 
 and of the lady making the advance, where any 
 peculiar circumstance existed to restrain tke 
 other party. It was with no common mixture 
 of agitating feelings that Hubert retired to the 
 window of his cell, and tore open the letter. It 
 was couched in the following words : — 
 
 ^* Holy Father, 
 
 " I pray you to excuse my taking a step 
 so unbecoming to my age and sex, as to write 
 to you ; but the matter touching which I have 
 to speak, I trust, will excuse my so doing. 
 Father, it is not a hglit concern which moves 
 me to this, — it is no less than the safety of a 
 minister of Holy Church, — of a servant of God, 
 — of yourself. You know, alas ! but too well, 
 how my father hath fallen away from the true 
 faith, and leagued himself with those ungodly 
 men who go about profaning the houses of the
 
 112 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 Lordj and desecrating the temples which have 
 been devoted unto his service. Now, he hath 
 had, as I am well informed, a grant made unto 
 him, through the means of that great heretic, 
 Thomas Cromwell, of the abbey and lands of 
 the Holy Cross ; and from thence ariseth his so 
 ^•eat zeal to expedite the delivery thereof, by 
 the abbot and monks. In this, I hear, you 
 have baulked him ; and therefore he hath sworn 
 to destroy you. Do not, I beseech of you, hold 
 this warning lightly. My father is a man of 
 hot blood, and headstrong purpose, and he will 
 trample down aught that standeth across his 
 way. In these evil times, things holy are no 
 longer held sacred ; and your blessed office will 
 not prove any shield against his wrath. The 
 sword of the destroyer is placed in his hand ; 
 and , most assuredly, he will use it without pity, 
 against such as withstand his will. 
 
 o 
 
 " Holy Father, I implore you not to abide his 
 answer. AVe must bow before the storm, when 
 it is too strong to be outborne — and such will 
 be the force which the king and Cromwell will 
 give unto my father against you. Fly, I be-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 113 
 
 seech you in the name of our Lady, and of the 
 blessed sahits, whose servant you are. Fly, that 
 you may remain to struggle in their cause, in 
 these wicked days ; fly, for the sake of all which 
 depends upon your life ! I beg of you that I 
 may be remembered in your prayers ; well be- 
 lieving that they will, more than all things, 
 profit me with the blessed Trinity, and the 
 saints ; to whom, that they may have you in 
 their holy keeping is the constant prayer, and 
 hope, and belief, of 
 
 " Alice Lovel." 
 
 " From the Castle of the Cross, this 
 Thursday, in the Evening.'^ 
 
 The intelligence contained in this note was not 
 of a nature to cause Hubert much surprise. 
 When he had resisted the haughty and vindic- 
 tive commissioner, he had fully known tlie peril 
 to which he exposed himself. And, although he 
 had not known as a certainty, he had greatly 
 suspected, the gift of the possessions of the Abbey 
 to Lord Lovel, as his daughter now announced 
 to him. It was not his own danger which moved 
 him at the perusal of this letter : — he was aware
 
 114 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 of it, and he was prepared to meet it ; it was not 
 even the certainty becoming every hour more 
 apparent of the downfal of his house ; — for his 
 long conference with his brethren had convinced 
 him of this also. It was the ardent and endur- 
 ing affection, the delicate confidence, the devoted 
 interest in his safety, displayed by the Lady 
 Alice, which touched and agitated his heai't. 
 He raised the paper a second time to the light, 
 — the words '^ fly for the sake of all that depend 
 upon your life !'' met his eyes : this was the 
 only allusion to herself Aviiich Alice had suffered 
 to escape ; and even this, appeared to have done 
 so unconsciously. That it was one, Hubert felt 
 by that corresponding chord which exists in 
 every human heart, to vibrate to the interpreta- 
 tion of the lantT^uafjce of those who love us, and 
 of those we love. 
 
 Hubert approached his standish with the in- 
 tention of writing an answer to the Lady Alice''s 
 letter. But, accustomed to self-control, he 
 felt his mind in too great excitation to do so, in 
 a manner which would satisfy himself. He 
 turned, therefore, to Hugh, and said — '^ Greet
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 115 
 
 the Lady Alice from me ; and tell her that to- 
 morrow she shall receive an answer to her letter. 
 Do thou come for it, at the same hour as to-day. 
 I will give orders for you to be admitted — good 
 night, and benecUcite.'' 
 
 The next evening's twilight beheld the old 
 gardener threading the worn path which led by 
 the brook side to the monastery ; and which still 
 exists in the shape of a line of paler green along 
 the rich sward ; so rendered by the foot of the 
 travelling sketcher, and lover of the picturesque ; 
 and by the evening walk of a daughter of the 
 modern house of Crossland, almost as fair as 
 the Lady Alice herself, and far, I hope, far 
 happier ! May this tale of her predecessor's 
 fortunes find favour in her eyes ! 
 
 The monk had his letter ready for his ancient 
 messenger ; who, on his return, found Alice 
 pacing the walks of the garden. 
 
 *' Ah, Lady Alice !" said the old man, " so 
 fair a creature as you are should not thus make 
 yourself the mate of the bats and owls, and come 
 out just as they do. The moon-beams arc sweet 
 to look upon, but it is not well for them to look
 
 116 TALES OF PASSION". 
 
 on US. The sun uas made to ripen man as 
 "well as plant ; and the frost of the cold moon 
 chills both alike. But here is a letter from the 
 Father." 
 
 Alice thanked old Hugh heartily — and added 
 some substantial tokens of her gratitude. She 
 did not wait to hear his thanks ; but in two 
 minutes was in her chamber, devouring the con- 
 tents of the friar's writing — ''Dear heart, dear 
 heart I" exclaimed Hugh, as her fair figure va- 
 nished round a buttress of the building, "her 
 hand is open as the day, and her heart is as 
 sweet as the richest flowers that bloom — she is 
 too good for this world — I fear^ I fear, it will not 
 hold her long !" 
 
 Alice, at most times, fully shared in the latter 
 part of this opinion — but now, all thoughts of 
 the future, of the present, of herself, of the whole 
 Avorld, were lost in the enm'ossino; eao;erness with 
 Avhich she hung over Father Hubert's letter. It 
 ran as follows: — 
 
 " I give thee many thanks, daughter, for the 
 tidings thou hast conveyed to me ; which I re-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 117 
 
 ceive as a proof of thine attachment to Holy 
 Church, and of thy desire to serve it, even in the 
 person of one of its poorest ministers. I grieve, 
 for the sake of the Lord LoveFs soul, at the 
 contumelious language which he holds of, and 
 towards, men clothed in the sanctity of the 
 priestly office ; and at the indulgence which he 
 hath given to his worldly covetousness^ in pro- 
 curing the sacrilegious grant of lands appropri- 
 ated to the service of heaven. Howbeit, I shall 
 abide at the post to which I have been called. 
 It would ill become the shepherd to flee from 
 before the wolf, and to leave the fold and the 
 flock as his unpi'otected prey. When force is 
 used, I must needs give way, if the arm of the 
 flesh be suffered to prevail over the authority of 
 the spirit. And if my own poor life be extin- 
 guished in the conflict, it is all too mean a sacri- 
 fice in the service of Him who hath given not 
 only that brief existence which we enjoy in this 
 world, but an everlasting one in the world to 
 come. Nevertheless, I will not cast away my 
 life without need. As long as I see the banner 
 of the true cause upraised, and the good fight
 
 US' TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 continuing, so long will I reserve myself for the 
 strife, as far as I can do so without quitting 
 that in which, for the time, I am engaged. So 
 far, daughter, my duty permits and enjoins me 
 to follow thy counsel (for which once more I 
 thank thee :) but so far only. 
 
 ** And now, whilst my penis addressing thee, 
 I fain would say a few words with regard to thy- 
 self. From what I have o;athered concerning 
 thee, — as well as from this last act, and the 
 terms employed in thy letter, — I trust that there 
 is but small need to warn thee against the con- 
 tagion of the heresies by which thou art sur- 
 rounded ; of the damnable doctrines which now 
 swarm throughout the land, and lead so many 
 souls unto perdition. Alice Lovel, remember 
 the blessed piety of him who founded this liousc 
 — of him who strove against the infidels in fight 
 — who brought a portion of the holy cross from 
 out of that accursed land, and who built this 
 Abbey for its worship. His blood flows in thy 
 veins ; prove thyself worthy of being sprung 
 from him. Daughter, remember the faitli which 
 thy ghostly guides have fostered in thee. Stray
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 119 
 
 not to the right nor to the left, though it be but 
 the breadth of a hair. Touch not pitch, that 
 thou mayest remain undefiled. I have much 
 trust in the greatness of thy faith, and in the 
 strength with which thou wilt adhere unto it. 
 Had I not, I would not consent that thou 
 shouldest stay under a roof, where the demon 
 of unrighteousness hath set up his ark. But 
 blood is stronger than water : the ties of natural 
 affection should not be lightly broken through. 
 It is possible that, with the blessing of heaven, 
 thy pure and zealous faith may yet prevail to 
 save thy father's soul ; and I fear not that his 
 heresy should succeed in leading thee astray. 
 Lady Alice, this is a great trust. Prove that 
 thou art not undeserving. Fare thee well ! May 
 all blessings be upon thee ! Thy name is re- 
 membered in my prayers. 
 
 " Written at the Abbey of the Holy Cross, 
 this ITth day of August, by the hand of 
 
 "Hubert." 
 
 Many of my readers, I am sure, can recall to 
 their minds some letter upon which their very
 
 120 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 soul lias fed — some paper upon the characters 
 traced on which they liave glued their eyes with 
 all the force of gratified and passionate love ! 
 That delight was of no slight intensity — that joy 
 did not speedily pass away : — but to equal that 
 which the Lady Alice felt, at this time, it needed 
 the deep religious feeling which mingled with the 
 fervent affection which she bore towards Father 
 Hubert, It was not merely earthly passion ; 
 strong as that passion often is, etherealized as it 
 sometimes may become. But it was heightened 
 and increased by the only feeling which ever 
 excels or equals it in the human heart. — There 
 are instances on record in which, when the two 
 sentiments liave been opposed to eacli otlier in 
 the breast of man, the heavenly has pi'evailed 
 against the earthly love. It is scarcely necessary 
 to add, in the breast of woman also — for such 
 efforts have seldom been made by men. Superior 
 in the ordinary situations and offices of life, and 
 in the steady current of society, as men are to wo- 
 men, — let but an occasion arise, for good or for 
 evil, in which the most energetic, the sternest, nay 
 even the fiercest, powers of the soul are needed —
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 121 
 
 let the heroism required be supreme — let the 
 effort to be made be almost supernatural, — then 
 will woman soar away unapproached by the 
 stronger sex : in this instance she will compel it 
 to belie the epithet. In the feelings of love and 
 of religion, especially, do these cases occur. And 
 it was love and religion like to this, which now 
 conjoined, as Alice feasted upon Hubert's letter. 
 Fair Lady, whose bright eyes trace these pages, 
 what would you give in exchange for her feelings 
 that night ? 
 
 Vol. I. G
 
 122 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I mind the bilging o't. 
 
 The Antiquary. 
 
 I AM now to make a gap of about a year and 
 a half in the hne of my story ; which I do the 
 more readily from the extreme ease and speed 
 with which a similar hole is made in the ballad 
 of real life. In a narrative, such an omission 
 necessitates the view in which we regard it to 
 be that of retrospect — and how trifling does it 
 seem then ! Looking back and looking onward 
 are like looking through the two ends of the 
 telescope respectively ; the one greatly increases, 
 the other still more diminishes, that which is, in 
 fact, the same. 
 
 The period over which I pass had, however, 
 been an eventful one to the persons of my tale. 
 Father Hubert had acted up, in both respects, 
 to the determination which he expressed in his 
 letter to Lady Alice. He, in the first instance.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 123 
 
 withstood the power of Lord Lovel ; and when, 
 increased by the Act for the suppression of the 
 lesser monasteries, it had proved too strong for 
 him, he had eluded the blow which was meant 
 to crush him. He escaped ; and had not since 
 been heard of throughout the Crossland ; as the 
 district of the Valley of Holy Cross, with its 
 Castle and Abbey, was called in the country. 
 
 Lord Lovel, also, had acted up to his pro- 
 testations. Armed with the powers of one of 
 Cromwell's commissioners, he had driven the 
 monks forth from their monastery, and scattered 
 them abroad. Then, their possessions being 
 granted to him by the king, he had pulled down 
 the Abbey, to the great scandal of those of the 
 neighbourhood who still continued Catholics, 
 and commenced building the house which I have 
 made known to the reader in the Introduction 
 to this story, and which was now fast advancing 
 towards completion. The monks had carried 
 with them the fragment of the cross, so fa- 
 mous all around ; but some of the peasants, 
 with a few of higher degree, still frequented the 
 desolated shrine, and paid their vows at the spot 
 
 G 2
 
 124 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 where so holy an object had been, since that 
 object itself was removed. 
 
 Among these was old Hugh, the gardener ; 
 whose doubts about the lawfulness of remaining 
 in the service of such a sacrilegious heretic as 
 Lord Lovel were contiuually recurring with 
 increased force; but which were always neu- 
 tralized by his still increasing affection for Lord 
 LovePs daughter. The extreme distress which 
 she had evinced at the demolition of the Ab- 
 bey had raised her even higher than she was 
 before in old Hugh'*s affection ; and the slight 
 interest she seemed to take in the progress of the 
 magnificent edifice which her father was erect- 
 ing jusi: on the old boundary mark, and which 
 Hugh held in unqualified abhorrence, added to 
 the favour in which she was regarded by him. 
 
 It was on a sultry afternoon in autumn, that 
 the old gardener stood contemplating the fig-tree 
 frorh which, the year before, he had, a month 
 earlier, gathered so fine a basket of fruit for 
 Father Hubert. Some early blight had pre- 
 vented its bearing this season ; and as Hugh 
 looked with a murmuring aspect at the sickly
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 125 
 
 leaves and fruitless branches, he attributed its 
 barrenness wholly to the removal of that blessed 
 relic which had, in his belief, fertilized the 
 whole soil for miles around. " How can one 
 expect," he muttered, '' any thing to thrive in 
 this valley, so accursed of God as to have lost 
 that Holy Cross which it held so long" — (like 
 other persons, blinded by system, Hugh did not 
 consider, or even at the moment see, the bloom- 
 ing and fruitful condition of the garden gene- 
 rally,) — what can happen to man, or beast, or 
 plant, but ill fortune of all kinds — sickness, 
 murrain, and blight ? Here is Lady Alice (God 
 and St. Mary bless her !) growing thinner and 
 thinner, and paler and paler every day. My 
 dog, Blossom, who had never ailed for nearly 
 twenty years, died the very day the first-stone of 
 that gimcrack down below was laid ; — and here 
 is this poor fig-tree, off which, last year, I ga- 
 thered so fine a basket for that holy man. Fa- 
 ther Hubert, has not a sign of fruit upon it,— 
 but for him, indeed, it would almost bloom and 
 bear, were it totally withered away." 
 
 Hugh was too good a Catholic to have much 
 
 G3
 
 126 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 knowledge of the Scriptures, so the parable of 
 the barren fig-tree never occurred to his mind. 
 But had the miracle been fifty fold as great, 
 the recollection of Father Hubert would have 
 justified its conception in his mind. 
 
 " They are marking out a garden yonder," 
 he continued, '^ by that red gewgaw that my 
 Lord is building — but they may get who they 
 can to dig in it — I never will put spade into 
 earth, in the sacred soil thus sacrilegiously come 
 by. And my Lord says he builds his new 
 house just on the old line of boundary, that 
 he may blot out all remembcrance of its ever 
 having been. Does not he expect, I wonder, 
 that it will come down upon his head ? Alas ! one 
 day, he will wish that the line liad never been 
 erased. Its having been once drawn, and by 
 one of his name and blood, will be the best 
 arrow in his quiver at the great day." 
 
 These feelings were not wholly unshared. 
 The lady Alice, although her reverence for the 
 Holy Cross was not so material as that of old 
 Hugh, still possessed much of that respect for 
 relics which was prevalent in her time and creed.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 127 
 
 The destruction of the Abbey affected her still 
 more. That was the place were she had first 
 beheld him towards whom every thought that 
 arose in her mind still continued to revert — there 
 she had witnessed the display of those soaring 
 talents — of that convincing eloquence — of that 
 deep and sublime piety, which had enlisted her 
 reason and her feelings in the same cause, and had 
 issued in the full enthralment of her maiden 
 heart. From that willing bondage, she had 
 never striven to emerge. Now that the absence 
 of the object took away the danger which had 
 attended its indulgence, she gave free reins to the 
 impulses of her love ; — and fed it by constant 
 contemplation, by solitude, and by a devotion 
 nearly akin. Father Hubert's assurance, "^ thy 
 name is remembered in my prayers," continually 
 dwelled on her mind ; she was wont to repeat 
 it aloud to her delighted ears, as it were to 
 ensure its reality — and the sound never failed 
 to warm and cheer her heart. The expression, 
 too, " from what I have gathered concerning 
 you," Alice, with the true magnifying faculty 
 of love, had heightened into a constant watching 
 
 G4
 
 128 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 over her steps; and, under the exciting and 
 imaginative influence of lonely and passionate 
 thinking, she sometimes almost believed that 
 his spirit hovered around her — a guardian from 
 evil, an incentive towards good — the anchor of 
 her hope — the prop and reliance of her holy 
 faith ! If any one be inclined to think these 
 feelings exaggerated, let him call to mind the 
 age, the sex, and the creed of the person who 
 felt them — the peculiar circumstances of the 
 period, and of her own position — and, above all, 
 the state of her heart, engrossed by one only 
 object, and that the most powerful which can 
 occupy the desires of humanity, — and he will 
 think that I have under-coloured them, rather 
 than heightened them too much. 
 
 Lord Lovel, in the mean time, unmoved by 
 the gentle remonstrances of his daughter, still 
 less by the gloomy looks, and muttered warn- 
 ings of the peasants around, who missed the dole 
 at the gate, and the knowledge of medicine in 
 sickness, with which they had been assisted by 
 the monks," — continued the building of the very 
 splendid edifice, which was to supply the place
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 129 
 
 both of Abbey and Castle in the Valley of Holy 
 Cross. It was a clause in most of the grants of 
 church-lands under Henry VIII. that the lay 
 possessor should continue the charitable dona- 
 tions which his ecclesiastical predecessors had 
 been accustomed to give. Lord Lovel, among 
 whose bad qualities niggardliness, undoubtedly, 
 did not rank, had not, as yet, begun the custom 
 of the daily dole, on the plea that there was no 
 house on the Abbey-lands wherefrom to give it 
 — the Abbey itself having been pulled down, 
 and his new mansion not being yet completed. 
 This excuse, which, in point of fact, was founded 
 in truth, met but little favour in the eyes of the 
 poor, who feared that, as in other instances, the 
 custom^ having once fallen into disuse, would 
 never again be revived. This tended to render 
 the monks much regretted ; for they had been 
 easy landlords ; and the poor, if none else, had 
 benefited by the monastic institutions. It is true, 
 they perhaps partly created the poor whom they 
 relieved, but they certainly did relieve them. 
 
 At length, the building was finished ; it was in 
 a style as yet but newly introduced into Eng- 
 
 G 5
 
 130 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 land, and excited great wonder and admiration 
 in the remote part of the country in which it 
 stood. The luxurious Wolsey, who had a real 
 taste for magnificence, had been the first who 
 adopted it — and the fashion had rapidly spread. 
 A very large proportion of the houses of that 
 date are built in the same style. It is supposed 
 that Lord Lovel had some such motive in select- 
 ing the site of his new house as that attributed 
 to him by old Hugh ; but, independently of this, 
 many reasons might have led him to the same 
 choice. It was in the most beautiful part of the 
 valley, where the brook was broadest — and he 
 had further increased its width, accordins: to 
 those ideas of embellishment which were just 
 beginning to creep into use. Thus, the slope 
 which edged away down to the stream was cut 
 into terraces ; a disposition certainly fantastic 
 and unnatural, and yet which, from its ancient 
 appearance and even its quaint character, bears 
 to my eyes no disagreeable aspect of formality ; 
 but, on the contrary, is, I think, very well in 
 keeping with the old gable-end houses, around 
 which it is usually found. On the other side,
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 131 
 
 the firs, which are now among the oldest and 
 most beautiful I ever beheld, were then just 
 planted. How difficult it is for me to reconcile 
 the idea of these magnificent trees with that of 
 the '^fir plantation," which is to be seen at 
 every cockney box within a dozen miles of Lon- 
 don. But no age could ever make them like 
 those at Crossland Court ! 
 
 The first Christmas which Lord Lovel passed 
 in this abode was one of great feasting and hos- 
 pitality, in honour of his new house. This was 
 the second since the expulsion of the monks, and 
 he was determined that, this time, the poor 
 should not have cause to regret their absence. 
 The Yule candle was lighted, the Yule clog 
 burned, and roast beef was smoking in the but- 
 tery for all who came to ask for it. On Christmas 
 morning. Lord Lovel descended into his mag- 
 nificent hall ; the enormous wood fire roared in 
 the chimney, and the blaze was reflected brightly 
 from the oak pannels ; — a goodly venison pasty, 
 a noble baron of beef, and two huge jacks of ale, 
 stood on the board, in token of open house. 
 Every thing spoke of Christmas as it used to 
 
 G 6
 
 132 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 be kept in merry England. Lord Lovers eye 
 glanced proudly around — he felt, for a moment, 
 what IS, perhaps, the most rare feeling in our 
 nature, the glow of satisfied ambition. The 
 circumstance which was to disturb it was very 
 trivial in itsel ; buc it fully sufficed to do so. 
 
 ^^ Why, how now, fellow !'** said Lord Lovel 
 to a servant who was passing, " why is not the 
 hall decked with holly ? Is this the way you trim a 
 house at Christmas ? Go get some holly branches, 
 with the brightest berries, and let me see this 
 oaken hall changed into a green bower in a pair 
 of minutes." 
 
 The man went on his errand, but did not re- 
 turn. After waiting for some time, as patiently 
 as his nature would permit him, Lord Lovel, by 
 dint of lungs, for bells in those days there were 
 none, brought another to his call. He put the 
 same queries to him ; and, after some hesitation, 
 the man said that no holly had been sent in. 
 
 " None sent in ! Why, the holly up at the 
 Castle is the finest in all the country round. Is 
 old Hugh bedridden in that hut of his which he 
 will not leave, that he sends us no holly at 
 Christmas-tide.?"
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 133 
 
 The man looked intelligently, as if he could 
 throw some light upon the matter, but dare 
 not. " Speak out, man," exclaimed his master, 
 '' and don't keep shifting there from leg to leg, 
 like a worn out war-horse. Dost thou know 
 aught of this gear ? if so, speak in the devil's 
 name.*" 
 
 '' Why, there it is; an it please your lord- 
 ship," answered the man, " old Hugh says, 
 that to send any of the holy holly to deck the 
 hall-house would be serving the devil_, and that 
 he would rather his fingers were chopped off than 
 that they plucked any of the blessed tree for such 
 a purpose." 
 
 *' Chopped then they shall be !" exclaimed 
 Lord Lovel in a whirlwind of fury,-— for any 
 symptom of partiality for the monks, as he 
 deemed it a disputing of his title, enraged him 
 beyond measure. '' Drag the dotard hither, 
 and bid Jenkin, the cook, bring up his block 
 and cleaver. Go, fellow !'' he added, stamping 
 his foot — " or the turn shall be thine. — Shall 
 I then," he said to himself in thought, '' shall 
 I feed a hound to bay at me — shall I keep a
 
 134 TALES OF PASSION-. 
 
 hawk at perch and mew, that he may. pick my 
 eyes out. No I by heaven ! — I will teach these 
 fellows that the Abbey of the Cross is trampled 
 in the dust, and that the Lovel once more lords 
 it, the whole length of the water." 
 
 But the ill-omened messenger did not find old 
 Hugh in his cottage. He had gone down the 
 brook to the ruins of the Abbey, where a wan- 
 dering monk performed mass, on this day, to 
 the Catholics of the whole valley. After the 
 service, he preached to his congregation, and his 
 discourse bore the complexion of the troubled 
 times. Instead of the exhortation to peace and 
 good will, usual on the day of the birth of the 
 Great Author of Concord, the monk spoke of 
 wars, and rumours of wars. The faithful, he 
 said, had arisen in the Nortli, in tlie defence of 
 the Church, and she expected all her sons to 
 flock to her banners. The spotj it must be con- 
 fessed, was well calculated to aid such an ap- 
 peal, and the preacher availed himself of the 
 situation. " See,'" said he, " see those ruins 
 still black with the smoke of the spoiler's fires — 
 where the Holy Cross so long reposed — wlicre
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 135 
 
 the naked were clothed, where the hungry were 
 fed, for the sake of him who died on it ! See the 
 palace of pride which the ungodly man hath 
 built unto himself, and behold the state to which 
 he hath reduced the house of his God ! The 
 ministers of the Lord he hath cast out into the 
 wilderness — and he hath built a palace like unto 
 Solomon''s Temple for his own dwelling-place. 
 Children of the Cross will ye suffer this ? Chris- 
 tian men, will ye look on while these things are 
 doing ? No ! the banner of Christ is floating in 
 the North — " and he flung one forth upon the 
 air as he spoke — " see the wounds of Christ 
 call upon you for succour, they speak as with 
 five mouths to incite you to join the Pilgri- 
 mage OF Grace ^\ Your brethren in the North 
 are in arms already. And shall ye, v/ho have 
 been bred under the shadow of the Holy Cross 
 — shall ye be the last to put your hands to the 
 great work? Shall ye be weighed in the ba- 
 lance, and be found wanting ? No ! up and be 
 
 * The Catholic insurrection in the North, on the suppres- 
 sion of the monasteries, was distinguished by this name ; 
 and on their banners the insurgents bore ' the five wounds 
 of Christ.'"
 
 136 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 doing ! Let the ungodly see that the wrongs 
 of the poor shall be righted — that the Church 
 shall not go unredressed. Do they think to 
 turn us into the wild, and to let those perish 
 whom we were wont to succour ? No ! let not 
 such things be said in a Christian land ! — iNIen 
 of the Valley, ye have good bows of yew with 
 cloth-yard shafts, — ye have broad- swords and 
 quarter-staves, — then bend them, then draw 
 them, for the succour of that Church whose vas- 
 sals ye have been — who both fed and fostered 
 ye like a kind nurse — who hath gathered ye to- 
 gether as a hen doth her chickens under her 
 wings ! Children of the Cross, will ye follow 
 me to the blessed Pilgrimage of Grace ? — aye or 
 nor 
 
 Shouts, enthusiastic shouts, of sympathv and 
 support were the answer to this appeal. The 
 allusions in which the preacher had dealt were 
 not to ideal images, or remote facts. The ob- 
 jects stood before the eyes, and spoke to the 
 hearts of all who heard him. They were 
 among tlie ruins of that Abbey which they had 
 all generated so much— which had brought the
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 137 
 
 symbol and instrument of their salvation to rest 
 among them — where the needy had received 
 help — the sick, relief — the afflicted, consolation. 
 And these ruins had been made such by him 
 ■whose splendid edifice ** flouted the air,**' al- 
 most within a stone's cast of the shrine which he 
 had desecrated, the altars which he had over- 
 thrown. It rose in all its pomp and majesty 
 under the sight of those who were driven to 
 worship their God in silence and in secret, like 
 the conies of the rocks; and that minister now 
 came in stealth and solitude to the melancholy 
 remains of the building in which his order had 
 thronged in their pride, to perform that service 
 which had always openly congregated the whole 
 country, to witness the rich display of their reli- 
 gious pageantry. 
 
 " We will fight for the Church to the death !" 
 cried one stout fellow-—" we were born and 
 bred under her shelter, and it shall go hard but 
 that we will strike a blow for her in the day of 
 her need/"' 
 
 " God bless the brave men of the North !''
 
 138 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 exclaimed another, '' a Darcy ! a Darcy ! an 
 Aske! anAske^r 
 
 '' I am not good for much,"" said Hugh, the 
 gardener, " but old and feckless as I am, how- 
 could I ask to die better than for Father Hubert 
 and the Holy Cross?" 
 
 Next morning, it was rumoured in the Valley 
 that Father Hubert had re-appeared there, 
 and had been followed, at his departure, by 
 ninety-nine out of an hundred of the male 
 inhabitants, from fourteen to seventy; — at all 
 events, these had disappeared. 
 
 '' And he has again been near me," thought 
 Alice, when she heard what had happened ; 
 *^ and he has with him those with whom I have 
 much conversed of late, [thinking of old Hugh,] 
 and he hears that Alice Lovcl is still true to 
 the faith of her fathers — though he ^ho gave 
 her birth, alas ! has fallen away. And all this 
 splendour \ how little does it boot when the 
 heart is sick. — Poor heart ! thy rest was in the 
 little gray chamber in the turret. He never 
 
 * Names of some of the leaders of the insurrection.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 139 
 
 has been here ! And he is gone upon an enterprise 
 of danger ! — God speed him ! God speed him !'''* 
 
 The room which I have somewhat minutely 
 described in the introduction to this story, was 
 that which had been devoted to Lady Ahce's 
 use, in the new house. It was impossible for 
 anything to be more splendid than this charming 
 apartment must have appeared at that time ; 
 when it was in all the brightness of recent finish, 
 and when the eye was less skilled in tracing im- 
 perfections than tliQ cultivated taste of these 
 days causes it to be. But it gladdened not the 
 heart of Alice Lovel. Higher and lower on the 
 stream her recollections were rooted, — and to 
 tear up the ivy which grew around the walls of 
 the Castle and of the Abbey could not have in- 
 jured it more, than did this removal the already 
 scanty happiness of Lady Alice. 
 
 The conflict between her own feelings and 
 those of her father became more painful every 
 day. She was continually doomed to hear pro- 
 jects discussed for the further destruction of 
 those things which she held most sacred. She 
 heard rejoicing for that which made her to
 
 140 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 mourn, and regret for that at which she rejoiced. 
 If she endeavoured to remonstrate with Lord 
 Love], it did but incense him. Her only retreat 
 was in silence. And what can there be more 
 pitiable than a disposition naturally open to a 
 singular degree, doomed to unbroken reserve on 
 all the topics the most interesting and agitating 
 to human nature ? Yet such was the Lady 
 Alice's condition at Crossland Court. No Avon- 
 der then, if that habitation which seems so de- 
 lightful to me, should have found no favour in 
 her eyes. But, besides its natural beauty having 
 been exceedingly increased by the lapse of time, 
 it has been to me the scene of kind friendship, and 
 true hospitality ; — to poor Alice it spoke only of 
 conflicting duties — of a painful present, and a 
 dark and dispiriting future. Need we wonder, 
 then, at the different appearance of the same phy- 
 sical object seen through a moral medium so widely 
 dissimilar.^ For it is that which gives its tinge 
 to the landscape ; — a piece of darkened glass will 
 obscure the sun — so will a clouded mind render 
 gloomy the fairest object ever fashioned by man, 
 or even by the mistress hand of Nature,
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 141 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The king hath sent to know 
 
 The nature of your gi-iefs ; and whereupon 
 
 You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
 
 Such bold hostility. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The dissolution of (even the lesser) monasteries 
 caused great discontents in England. Although 
 the people were, generally, sufficiently well in- 
 clined to carp at the excesses of the monks, while 
 they were in the plenitude of their power, and to 
 indulge in the stock witticisms at their expense-— 
 yet, on many accounts, they were highly displeased 
 at their final downfal. Many of them were held 
 in high individual respect — and even the order 
 at large, in despite of all drawbacks, enjoyed very 
 considerable esteem in the main ; partly arising 
 from long habit, and partly from the reverence 
 which still attached to the shrines and relics, of 
 which they were the chief custodiers. From 
 -another cause, also, the monks were very popular 
 in the coimtry parts of England. They sup-
 
 142 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 ported a great number of poor, whom, perhaps 
 the certainty of this provision tended to create ; 
 and they were easy landlords. The lesser mon- 
 asteries, indeed, let their lands at a low rate, 
 upon principle. For, by making the rent low, 
 the tenant could afford to pay a considerable fine 
 upon renewal ; and thus the abbot and his 
 brethren were enriched, without being obliged 
 to increase their number, which a larger nominal 
 revenue would have rendered necessary. 
 
 Moreover the dissolution of the monasteries was 
 carried into effect in a manner far from calcu- 
 lated to make that measure palatable. The 
 churches and cloisters were, for the most part, 
 pulled down ; and the other buildings, such as 
 the abbot's lodging, with the offices of every 
 kind, were converted to secular use *. The 
 ecclesiastics, who were thus ejected, were but 
 very meanly provided for ; and they did not 
 fail to expatiate upon those topics most likely to 
 enhance the discontents which were already be- 
 ginning to be very prevalent. Men, of all 
 ranks, who still adhered to the Catholic faith, — 
 • See the Note at the end of the Tale.
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DUAGHTER. 143 
 
 and they were, at that time, very numerous, — 
 were scandalized at the perversion of that which 
 had been devoted to religion, to worldly pur- 
 poses. The more devout of them believed that 
 their parents and friends, and themselves after 
 their deaths, must lie in purgatory for lack of 
 masses to free their souls. The nobility and 
 richer gentry, whose ancestors had founded these 
 houses, felt their pride injured by their abolition ; 
 while their interests suffered from their no lono-er 
 having so ready a provision for younger sons, 
 and portionless daughters. And, besides the daily 
 dole given to the poor, a large proportion of 
 persons travelling made their stages at monas- 
 teries, and were handsomely entertained at the 
 abbots' tables. So that, some from great causes, 
 some from small — some from motives of religion, 
 and others from those of worldly interest, — the 
 body of those discontented with the new measures 
 became both numerous and powerfid. It is true 
 that many were bought off by sales of the abbey- 
 lands at easy rates ; a politic measure, which not 
 only bound them for the present, but interwove 
 for ever their interests with those of the crown ;
 
 144 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 while a condition of the sale was the keeping up 
 the ancient hospitality, in order to appease the 
 people. But this last point was but very in- 
 differently observed ; and the general discontents 
 could by no means be considered as abated. 
 
 At this period were published the King*s 
 Injunctions to the Clergy, which was the first 
 act of pure supremacy he had exercised : and 
 as in those, which are supposed to have been, 
 written by Cranmer, there are many articles 
 tending to innovations upon the Roman faith, 
 (to which, ahstractedly , the king still professed 
 to adhere,) their publication brought to a head 
 the disgusts which had so widely been conceived, 
 concerning the recent proceedings of the court 
 in matters of religion. 
 
 The first outbreak was in Lincolnshire ; where 
 an ecclesiastic, of the name of Mackrel, an 
 ejected prior, disguising himself like a mechanic, 
 and assuming the title of Captain Cobbler, raised 
 anarmy of not fewer than twenty thousand men. 
 With this he kept the field for several weeks ; 
 but, considering the numbers he had at his 
 command, and the enthusiastic devotion to the
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. t45 
 
 dinary how little was achieved, and how easily they 
 melted away before the mingled threats and pro- 
 mises of Henry, almost without striking a blow. 
 But the continuance of this insurrection gave both 
 encouragement and opportunity to the forma- 
 tion of another, much more extensive and dan- 
 gerous, in Yorkshire and the neighbouring coun- 
 ties. This was the celebrated Pilgrimage of 
 Grace, to which I have already made some allu- 
 sion in the foregoing chapter. As the fortunes 
 of the principal persons of my story were mainly 
 decided by this event, it is my purpose to enter 
 into its circumstances with some minuteness. 
 
 A private gentleman of the name of Aske, a 
 man possessed of all the qualities requisite for a 
 popular leader, was the main contriver, as he 
 was the conductor, of this formidable rising. The 
 ejected monks were, naturally, liis chief assist- 
 ants. They preached the duty of arming in 
 defence of the church, as their predecessors, be- 
 tween four and five hundred years before, had 
 done for the recovery of the Sepulchre. Their 
 zeal was instigated by every motive which can 
 call forth the exertions of men. The feelings of 
 Vol, I. H
 
 146 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 religion, the love of power, the sense of recent 
 injury, the hope of speedy redress, — all these 
 strong incentives existed — in some cases in the 
 mass, in others, more or less severally — to insti- 
 gate them to bring numbers to the standard 
 which had been raised in their behalf. 
 
 In this work, as in all those undertaken to 
 the same end during those remarkable times, 
 Hubert was distinguished among the distin- 
 guished for ability and for zeal. He returned, 
 as we have seen, into that part of the country 
 where his personal interest was the greatest, and 
 he brought from thence a body amounting to 
 two hundred men. It is true that some of 
 these were old, and several very young ; but 
 they were all inflamed witli tlie strongest spirit 
 of attachment to the cause in general, and espe- 
 cially to the leader to whom they more particu- 
 larly adhered. .Hubert marched at their head, 
 with a large cross uprearcd before them ; and 
 their banner bore the representation of a crucifix 
 with the five wounds of Christ; the general 
 emblem which had been adopted for the whole 
 assemblage.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 147 
 
 The division from the Valley of the Holy 
 Cross reached the main body at the place of 
 meeting between York and Pontefract, just as 
 they were about to begin their march. The 
 evening before they set forth, a general muster 
 was made of their numbers, which were found to 
 amount to forty thousand. Every man had 
 given to him a badge, similar to the banner, 
 which he wore upon his sleeve ; and, as they 
 received it by companies, they took the following 
 oath :— " That they entered into this Pilgrimage 
 of Grace, for the love of God, the preservation 
 of the king's person and issue, the purifying the 
 nobility, and driving away all base born and ill 
 counsellors; and for no particular profit of their 
 own, nor to do displeasure to any, nor to kill 
 any for envy ; but to take before them the cross 
 of Christ, his faith, the restitution of the 
 church, and the suppression of heretics and their 
 opinions." 
 
 After this, the priest addressed them, exhorting 
 them to be true to the sacred standards which 
 waved before them, and to the oath which they 
 had taken to support the Church and its mi- 
 
 H 2
 
 J48 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 nistcrs from the assaults and oppressions of 
 heresy. They expatiated on the grievous wrong 
 and injustice of suppressing, generally, establish- 
 ments devoted to the service of God, on account 
 of the disorders of some few individual members. 
 They excited their followers by promises of 
 heaven, and threats of eternal damnation. In a 
 word, they used all of those many and formi- 
 dable weapons which the religious faith and fears 
 of mankind afford for ruling their minds and 
 directino; their actions. 
 
 After performing this duty, in common with 
 his brethren, Hubert retired to his solitary rest. 
 His feelings were, probably, strained to a higher 
 pitch of excitement than they had ever been at 
 any previous moment of his life. The step he 
 had now taken was not only more decisive as it 
 regarded himself, — but the consequences of the 
 measures in which he was engaged could not but 
 extend to a vast number of his fellow-creatures. 
 He liad been instrumental in bringing peaceful 
 men from their homes, to shed blood, and to 
 cause their own blood to be shed. He liad 
 assisted in spreading the flame of ci\il war in his
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 140 
 
 native land ; and the awful responsibility of these 
 actions could not fail to weigh the most strongly 
 upon that very order of conscience, whose stern 
 dictates were wont to enforce obedience, even 
 when tliey were such as these. He thought, 
 again and again, upon all the motives which had 
 operated upon his mind. He strove to sift the 
 impurities of ambition and revenge from the 
 true grain of the love of Heaven, and all sacri- 
 ficing devotion to its Church. In a mind of a 
 lighter cast, or in one whose zeal, though not 
 more ardent, was more headlong and unreflect- 
 ing, such considerations as these would never 
 have arisen. But in Hubert's, where reason - 
 had succeeded in subjecting passion to her sway 
 ■ — deriving from it the assistance of its warmth 
 and force, yet uninfluenced by its rashness, 
 uninjured by its fiercer impulses, — the thought 
 that he was now about to mingle in scenes of 
 destruction and of death, although they were to 
 be acted for ends which he deemed above all 
 things holy, moved and shook him deeply. As 
 he strolled beneath the calm moon, and beheld 
 the mighty host which lay buried in sleep before 
 
 H3
 
 150 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 him ; and as the sonorous call of the sentinels 
 passed from post to post, booming through the 
 silence with a sound indescribably solemn, — 
 thoughts sad, vast, and awful, arose within his 
 soul. " How many of these poor men," he ex- 
 claimed mentally, " are doomed to perish in this 
 cause ! — How many will seal with their blood 
 the profession of their holy faith ! — I have led 
 many of them from their peaceful homes and 
 peaceful lives — the husbandman and the shepherd 
 • — men who had never out-passed their native hills 
 and vallies, whose thoughts. were bounded by the 
 horizon which stretched around their humble 
 dwellings ! And will their blood be upon my 
 head ? — Will their souls be demanded at my 
 hands for having made them the slayers of their 
 fellow-men ? No — assuredly ! — The cause in 
 which I have drawn them forth is that of God ! He 
 hath a riffht to the life-service of his creatures ! 
 It is not only lawful, but incumbent, to fight in 
 HIS quarrel : — it is sweet and holy to die in his 
 cause V" — And he bent himself to the earth, and 
 passed some moments in strong mental devotion. 
 ** How strange is my fate!" — he continued
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 151 
 
 after a time, " my lot seemed cast in privacy and 
 seclusion — the quiet offices of a remote monastery 
 seemed all unto which I should be called — the 
 uniform practices of devotion my only duties — 
 retired study my only recreation. And I have 
 mingled with prelates and princes — I have 
 wrought in their cause, or to their disservice — 
 my duty hath led me into foreign lands, and 
 thronged cities. The fortunes of nations have 
 been mixed up with mine — the vessel of state 
 hath dragged my humble skiff within its wake. 
 And now I am a leader among armed men — a pro- 
 moter of a great national conflict — the preacher 
 of a new crusade ! Alas ! alas ! times must be 
 evil when men are thus led into actions so foreign 
 from their original calling, in vindication and 
 support of that very calling itself. And is Father 
 Hubert, the envoy, the missionary, the captain, 
 as happy as Hubert the monk, doing good, as 
 far as his humble power lay, in his own sphere — > 
 and there only ?" — And a sigh struggled from 
 his lips as he subscribed to the truth, that, if the 
 great highway of life be the career more stirring 
 and perhaps ennobling, — the shades and groves 
 
 H 4
 
 152 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 of its private recesses are, beyond comparison, 
 the more soft, and grateful, and wholesome, and 
 sweet. And his memory reverted to the fair 
 Abbey, whose ruins he liad just visited, where 
 his fame had first budded ; and to tlie dear 
 valley in wliich it had stood, sheltered, both 
 metaphorically and without a figure, from the 
 storms of the world without ! — And if, for a 
 moment, his mind rested with a feeling of soft- 
 ness and regret, upon one who dwelled in that 
 valley, and whose image had come like a dash 
 of romance across the sober and severe history 
 of his life, — who shall say that such a weakness, 
 so slight, so transient, would not be dissolved 
 into air, before it reached the great record of 
 all human misdeeds on high ? 
 
 The next morning, as the day broke, the 
 whole army marched forth upon its pilgrimage. 
 There could be few sights more remarkable, or 
 more imposing, than the order of this host. In 
 the front came the priests, in the garb of their 
 office, bearing crosses on high ; which, together 
 with the numerous bannei's, and the badge worn 
 by every man, wrought with the holy emblem
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. }53 
 
 which I have ah'eady described, tended much 
 to give tliis array really the appearance of a vast 
 procession of religion. But the arms which 
 were borne by all except the priests, belied this 
 peaceful and sacred aspect ; and served to recall 
 to the mind how often blood had been shed in 
 the name of the religion of peace ! — Would to 
 heaven that this strife had been the last in such 
 a cause ! — There was, however, far more than 
 usual singleness and sincerity in the motives by 
 which the insurgents were actuated. In so great 
 a body, some doubtless came thither from the 
 meaner incentives of interest : but the vast 
 majority of those who joined the Pilgrimage of 
 Grace were certainly led by strong religious, 
 impulse — to defend v/hat they esteemed sacred — 
 to resist what considered persecution. Neither 
 was their career marked by any of that ferocity 
 and lavishness of blood, which unhappily have too 
 often been the characteristics of religious warfare. 
 Their leader was a man of great moderation and 
 Urmness, as well as talent; and the}^, indisputably, 
 avoided the scandal of a discrepancy between 
 
 H5
 
 154 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 the tone of their conduct and that of their pro- 
 fession. 
 
 Their first point was Pontefract. In the 
 castle of that place were the Archbishop of 
 York, and the Lord Darcy. The besiegers 
 were in great force ; the garrison was weak. 
 The place capitulated ; and the Archbishop and 
 Lord Darcy were made to swear the covenant of 
 the insurgents. It was afterwards endeavoured 
 to represent this as a matter of compulsion. But 
 these individuals were always considered as 
 being favourable to the rebels, which their 
 speedy surrender of Pontefract Castle served to 
 confirm. And it is certain that, after their 
 joining the insurgent army, they acted in its 
 interests with as mucli apparent heartiness and 
 zeal, as if their first coming thither had been 
 undisputedly voluntary. 
 
 This event served to give increased confi- 
 dence to those who were in arms, and to bring 
 out others who had hitherto kept back. They 
 took York and Hull, while Lancashire, Durham, 
 and Westmorland rose in arms. The first check
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 155 
 
 they met with was before Skipton Castle, which 
 the Earl of Cumberland defended with great 
 bravery and perseverance against their whole 
 force. Scarborough Castle also resisted all their 
 efforts to subdue it. But their attention was 
 soon diverted from these insulated efforts, to the 
 support and furtherance of their main design. 
 The Duke of Norfolk, although he was the re- 
 puted head of the Catholic party, was, neverthe- 
 less, singled out by Henry to oppose this Catho- 
 lic insurrection. He had considerable forces 
 intrusted to him for this purpose, and he marched 
 to the North to quell it. 
 
 But the insurgents were inflamed by success, 
 and strong both in spirit and in numbers ; and 
 they advanced towards Doncaster to meet the 
 Duke. It was the policy and the purpose of 
 this commander to tire out the rebels by de- 
 lays. They were far more numerous than his 
 troops, and he could have no hope of subduing 
 them by a pitched battle. A defeat would have 
 caused all the discontents throuf]jhout England 
 to burst into a blaze at once ; and the difficulty 
 of subsistence seemed to promise an easy and a 
 
 H 6
 
 J56 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 blooclless victory. The Duke^ therefore, endea- 
 voured to treat. He sent forward a herald, 
 with a proclamation, who met the insurgents on 
 their march, and was conducted into the pre- 
 sence of their leaders. 
 
 The herald was led into the centre of the 
 camp, where he found a sort of council drawn 
 up to receive him. In a chair of state, in the 
 centre, sat Aske, now risen from the condition 
 of a private gentleman to the uncircum scribed 
 command of this vast army of brave and de- 
 voted men. So soon do the habits of command 
 become familiarized to a powerful and energetic 
 mind, that this man bore his honours upon 
 him with as much ease and natural grace as 
 though he had been born in as hiob a station as 
 the lordly captain to whom he was opposed. He 
 felt, too, that his place as leader of this mighty 
 host, raised him, for the time, above prelatic 
 station, or the rank of blood. For the Arch- 
 bishop of York sat at his right hand, and Lord 
 Darcy at his left, as his chief counsellors. Be- 
 hind them, in a semi-circle stood a number of 
 priests in the habits of their order. Armed men 
 were drawn up on each side.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 157 
 
 Int this assembly the Duke's herald was 
 ushered. " From whom came you ?" demanded 
 Aske, " and what is your business with us ?'* 
 
 *' I come," answered the herald, " from the 
 high and mighty Prince, Thomas Duke of 
 Norfolk^ presently commanding the forces of the 
 King's Grace, levied for the suppression of re- 
 bellion, of which ye are the chief leaders ; and 
 my purpose is to make proclamation from the 
 Duke to all the King's lieges here assembled. 
 
 " And what," returned Aske, " is the tenor 
 of this proclamation ?" 
 
 ^' It is,"" said the herald," to call upon these 
 misguided persons to lay down their arms ; to 
 disperse themselves quietly, and return to their 
 own houses ; and to submit themselves to the 
 King's mercy. 
 
 <« By the rood!" exclaimed the Commander, 
 " the Duke must take us for men of slender wit 
 and poor leading, to think that we should suffer 
 proclamation to be made within our camp, to 
 the furtherance of the dispersion of our troops" — • 
 He turned for a moment to the most consider- 
 able persons around him, as though to gather
 
 158 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 their opinions, and then added — " Get thee back 
 again to him that sent thee, and tell him that 
 no proclamation shall be made within the limits 
 of our authority. Say, moreover, that the gen- 
 tlemen now in arms for the support of the Holy 
 Catholic Faith, and for the other purposes set 
 forth in our declarations, will not disperse till 
 those objects are achieved. — If he send pro- 
 posals to that effect, we are ready to listen 
 to them ; if not, we are strong enough to 
 enforce them by dint of arms; and so, God 
 defend the right !" 
 
 '' Amen ! " answered the herald, and he was 
 re-conducted as he had come.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 159 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 He doth fill fields with harness in the realm ; 
 Turns head against the lion's armed jaws, 
 
 And 
 
 Leads ancient lords, and reverend bishops on 
 To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The insurgents continued to advance towards 
 Doncaster. As they proceeded, they reinstated 
 the monks in the houses of which they had been 
 dispossessed ; and, at each of these re-installa- 
 tions, there were solemn religious ceremonies, 
 attended with energetic and vehement exhorta- 
 tions to the people to hold together till all their 
 wishes with regard to religion were crowned with 
 similar success. The difficulty of subsisting so 
 large a body of men was the only cause which 
 rendered their adherence in the least doubtful. 
 Their will was as good as ever, and their num- 
 bers continued, as yet, undiminished. 
 
 In these services, Hubert's exertions were of 
 the greatest avail. As the Abbey, from which he
 
 IGO TALES OF PASSION'. 
 
 had been ejected, lay at a distance, he had no im- 
 mediate object of this kind to gratify. His zeal 
 seemed to be, as it was, the offspring of pure ar- 
 dour for the general cause — his service was ren- 
 dered to God rather than to man. He had sup- 
 ported with all the strength of his talents and his 
 influence the determination not to treat, except for 
 the granting of their claims. Pardon, which would 
 place them where they were before the rising, he 
 spurned. " Men," he said, ** should not mar the 
 peace of their native land upon light motives ; 
 but, having taken up arms upon grounds like 
 ours, it would be equally weak and wicked to quit 
 them, while our objects remain unattained." 
 
 When the insurgents approached the river 
 Don, they found the King's army drawn up on 
 the opposite bank. It was greatly inferior in 
 force to theirs, amounting only to about five 
 thousand men ; while they could not be fewer 
 than thirty thousand. They encamped in the 
 meadows by the river-side; and it was deter- 
 mined that they should pass the ford at day- 
 break, to attack the Duke of Norfolk's army. 
 
 The eve of a battle is, probably, one of the
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 161 
 
 most solemnly impressive of the situations to which 
 it is the lot of men to be exposed. It would not 
 be courage, but brute indifference, that could 
 remain insensible to the feelings of such an hour. 
 When armies meet during the day, the hurry 
 of the march, the eagerness of emulation, and 
 that indescribable spirit which urges men, like 
 all male animals, to rush to, and to enjoy, a 
 conflict with each other — these things so amply 
 fill and excite the mind as totally to exclude all 
 such thoughts as those that arise^ in the silence 
 and solitude of night — in the pause of deep 
 stillness which, as in the natural world, precedes 
 the din and tumult of the storm. The uncer- 
 tainty of every individual as to his own fate 
 adds to the awe and agitation which are then 
 wont to pervade the mind. The uncertainty, 
 also^ which hangs over the fate of the day, is 
 another ingredient of solemnity in this season of 
 exalted contemplation. That this is truly a 
 time most apt to move the minds of men is ap- 
 parent from the attention so generally paid in 
 history to the respective behaviour of armies on 
 the niglit preceding any of those great battles
 
 162 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 which have materially acted upon the fortunes 
 of mankind. The variety of result brought 
 to light by these inquiries, sufficiently proves 
 the eve of battle to be one of those great occa- 
 sions of human excitement, whose effects differ 
 so widely according to individual dispositions, 
 but which in all are strong and marked, and 
 worthy of being the objects of the highest order 
 of moral curiosity. 
 
 But there are few, very few, I fear, whose 
 minds pass from the immediate battle to war 
 generally. War ! what miseries are heaped to- 
 gether in the sound ! — What an accumulation of 
 curses is breathed in that one word. To us, 
 happy in our insular position, we have, within 
 existing memory, known chiefly of war its pomp 
 and circumstance alone ; — the gay parade, the 
 glancing arms, the bright colours, the inspiring 
 music — these are what we see of war in its out- 
 set ; — glory, and praise, and badges of honour, 
 these are what appear to us as its result. The 
 favourite son, the beloved brother, he who, per- 
 haps, is dearer still, returns to tlie home of his 
 youth or of his heart, having sown danger and
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 163 
 
 reaped renown. Thus do we look on war. But 
 ask the inhabitant of a country which has been 
 the seat of war, what is his opinion of it. He 
 will tell you that he has seen his country ra- 
 vaged, his home violated, his family But 
 
 no ! — the tongue recoils from speaking the hor- 
 rors and atrocities of war thus brought into the 
 bosom of a peaceful home. All the ameni- 
 ties and charities of domestic life are outraged, 
 are annihilated. All that is dearest to man ; all 
 that tends to refine, to soften him — to make him 
 a nobler and a better being — all these are tramp- 
 led under foot by a brutal soldiery — all these 
 are torn from his heart for ever ! He will tell 
 you that he detests war so much that he almost 
 despises its glories ; and that he detests it be- 
 cause he has known its evils, and felt how poorly 
 and miserably they are compensated by the fame 
 which is given to the slaughterer and the de- 
 stroyer because he is such ! 
 
 As the Army of the Cross — the Pilgrims of 
 Grace, as they styled themselves — lay before the 
 gentle river, in the green meads which sur- 
 rounded it, — probably there were not six men
 
 164 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 throughout the -whole host to whom such 
 thoughts as these suggested themselves. But 
 even the slight experience whiili Hubert had 
 had in actual war since the pilgrimage began, 
 had been sufficient to cause him to feel very 
 similarly to this. It is true that Askc had re- 
 pressed, to the utmost of his power, the spolia- 
 tion of the country. But if even the commander 
 of a disciplined army cannot wholly prevent 
 such things, how could it be expected from the 
 leader of a self-raised body of insurgents? and 
 one or two instances of outrage which had oc- 
 curred under Hubert's eyes had been sufficient 
 to make his heart sick at the atrocities which 
 Christian men practise upon one another. *' But 
 this," he exclaimed, as he felt such thoughts 
 gaining top strong an ascendency over him — 
 '' this is a war for our altars and our faith — for 
 hearth and for home — for friends and for kin- 
 dred; — for all that is nearest, dearest, and ho- 
 liest to the human bosom ! The spirit of religion 
 animates old and young, strong and feeble, as 
 though with but one soul ! This, indeed, is 
 a cause in which it is lawful to shed blood !
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 165 
 
 Would, oh ! would to God that in none other 
 blood were never shed !'"* 
 
 The day dawned. The men rose from sleep, 
 and took up their arms for the fight. It was in- 
 tended that they should cross the river, and at- 
 tack the King^s troops. But, lo ! the night had 
 \vrou":ht a chano-e which the Pilg-rims of Grace 
 were almost ready to believe to he miraculous. 
 The small and quiet brook \yhich, the day be- 
 fore, flowed calmly through the plain, like a 
 summer streamlet, was swollen by sudden rains, 
 and now came rolling, and tossing, and foaming, 
 to the very top of its banks, a mighty and im- 
 petuous river. All appearance of a ford was 
 gone; the waters poured on in a broad, deep, 
 flood, which was, manifestly, far more than suffi- 
 cient to whelm in its pools any one who might 
 be rash enough to tempt the passage. Baulked, 
 in their hopes to cross the river at this place, 
 they endeavoured to force the bridge at Don- 
 caster ; but this was so strongly guarded by 
 the Duke's forces, that they were repulsed. 
 Thus did the river present a secure rampart to 
 Norfolk's small army ; and protected them from 
 .all assaults.
 
 166 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 Encouraged by these circumstances, the Duke 
 again attempted to negotiate. His object was 
 delay ; and he took care to draw out all pro- 
 ceedings into as great a length as possible. 
 Every day that was gained was matter of im- 
 portance to him ; for the difficulties of obtaining 
 supplies were daily more and more felt by the 
 insurgents; for Aske prohibited their plunder- 
 ing the country, and the subsistence which they 
 drew from other sources was fast becoming ex- 
 hausted. Norfolk also spread among them, by 
 means of secret emissaries, reports that their 
 leaders were making terms for themselves, and 
 would leave the general body to its fate. No- 
 thing: could be more unfounded than this accu- 
 sation ; but it obtained some credit among 
 people who were half-starving ; and induced 
 several to return home, who before wanted an 
 excuse, rather than the desire, to do so. To 
 cause still further delay, the Duke offered 
 to go to Windsor to intercede for them — an 
 offer which, probably, was the more readily 
 listened to from the circumstance of Norfolk 
 being himself a Catholic, and esteemed the head
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 167 
 
 of that party. It was, therefore, supposed that, 
 however faithful he might be to the King in the 
 direct matter of his command, — he could not, at 
 the bottom of his heart, be very inimical to the 
 objects which the insurgents had proposed to 
 themselves in taking up arms. Two gentlemen, 
 therefore, who had joined the rebels in the same 
 way as Lord Darcy and the Archbishop of 
 York, were singled out to accompany the Duke 
 of Norfolk to court, for the purpose of laying 
 their grievances before the King. The Duke 
 hoped that, before their return, the army of the 
 rebels would gradually have melted away. 
 
 And so, indeed, it did ; but they had all, 
 at their departure, bound themselves by the 
 strongest promises to return in case of need ; a 
 promise which the motives which had at first 
 caused them to rise, induced them to keep most 
 faithfully. They became impatient at the re- 
 peated delays — so that when Norfolk returned 
 into the North, he found the army opposed to 
 him very slightly inferior to what it had before 
 been. The terms he brought were an offer of a 
 general pardon, with the exception of six indi-
 
 ]G8 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 viduals who were specified, and four wliom the 
 kin"- reserved to himself the power subsequently 
 to name. As a concession also, on the subject 
 of religion, the clergy were commanded to con- 
 tinue the use of all tlie ceremonies of the Church 
 — a provision which was understood to refer to 
 the Sacraments, four of whicli had been sup- 
 pressed in the former injunctions. 
 
 The clause reserving to the king the right to 
 name for punishment four individuals who were 
 not yet pointed out, was in itself sufficient to 
 cause the rejection of such terms, even if they 
 had been, in other respects, far more favourable 
 than they, in fact, w^ere. They were rejected 
 with one voice. The insurgents, however, to 
 shew their real desire for peace, agreed to send 
 a deputation to Doncaster, to treat for its re- 
 establishment. No less a number than three 
 hundred were to attend on their behalf. — This 
 was a stroke of policy of the Duke of Norfolk, 
 to sow division in such multipHed counsels : but 
 it failed of its purpose ; as the clergy who were 
 with the Pilgrims of Grace, met previously at 
 Pomfret, and agreed upon the demands which
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 169 
 
 they should make. The chief of these were, 
 that a parHament should be held at York ; that 
 a supreme Court of Justice should be established 
 there, so that none, north of Trent, need be 
 called to London for judgment. That the 
 Princess Mary should be restored to her right 
 of succession ; that the Pope should again have 
 his former jurisdiction ; and that the monks 
 should be repossessed of the houses from which 
 they had been expelled; that the Lutherans 
 shoukl be punished ; and that some of the most 
 prominent visitors of the monasteries should be 
 imprisoned for bribery and extortion. To this 
 they added a list of obnoxious acts of Parliament 
 which they desired to be repealed, and another 
 of obnoxious persons, including Cromwell and 
 the Chancellor Audley, against whom they 
 prayed various degrees of exclusion and of 
 punishment.— I have set these articles out the 
 more minutely, as they serve to shew the temper 
 of the insurgents, and the exact grievances 
 which they sought to have redressed. 
 
 The Duke of Norfolk and his collcao-ues, 
 knowing that their demands had no chance of 
 
 Vol. I. I
 
 170 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 being granted by the king, refused them at 
 once ; and again the two armies were drawn out 
 in hostile array against each otlier. The rebels 
 had increased again to their former strength, 
 iwhile the king's troops were but slightly rein- 
 forced. Norfolk, it is evident, dreaded the 
 event of a general engagement, and wrote to 
 the king to beg that mild terms might be granted 
 to the insurgents, to dissuade them from the 
 attack. The king accordingly offered a free 
 pardon, and promised to speedily hold a Parlia- 
 ment wherein to consider all their causes of 
 complaint. But it is more than probable that 
 such conditions would not have been listened to, 
 if they had not arrived at the critical juncture 
 at which they did. 
 
 After the rejection of their demands at Don- 
 caster, the insurgents had become enraged ; and 
 feeling their own strength, they determined, the 
 floods having now subsided, to cross the river, 
 and attack the Duke's army as they had before 
 purposed. Again all preparations were made 
 for battle : — the several captains mustered their 
 troops, and arranged them to cross the stream in
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 171 
 
 order. And so they lay upon their arms, awaiting 
 day. But, a second time, unlooked-for rains had 
 Jallen — a second time the small thread of water 
 had swollen into a vast and angry torrent — again 
 '* a gulf impassable"" was fixed between the two 
 armies ! This time both sides exclaimed '* A 
 miracle !" — the king's troops declared it was a 
 visible interposition of Providence for their pro- 
 tection, and the insurgents regarded it as a mani- 
 festation of HIS disapprobation of their cause. 
 At this moment arrived the proffer of an universal 
 pardon and of the future consideration of their 
 grievances. And this mighty mass of men 
 melted away like a snow-wreath before the breath 
 of the south. In a few days, there was no more 
 trace of them than there is of that snow when 
 the sickle is laid to the corn. Every man went 
 to his own home. 
 
 Some few, among the ecclesiastics especially, 
 misdoubted the king's faith — a doubt but too 
 fearfully verified. It is true that Aske was 
 caressed at court,, and that Lord Darcy and 
 the Archbishop were only held under restraint. 
 But, in the event, the blood of both the laymen 
 
 I 2
 
 172 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 flowed upon the scaffold, together with that of 
 many others Avho were equally included in the 
 pardon*. Foreseeing the probability of such a 
 course, several of the monks secreted themselves 
 in various places of refuge. Among these was 
 Father Hubert. 
 
 • No ultimate proceedings were taken against the Arch- 
 bishop. The causes of this clemency have never fully come 
 to light.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 173 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Who that has felt that Passion's power, 
 Or paus'd or fear'd, in such an hour ? 
 
 Btrox. 
 
 It may be supposed that, during these events, 
 the mind of Lady Alice was in a state of ex- 
 treme anxiety. The various news which arrived 
 from the north — (not with the speed and regu- 
 larity of these days of mail-coaches and news- 
 papers, but with all the slowness of that rude 
 age, and all the uncertainty of oral communi- 
 cation) — were awaited and received with the 
 utmost eagerness of interest. Every feeling 
 combined to render this excessive ; the sense of 
 religion, the spirit of party, which at that period 
 extended even to women, and that strongest of 
 passions, far more suited to her sex — all these 
 united to concentrate all her hopes, thoughts, and 
 desires, upon the Pilgrimage of Grace. And 
 truly did she believe it to deserve its name. It 
 seemed to her to be undertaken through the 
 
 I 3
 
 174 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 grace of God, and to the furtherance of his glory. 
 She had the fullest confidence in its success, as 
 long as it continued on foot ; she disbelieved the 
 first reports which arrived of its termination; 
 and, when their truth could be no longer doubted, 
 she bowed with deeper awe than she had ever 
 before felt, to the inscrutableness of tlie ways of 
 God towards men. 
 
 During this season of the least endurable of 
 all agitation — anxiety and suspense, — there was 
 one feeling only from which she derived succour 
 and support, — that from which we draw consola- 
 tion, more or less, in all our ills, — that which 
 can yield it to us when all earthly power is un- 
 availing — religion. Blessed is that mind which 
 has acquired the habit of religious exercise. 
 Those who have recourse to it only in their 
 moment of need, will find relief from it, it is 
 true — but oh ! how feebly and scantily in com- 
 parison with them who daily draw the waters of 
 life from that pure and perennial fountain. To 
 continue the metaphor, the one is like the droop- 
 ing shrub, scorched by too fierce a sun, to whom, 
 in its extremity, a copious draught is poured ;
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 175 
 
 — the other is, rather, the flourishing tree in a 
 well-irrigated meadow, where the soil never be- 
 comes parched, from which the water flows not 
 away ! 
 
 It was among the countervailing advantages 
 of the Catholic religion, as fitted for an unen- 
 lightened and uncultivated age, that the daily 
 offices and observances which it enacted called 
 the mind to devout thoughts ; — at first, it is true, 
 to mere formalities, but, afterwards, it is to be 
 hoped, through them, to the essence which those 
 forms typified. When, through the revival of 
 learning, and its propagation by printing, the 
 minds of men became stronger as they grew 
 better-informed, such incentives, doubtless, be- 
 came less needed as well as less effective. When 
 the sun shines out, we want no lamp to guide us 
 on our way — the strong of limb requires no staff 
 to aid his steps. Learning was the plough 
 which fitted the human mind for the seeds 
 of life; and, after its discovery, — (for before 
 the invention of printing, it can scarcely be said 
 to have had existence,) — it was natural that the 
 spade-labour, which before had been the rude 
 
 14
 
 176 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 and tardy means of cultivation, should be aban- 
 doned. 
 
 But in the soul of Alice Lovel, the Catholic 
 faith was enshrined beyond all power of removal. 
 In her childhood and early youth she had been 
 bred in its strictest tenets ; and, as she reached 
 maturity, they became clenched for ever by the 
 strongest motive which can influence a woman's 
 breast. But, even in those times, when contro- 
 versy and polemical disputation were the ordi- 
 nary conversation of society, it was Christianity, 
 rather than any mode of it as such, which guided, 
 strengthened, and succoured, the Lady Alice. 
 The mild temper, the affectionate disposition, 
 the frank benevolence of character, which dis- 
 thiguished her, spring from the great root of our 
 faith, without distinction of the various branches 
 into which it subsequently spreads. 
 
 During the continuance of the Pilgrimage of 
 Grace, the Lady Alice went daily to the ruins 
 of the monastery, to pray at a shrine of the Vir- 
 gin, now indeed broken and laid low, but still to 
 her most holy. It was in the evening tliat tliis 
 office was commonly performed. When Nature
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 177 
 
 was sinking into repose, and the sights and 
 sounds of twilight alone broke over the stillness 
 of the scene — the flight and the croak of the 
 rooks returning to the old trees around the 
 Abbey, or the wild hoot of the owl, as he sailed 
 out of the ivy with which it was covered, — then 
 might Lady Alice be seen slowly winding along 
 the margin of the brook, which gurgled and 
 eddied as it accompanied her on her way ; and, 
 leaving the richness and splendour of her father's 
 mansion, seek the ruined and desolate altars of 
 her faith, in that dark and chill hour which 
 befitted their fortunes so well. Surely such 
 a scene and such a season are calculated to touch 
 Avith religious awe hearts which, in their usual 
 disposition to it, might be deemed the very con- 
 trast of Alice Lovel's. The mouldering ruin — • 
 now an undistinguishable heap, and now stretch- 
 ing the fragment of an arch in bold relief against 
 the sky — here, lying in the very bed of the 
 brook, impeding its course, and adding to its 
 deep and rushing voice — there, soaring into the 
 air in all the majesty of its original height ; — 
 the tufted and waving woods, coeval with the 
 
 I 5
 
 178 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 old building — the fitful moon, now shedding, 
 now withholding, her light, as the clouds rack 
 over her, — so that 
 
 Buttress and buttress, alternately, 
 Seem can-ed of ebon and ivory — 
 
 —if such a spot and such an hour, if such objects 
 before the eye, and breaking on the ear, do not 
 touch a chord within, responsive to the more 
 sublime and holy faculties of our being, — then, 
 indeed, may that heart be deemed callous for 
 ever — that soul would not repent, nay " though 
 one should rise from the dead ^ 
 
 A few days after the news of the final disper- 
 sion of the rebels had reached her, Alice, accord- 
 ing to her wont, proceeded, at evening, to the 
 Abbey to pray. It was rather later than usual, 
 and the sky was misty and dark. The stream 
 rushed with a hoarser sound towards the ruins, 
 the dark masses of which rose before the eye 
 with but little relief from any light behind. The 
 heart of Alice was heavy in her bosom. The 
 hope on which it had so fondly rested was 
 stricken away. The heretic had again prevailed ; 
 and all that she most loved and venerated was
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 179- 
 
 prostrate beneath his power. If ever her spirit 
 had needed prayer to cheer and strengthen it in. 
 its distress, it did so this night. She sought the 
 Abbey to implore help to her faiJing soul — to 
 weep, to watch, and to pray. A very different 
 scene awaited her. 
 
 As she approached the shrine of the Virgin, 
 at which she was accustomed to pay her vows, 
 she perceived a figure kneeling before it. A 
 sight so unusual surprised her ; but, thinking it 
 was, perhaps, some pious traveller who, in pass- 
 ing, came under cover of night, to pray at a 
 spot so sacred, — she proceeded onward that she 
 might not disturb him, and, taking a circuit of 
 some extent, did not return to the shrine till 
 a certain time had elapsed. She now approached 
 it from the opposite direction to that in which 
 she had come before — through the ruins, namely. 
 She, therefore, fronted the person, who still knelt 
 before it. She was again about to turn away, 
 when, at the moment, the moon which had, 
 hitherto, been totally obscured by thick clouds, 
 burst, on a sudden, brilliantly forth into the 
 clear heaven — and shed its first rays upon the 
 
 I 6
 
 180 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 stranger's face, upturned in fervent adoration — 
 it was Father Hubert's ! — Alice uttered one 
 shrill scream, and sank, half-fainting, to the 
 earth. 
 
 Since the memorable day on which her lieart 
 had been laid bare before him, the eyes of Alice 
 had never rested upon his form ; but now, in 
 shadow, and in gloom, one slight glance sufficed 
 to reveal to her the bodily presence of him who 
 had ever been present in spirit — she knew him 
 at once ! A little more time was needed for 
 Hubert to recognize who it was who had thus 
 interrupted his devotions. A broken column, 
 which had supported her as she sank to the 
 ground, intervened between them. He hastened 
 to pass it, and to raise the fainting form he saw 
 prostrate before him. — When Alice opened her 
 eyes she found herself in Hubert's arms, and at 
 the same moment he became conscious of who it 
 was he held there. 
 
 Let those whose happy fiite has placed them 
 free from temptation, here pause; and, when 
 next they are about to condemn unfortunates 
 who have sunk bcneadi the power of passion, let
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 181 
 
 tliem remember that there are positions such as 
 this ; that fate carries on its course situations in 
 which everything which stirs, excites, inflames, 
 maddens, the senses and the soul, is conjoined 
 — when all that is likely to check, to calm them 
 — to show the danger which impends — to recall 
 the reason which staggers — is silenced, is far 
 away ! Those who have been tried in the fire of 
 such an ordeal as this, and have come forth 
 pure, will be the first to pity and to pardon such 
 as have sunk under its strength. They know 
 how mighty the temptation is, how mighty the 
 resistance must be ! 
 
 Let those who have loved, figure to themselves 
 the feelings of these two, at the instant of their 
 mutual recognition ! Let them recall for a mo- 
 ment the light in which each had been viewed 
 by the other — let them run over in their minds 
 the sensations which, in the foregoing pages, I 
 have endeavoured to trace. Theij will be able 
 to appreciate the storm which shook their souls. 
 Hubert felt the heart of Alice throb against his 
 bosom ! — this loveliest of created beings — this, 
 the only woman who had ever called forth a soft
 
 182 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 emotion within his heart — now lay in his arms, 
 too weak for self-support, yet retaining sufficient 
 consciousness to cause her pulses to beat thus 
 tumultuously, her breath to be drawn in those 
 quick and broken gasps which made every nerve 
 in his frame thrill electrically, as he felt them 
 upon his cheek ! — It was in vain, oh ! it was in 
 vain, that she strove now to check that passion 
 which had fired and consumed her whole being 
 for years ! — the agonizing hours of restraint were 
 passed ; this, this at least, was a moment which 
 love claimed as its own — and she gave herself 
 up, body, and mind, sense and spirit, to its en- 
 thralling, its overwhelming ccstacy ! 
 
 The frame of the monk shook in the extre- 
 mity of mortal agitation — a mist came over his 
 eyes — his brain reeled — the self-control of years 
 staggered before the breath of one passionate 
 moment — he stooped his head to her's — and the 
 first kiss of mortal passion which had ever pol- 
 luted the lips of Hubert, burned upon their sur- 
 face, then ! 
 
 As he raised his head, with the deep, long- 
 drawn sigh which is the re-action of passion in
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 183 
 
 its excess, — his eyes chanced to h'ght upon that 
 image of the Virgin, before which he had but 
 now kneeled, with the calm, unclouded devotion, 
 which was his wont in the hour of prayer. Gra- 
 cious heaven ! and what had a space of time 
 scarcely capable of being numbered from its very 
 briefness, wrought upon him ! Years, years had 
 not sufficed to do the work of that brief moment ! 
 The calm moon shone upon the holy image ; and 
 his soul sank abashed, in its guiltiness, from be- 
 fore its strong gaze. He shuddered ; and gently 
 lowering Alice upon the column, who was scarcely 
 yet restored from the first shock of surprise, 
 followed as it had been by such rapid emotions, 
 he sprang from her side, and sinking upon his 
 knees before the shrine, he sought that protec- 
 tion from his own rebellious passions, which 
 nothing but prayer can give ! 
 
 Lady, who deignest to read these pages, I 
 trust that thou canst not figure to thyself the 
 feelings which now reigned in the heart of Alice. 
 None but tliose who have drunk deep of pas- 
 sion's most maddening cup, can judge of the 
 tumult of her soul, when she felt the lips of
 
 184 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 Hubert pressed to hers. And when, a moment 
 after, she saw him spring from her as though 
 infection dwelt upon her touch, and kneel in 
 agony of spirit before the Virgin's shrine, — the 
 conflict was almost too much for her frame to 
 bear. It was some moments before she was 
 able to rise, or even to speak, 
 
 *« Father, pray for me !'' she exclaimed, " pray 
 for me — pray for us both ! — I dare not, I cannot 
 pray myself!" — and she sobbed bitterly. 
 
 At the sound of her voice, he paused in his 
 supplications — " Alice," he said, '' I am a weak 
 and frail sinner, my prayers have no interces- 
 sion. Oh ! pride, spiritual pride !" he con- 
 tinued, scarcely addressing her, but almost, as it 
 were, thinking aloud, " thou art the stumbling- 
 block over which I have fallen — it is thou who 
 hast shaken the self-subdued passions of years I 
 But now is my haughty spirit humbled — I feel 
 how weak and vain is human strength when it 
 thinks itself the greatest — ora pro nohis,'^ he 
 exclaimed, again turning towards the shrine — 
 '' mater dolorosa, beatissima virgo, ora pro 
 7iohis peccatoribus r^ — And the large drops of
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 185 
 
 cold sweat started upon his brow, as he bent 
 himself to the earth in anguish. 
 
 Alice remained by the column, tremblings 
 overawed. The sight of this mighty spirit, 
 which she had always revered as something 
 almost superhuman, wrestling with the passions 
 of humanity, struck her as a spectacle not to be 
 contemplated without a sensation approaching to 
 reverence. I do not mean that she thus analyzed 
 her feelings, but that they existed in her at the 
 moment, and operated upon her unconsciously. 
 — Some time elapsed without either party again 
 speaking. The silence was, at last, broken by 
 Hubert : — 
 
 " Alice Lovel," he said, " this is no time for 
 even such as you, bound by no restrictive ties 
 or special duties, to give way to the vain and 
 giddy passions of human affection. Tome, at 
 all times they are forbidden, like flesh to the 
 Israelites in the desert — I cannot taste of them 
 and live. But, at a season like this, when the 
 ark of the Lord is broken from its resting-place, 
 and his servants need all their strength and 
 freshness to restore it — when their backslidings
 
 186 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 are noted and published, as a scofF and bye-word 
 wherewith to slander the true faith, — then to 
 give way to the baits and instigations of the 
 Devil ! — I shudder at the danger I have run : 
 and here too 1 here in the scene of my former 
 ministry — here, whither I came to pour out my 
 spirit in prayer to the great Mother of all Purity ! 
 — alas ! alas ! I know not myself, thus fallen, 
 thus stained. Alice Lovel, I can no longer 
 address thee in the language of spiritual admoni- 
 tion — I can no longer call thee " daughter," and 
 chide thee for thine errors as a father doth his 
 child — I am now no more than a poor sinner, 
 frail, weak, and liable to err as thou art — I am 
 not fit to guide, who myself cannot walk alone. 
 Years, Alice, have passed since we have met. 
 When we last parted, I reproved in you that 
 passion to which this night I have given way 
 myself — that passion which so nearly led us both 
 into deep perdition. My sister, let us return 
 thanks to heaven for having escaped the temp- 
 term's snare — let us implore pardon for the guilt 
 which we have incurred — let us pray for strength 
 to preserve us in the time to come !'
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 187 
 
 The tide of emotion had now ebbed — and the 
 heart was softened by its influence. Like the 
 flood of the Nile, it had overborne everything 
 in its onward course — ^but, like it, its reflux had 
 fertilized the soil. The fruits it now bore were 
 repentance and humbleness of heart. With 
 these did Hubert and Alice pray together— and 
 the blessed calm of a spirit reconciled to its God 
 pervaded them. 
 
 After a long space, they rose from before the 
 shrine. " Lady Alice," said the monk, '' this 
 is, in all likelihood, the last time we shall meet 
 in this world. The hour of my trials is pro- 
 bably at hand ; and I hope my support of them 
 will not disgrace my holy calling. We shall 
 meet no more : the scaffold or the stake will be 
 my portion, as it has been of those far more 
 worthy than I am ; and I shall receive, with the 
 pride of a chosen servant, the crown of martyr- 
 dom as the completion and reward of my toils. 
 But you are still young ; length of years, ho- 
 nour, and riches, awnit you. Cast not from you 
 those precious gifts. Forget the unhallowed 
 and unhappy passion you have suffered to grow
 
 188 TALES OF PASSION, 
 
 within your heart. Let the memory of this 
 night be blotted from your mind. Remember 
 Hubert only as the monk of the Holy Cross — 
 such as he was for years, not as what he sank to 
 for one moment ! But, above all, my daughter, 
 shrink not from the true faith. In the midst of 
 this rebellious city, let at least one just person 
 remain ! Remember the piety of your blessed 
 ancestor — prove that you are not unworthy of 
 him : — and now, daughter, fare thee well !" 
 
 " Oh, Father,'' exclaimed Alice, *' I will 
 strive, indeed I will strive against myself, — but 
 the feelings of years cannot be rooted out in a 
 day. Penance will I undergo — prayer I will 
 be constant in — but, oh ! I have done penance, 
 I have prayed, — ^yet my stubborn heart has 
 prevailed against all my efforts. It has broken 
 my strength and health — I shall not live long, 
 and I rejoice at it — death approaches me, and I 
 welcome him. I am an humble and useless 
 worm — when my life is trodden out, what mat- 
 ters it, and to whom ? But on your existence 
 hang mighty fates ! Oh, talk not so horribly 
 as you did even now ? Do not wait danger ! —
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 189 
 
 for my sake — for the sake of heaven, do not ! 
 Fly to a safe and distant land. In Italy, you 
 will find refuge and support. Reginald Pole is 
 a noble gentleman : he receives and succours the 
 suffering confessors of our faith ! Fly to him — 
 quit this land of heresy and wrath ! Say that 
 you will fly, Father ! — In pity, say you will !" 
 
 " Alice," returned the monk, " I may not 
 shrink from the cup which is prepared for me — 
 I will not court danger — but I will not fly from 
 it. In this country of England is my lot cast — 
 and here will I see it to the end. For you, 
 daughter, I see, indeed, that your cheek is pale 
 and your form wasted, and it grieves my heart 
 that so it is. But cherish not the serpent of 
 despair within your breast. It is not lawful 
 that you should thus act — it causes you to be 
 your own destroyer ! Strive, strive against the 
 tempter, and assistance will be granted unto 
 you. ' Watch and pray, that you enter not 
 into temptation !" " 
 
 The moment of parting was come ; Alice felt 
 that life was about to close upon her for ever ! The 
 first hour in which she became conscious that
 
 190 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 she was loved by him whom her soul worshipped, 
 was to be that of their final separation. If the 
 emotion betrayed by Father Hubert had served, 
 in some degree, to lessen the reverential distance 
 at which she had been accustomed to contemplate 
 him, it had flooded her heart with the rapture of 
 a new joy — it had added a quality to the affec- 
 tion which burned within her breast such as it 
 had never known before. Yes ! the sensation 
 of reciprocity — the knowledge that, in despite 
 of all the obstacles which interposed, her attach- 
 ment was not regarded wholly with cold disap- 
 probation and unsympathizing reproof — in one 
 word, the consciousness of being beloved, — that 
 far, far greatest of all the joys with which heaven 
 has blessed humanity, — now spread its exquisite 
 influence over her heart, and raised her, as it 
 ■were, into a higher nature. Probably, not- 
 withstanding all the counterbalancing emotions, 
 Alice had never tasted such rapturous moments 
 as those which she had known that night. 
 
 ^' Farewell, dear daughter — farewell, Ahce !" 
 said Hubert, in a voice which strong feehng 
 broke and thickened ; — ** Farewell ! and the
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER. 19^ 
 
 blessing of God and the Holy Virgin be upon 
 you for ever !" He raised his hands in the 
 attitude of benediction as he spoke ; and casting 
 one last glance upon that form which had been 
 the dearest to him of any that earth had ever 
 borne, he broke away from it at once, and, 
 moving at a rapid pace, was speedily lost in the 
 darkness. ' 
 
 As Alice, after some time had elapsed, slowly 
 retraced her steps homeward, what was the con- 
 dition of her mind ? Alas ! there are some of 
 its moods which, from their very intensity it is 
 impossible to depict. It would be alike irreve- 
 rent and fruitless to attempt it. As the painter, 
 Q^ old, threw a veil over a degree of human ex- 
 pression beyond the power of his art even to 
 attempt, — so there are some moral portraitures 
 which the painter with the pen must abstain 
 from touching. The present instance is one of 
 these.
 
 192 " TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 From seventeen, till now almost fourscore, 
 Here lived I, who now live here no more ; 
 At seventeen, many their fortunes seek, 
 But at fourscore, it is too late a week. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 As Alice was about to ascend the terraces which 
 rose from the level of the brook up to the new 
 mansion, she was roused from the deep contem- 
 plation in which she was unreservedly indulging, 
 by a voice which sounded familiar to her ear, 
 exclaiming — " God bless you, my dear young 
 lady!" She turned her head, and beheld ria 
 figure which she instantly recognised to be that 
 of Hugh, the gardener. 
 
 *' Hugh !'** she exclaimed, ^' my good old 
 friend, and is it you ? What makes you here ? 
 Know you not my father is incensed against 
 you? He M'ill not spare you, if you fall within 
 his power." 
 
 '' I do not intend to trust him," replied the 
 old man ; " I do not pur2')ose to stay in the
 
 LORD LOTEL'S DAUGHTER. 193 
 
 Valley, though I was blithe to see it once more — 
 and my old heart warmed at the thought of see- 
 ing yoUj Lady Alice ! I came hither," he conti- 
 nued, lowering his voice, '* with him you wot 
 of. He is here ; — alas ! he is under hiding on 
 his own domain — he dare not shew himself in 
 that ground for which he was one of the stewards 
 of God on earth. He knew I could not return 
 to my old dwelling-place, which has sheltered 
 me from youth upward, and it is too late for me 
 to seek my fortune in the wide world now. He 
 hath promised me refuge in one of the great 
 monasteries near to London, which the heretics 
 have spared as yet. I can work a turn in the 
 garden, still ; and, mayhap, can shew the holy 
 fathers some secrets in the craft, which they 
 know not of. — But, come you from the Abbey, 
 Lady Alice .?" 
 
 '' I do." 
 
 " Did you see him ? — He went down thither 
 to pray at (what was) the Virgin's altar. He 
 told me to bide his coming, near the great ash ; 
 but 1 crept up this way, to try if I might see 
 you, my dear young mistress, once more before 
 
 Vol. I. K
 
 194 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 I died ! Ah ! Lady Alice, I never thought to 
 have laid my bones elsewhere than in the Valley 
 of the Cross — or to have eaten other bread than 
 that of the lordly Lovcls ! It is like uprooting 
 an old tree, to drag me from my old soil — my 
 heart breaks at the thought of it!" 
 
 The moon shone upon the old man^s face, as 
 he spoke, and Alice beheld that the hand of 
 despair was on it ; — the cheeks were fallen, and 
 the hale ruddy hue which they had formerly 
 worn, had become dried and unhealthful. Tears 
 glistened in his grey eyes as the feelings of a 
 local home, strong at all seasons, but doubly so 
 in age, tugged at his heart-strings. His glance 
 strayed along the stream, from the grey walls of 
 the old castle, to the dark wood which pointed 
 out the place where the Abbey had stood. But, 
 in despite of the warmth and strength of his reli- 
 gious feelings, Hugh's look at length settled in 
 the direction contrary to that of the IMonastery. 
 But it was not on the Castle, still less on the new 
 and splendid Court, that it was fixed. Just on 
 the edge of the brook, at the bottom of the bank 
 on which the '* Donjon of the Red Rose" reared
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 195 
 
 its gloomy bulk, was a small cottage, built of 
 rude unmortared stone, and thatched with straw 
 — to the walls of which a honeysuckle clung, 
 stretching to the very roof, and clustering in lux- 
 uriance over it. The hut fronted to the south 
 — and the waning moon now shone in her deep, 
 sad radiance upon it. On this the eyes of the old 
 man rested, unmindful of the nobler, richer, and 
 more holy edifices by which it was overlooked and 
 surrounded. Home ! — how strong are the ties 
 which bind us to this word! All the feelings 
 which arise from the force of habit, from the ac- 
 cumulation of remembrances — all the dear cha- 
 rities of domestic Hfe — swell at the heart when 
 we think of home ! And what a blessed provi- 
 dence it is, that it should so be ! — for, almost in 
 exact proportion as the love of home is strong 
 within the breast, do we find that breast the seat 
 of the purer and better affections of our nature, 
 and free from those passions which pollute and 
 inflame the heart. 
 
 This cottage had b^een old Hugh's ; there he 
 had dwelled from the days of his earliest youth 
 — within those humble walls the pride of his 
 
 K 2
 
 106 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 manhood had been passed, the reign of domestic 
 affection had been experienced : — to tliat cottage 
 had he led home his youthful bride — from thence 
 had his aged wife been borne forth in death. 
 There, in a word, had his earthly pilgrimage 
 been passed — and it now cut his heart to the 
 quick to think that he was about to leave it for 
 ever ! True, indeed, was his simile, that it was 
 like uprooting an old tree to remove him. There 
 is, at least, this likeness between the human 
 plant, and that which is so without a metaphor 
 — that change of place in youth is borne with- 
 out injury, sometimes even with advantage; 
 while to tear up ancient roots from the soil, or 
 the habits of an aged man from the objects 
 round which they have grown firm, in either 
 case dries up and destroys the principles of life 
 within. 
 
 ^* Who would have thought," sighed forth 
 old Hugh, '* who would have thought that I 
 should have been driven forth to wander over 
 the world, in my old age — and from such a cause ! 
 — from the heresy of a Lovel ! Ah ! Lady 
 Alice, happy were those times before these new
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER. 197 
 
 and fantastic doctrines came to disturb us, in our 
 peace ; when we prayed as our fathers prayed, 
 held sacred what they had revered, and followed, 
 without question, those holy guides who were 
 given to us to lead us to salvation. Alas ! the 
 humblest and poorest feel the effects of what is 
 done by the great ! Who would have thought that 
 the fortunes of old Hugh, the gardener, could 
 have been injured or bettered by whether the 
 king kept his old wife or took a new one — whe- 
 ther the Spanish princess, or the English knight's 
 daughter shared his throne ! Alas ! it was that 
 lewd marriage was the cause of all ! It has 
 betrayed every thing which before existed in the 
 land — and has taken the roof-tree from above my 
 head, among the rest.*" — And the tears rose into 
 the old man's eyes as they rested upon his an- 
 cient home. 
 
 '' Alas! Hugh," said Lady Ahce, " the oak 
 and the humble thorn are uprooted by the same 
 storm ! The deeds of the great are felt, in their 
 effects, far and wide, often beyond the intent of 
 the doer — nay, even beyond his control. The 
 same act which crumbled to the dust the walls. 
 
 K 3
 
 198 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 of the venerable Abbey, hath made thee house- 
 less ! But you have that within which repays all 
 sacrifices — the sense of fidelity to your religion, 
 of a heart devoted to its service." 
 
 *'Aye, Lady, but the sacrifice is bitter still. I 
 never thought to see my truth to the house of 
 Lovel at odds with my truth to the holy church. 
 I never thought my duty to God would have 
 led me forth from all whom I have most loved 
 and venerated among his creatures. Alas ! my 
 dear young lady, I shall never see you more. 
 I feel sorrow cold at my heart — its chill is like 
 that of death. But it cheers me even now, 
 Lady Alice, that you at least have not fallen 
 away — that you whom I have watched and 
 loved from a bud till you became the fairest 
 flower of the valley, are still loyal to the church, 
 in distress as in prosperity, in the days of its 
 dark fortune, as in all the strength and glory of 
 its summer. God bless you, my dear, dear lady 
 — old Hugh will ever pray for the daughter of 
 Lovel !" 
 
 Alice held out her hand to him, and a tear 
 dropped upon it as the old man pressed it to his
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 199 
 
 withered lip. He muttered another blessing, 
 and turned away. 
 
 The next day, the feelings which were upper- 
 most in the mind of Alice, led her to old Hugh's 
 cottage. It had been unoccupied since his 
 departure, and already began to shew marks of 
 dilapidation. The garden-plat around it, which 
 had always been tended with such minute care, 
 was overgrown by weeds, and the flowers were 
 disfigured by neglect. The door hung upon 
 one hinge, and swung to and fro in the wind. 
 There is scarcely anything which bears such an 
 air of desolation as this, and Alice felt the full 
 force of this saddening aspect of decay. As she 
 entered the cottage, an object met her eyes 
 within which caused her to start back. On the 
 stone seat, built against the opposite wall, sat 
 old Hugh, his arms rested upon his knees, with 
 his head bowed upon them. There were no 
 traces of recent fire on the floor ; and the white 
 hair of the old man, as it waved in the wind 
 which blew through the open door, was in per- 
 fect keeping with the decayed and melancholy 
 appearance that pervaded tlie place. " What, 
 
 K4
 
 200 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 Hugh! — ^^are you still here?" exclaimed Alice, 
 closing the door as she spoke, for fear of his 
 being seen — '' this is not well." — She stopped on 
 seeing that he did not move, or notice her. 
 " He sleeps !" she said, " poor old creature, 
 his heart makes his eyes heavy ; but he is not 
 safe here — Hugh !" — but still he stirred not — 
 Alice approached and took his hand — but it 
 dropped from her shuddering grasp — it was 
 clay-cold! The old man was dead. He had 
 come, it seems, to take a last look at his old 
 dwelling — but the effort was too much for 
 him, and the soul had parted from the body in 
 the conflict. 
 
 In a corner of what was the cemetery of the 
 Abbey of the Holy Cross are still to be seen the 
 marks of a grave, which a few wild flowers cover 
 with their bloom. In that spot lie the bones of 
 old Hugh, and the parents of the plants which 
 cluster round it v^cre planted by the hand of 
 Alice Lovel.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 201 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 . . . I come to give thee means to fly. 
 
 Ld. F. L. Gower's Translation of Fanst^ 
 
 The forebodings of Father Hubert were veri-- 
 fied by the event. He was apprehended not 
 many days after his having met Lady Ahce at 
 the ruins of the Abbey. At first, they were 
 about to try him for his participation in the 
 Pilgrimage of Grace ; but it was afterwards 
 thought that his theological tenets would afford 
 sufficient ground of condemnation ; and the 
 punishment of a person of his celebrity as a 
 churchman would, it was believed, strike terror 
 into the Catholic party. 
 
 He was, accordingly, brought to trial for 
 denying the Supremacy of the King, and for 
 holding several opinions on spiritual points 
 which, in the fluctuating divinity of that day 
 
 K 5
 
 202 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 were now held to be heretical*. His real 
 offence, indeed, was the denial of the Supre- 
 macy — but that was always punished as treason, 
 whereas persons convicted of heresy were sub- 
 jected to death by fire. Of all the tenets which 
 were agitated during his reign, Henry, from ob- 
 vious reasons, clung with unvarying fondness to 
 that of his supremacy. Throughout the many 
 variations of his theological opinions, he never, 
 after his breach with Rome, swerved from this, 
 or pardoned those who resisted or denied it. His 
 age, piety, and singleness of heart, had not saved 
 Fisher. His former favour and eminence of 
 every kind had proved no protection to INIore. 
 They denied the King's supremacy, and they 
 perished : was it, then, to be supposed that one 
 whose whole life had been devoted to the service 
 of the falling religion, and who added to these 
 demerits the unpardonable offence of suspected 
 correspondence with Reginald Pole, — was it to 
 
 * An ai'ticle of accusation was brought against some of the 
 Catholic clergy, about this period, that they denied the gos- 
 pel — by which was meant the doctrine then held by many, 
 if not all, of them, that it had no authority without the de- 
 termination of the Church.
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 203 
 
 be supposed that such a man would now be 
 spared ? 
 
 Hubert's behaviour on his trial was not cal- 
 culated to cause any relaxation of severity to- 
 wards him. He spurned at any submission — he 
 scorned all compromise — he avowed, justified, 
 and gloried in the facts imputed to him as 
 crimes — he inveighed against the spiritual 
 usurpations of the King — and seemed to hail 
 with pride the martyrdom which awaited him, 
 '^' I seek not," he said, *' to speak in my de- 
 fence — for the deeds which you lay to my charge 
 I not only avow to have done, but were it in 
 my power, I would do them again this day — I 
 would never cease doing them as long as I 
 lived. For, what are these deeds but refuting 
 blasphemy — resisting sacrilegious tyranny — and 
 saving the souls of the weak and the unwary 
 from the contagion of ghostly pestilence ! You 
 tell me, that if I even now acknowledge Henry 
 Tudor to be the Supreme Head of the Church 
 in these realms, I sliail be spared. I say unto 
 you, I deny even that he is their King. While 
 he lies under the ban of the Holy Church— 
 
 K6
 
 O04 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 while excommunication cuts him off from the 
 pale of Christian men, as lepers were made 
 outcasts of old, I disavow even his temporal 
 authority — I shudder while I protest against his 
 blasphemous assumption of spiritual rule. Once, 
 indeed, he was invested by our Holy Father 
 with the title of Defender of that Faith which 
 he now outrages and persecutes — like his proto- 
 type of old, the arch-apostate, Julian. Like 
 him. he has carnal gifts and worldly power — 
 and, like him, he uses them to attack the Ark of 
 Christ, and to hunt down and slay his ministers. 
 And it is this renegade in religion, this tyrant in 
 civil government, this adulterer and lewd liver, 
 whom ye would have me acknowledge to be 
 the Supreme Head of the Church of Christ ! 
 Rather, like the Pharisees, would I choose the 
 robber Barabbas, in preference to the World's 
 Saviour, than put this sinful man before the Vice- 
 gerent of Christ on earth — the successor of St. 
 Peter himself! Thus do I answer to what you 
 propose — now, deal with me as you will. The 
 earthly part, indeed, is within your power — but 
 the immortal spirit spurns at your control.*"'
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 205 
 
 And having thus spoken, Hubert refused all 
 further argument or answer. These trials were, 
 for the most part, conducted like theological dis- 
 putations in the schools — the triumph of con- 
 verting the accused being even more ardently 
 coveted than his conviction. Many, accordingly, 
 from faintness or fickleness of heart, recanted ; 
 but, in Hubert, they had to deal with one of a 
 far different description. The ardour of his 
 zeal was borne out by the sternest firmness of 
 purpose, and the most unshaken personal reso- 
 lution. He was convicted of heresy, and sen- 
 tenced to be burned — yet, his lip did not quiver, 
 and his cheek grew not pale. 
 
 The most awful hours Avhich, probably, ever 
 fall to the lot of suffering humanity, are those 
 T^hich immediately precede an inflicted and ap- 
 pointed death. In sickness, the declension of 
 bodily strength under its power causes the spirit 
 to fade away in corresponding and gentle grada- 
 tions. In battle, the excitation of personal con- 
 flict — the desire of glory — the emulation of num- 
 bers — the thousand circumstances wliich influ- 
 ence alike the mind and the bodily frame, — all
 
 30^ TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 contribute to cast out of view the terrors of the 
 passage of the soul from life into eternity. But 
 in a death, inflicted as upon a criminal, all these 
 supporting circumstances are absent ; and there 
 are many of an extraneous nature which tend to 
 increase the gloom and bitterness of tliat appall- 
 ing hour. The human mind shrinks from the 
 ignominy of a death awarded by law — and feels 
 deeply the aggravation of that feeling, as to our 
 fate, which, if it may not be called gratification, 
 is, undoubtedly, the reverse of sympathy. The 
 steady approach also of death, — the full view in 
 which it stands to us, increasing, as it were, like 
 a physical object, in proportion as the distance 
 which divides us from it grows less, — these 
 things are indeed sufficient to shake tlie strongest 
 nerves, to enfeeble the most resolute mind. 
 
 All these attended the fate of Father Hubert ; 
 but he had, to counteract them, a feehng far, far 
 more powerful still, — the enthusiasm, namely, of 
 religion; — a motive of action which, at various 
 periods of history, has proved itself to be, whe- 
 ther [for doing or for suffering, the strongest 
 which can operate upon the mind of man. It
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 207 
 
 has led those who entertain it ahke to perform 
 the most daring deeds, and to undergo the most 
 (I had nearly said) intolerable privations^ perils, 
 and pain. It has influenced its votaries in soli- 
 tude, as well as in communion with men, — on 
 the lonely heath, and the desolate mountain, as 
 in the throng of cities, and of camps. It has 
 made them the boldest in the fight, — it has sup- 
 ported them on the scaffold and at the stake. It 
 has scorned wealth, — it has stood in the place of 
 worldly honour — it has been itself its own and 
 rich reward. Alas ! that I must add, that it has 
 steeled the heart of man against his fellow, more 
 than all earthly motives together — that it has 
 caused blood to flow without stint and without 
 mercy — that the tares of ferocity and hardness of 
 heart have sprung up with the wheat of courage 
 and endurance — that it has been as ready to in- 
 flict, as it has been constant to bear — that, in 
 the midst of exceeding good, it has also worked 
 exceeding evil ! Ah ! did but Christian charity 
 equal and accomparty (as it should do) Christian 
 zeal, how much reproach had been spared to 
 the latter virtue ! Foul fruit had not then sprung 
 from so goodly and noble a tree.
 
 208 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 But to one who is about to earn the crown of 
 martyrdom, it is indeed a staff of rest, a citadel 
 of strength ; and so it proved to Hubert. It 
 drew his thoughts from the vanities of this world ; 
 — at such a time they truly appear so — and fixed 
 them on those eternal issues which arise in awful 
 majesty before us, as we approach to their deci- 
 sion. Still, still, — even at this the eleventh 
 hour, — so strong are the ligaments by which our 
 hearts are bound down to this earth, that, if 
 there arise aught which bears upon them, our 
 thoughts and feelings are drawn back to their 
 objects of mortal interest — and scarce have 
 strength to break from them again, to soar into 
 the purer heaven. Such a trial awaited Hubert. 
 
 On the evening but one preceding the day 
 appointed for his execution, the keeper of the 
 prison in which he was confined announced to 
 him a visitor, and, without pausing for an an- 
 swer, ushered ia a person wrapped from head to 
 foot in a large cloak, — and withdrew. It was 
 approaching dusk, and the small deep window- 
 admitted but scanty light into the cell; but, as 
 the stranger dropped the cloak which had scnxd
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 209 
 
 as full concealment, Hubert needed no lamp to 
 enable him to see that the figure which stood 
 before him was that of Alice Lovel. He started 
 back, as he recognised her; and the tumultuous 
 blood which thronged to his heart, caused a 
 strong tremor to pervade his whole frame. Alice 
 stood still on the spot where she had cast her 
 covering from her; and perceiving, yet not out- 
 wardly noticing, Hubert's agitation, she v/as the 
 first to speak. 
 
 " Hubert^' — she said — " a moment like this 
 breaks down, at once, the forms and fashions of 
 the world. If I have forgotten my sex by com- 
 ing hither, I must forget it still, and speak 
 frankly and straightly, without gloss or colour- 
 ing, as though I were your brother, or your 
 male friend. Think not that I am here, at such 
 a time, to speak of what you should not listen 
 to, or to gratify a selfish passion by a last fare- 
 well, — painful and harassing to you — unavailing 
 to myself. I come to save you from the dread- 
 ful death which awnits you — I Iiave prepared 
 means of flight — a few hours and you will be 
 out of this land of heresy and blood. Haste,
 
 210 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 then, haste to profit by them — Here" — she 
 continued, hfting her cloak from the ground — 
 '' wrap this around you — the keeper is gained — 
 he will feign to have been deceived — at PauPs 
 wharf you will find a boat — one of the rowers 
 will ask you ' What news from the North ?' — 
 Answer that ' All is welP — trust yourself to 
 him — he will convey you to a bark waiting to 
 bear you to France, — haste, haste ! " — 
 
 All this passed so rapidly that Hubert had 
 scarcely time to recover from the first surprise 
 into which the appearance of Alice had thrown 
 him, before he found her pressing him to wrap 
 himself in the cloak which she had cast off, and 
 to adopt the means of flight which she so hastily 
 detailed. Those in a position such as Alice then 
 was are apt to express themselves with a sort of 
 factitious, unnatural, rapidity — as though they 
 feared lest their strength should fail them before 
 they come to the end of that which it is so neces- 
 sary for them to say. At last, when she began 
 to throw the cloak upon him, Hubert restrained 
 her with a gentle hand, and spoke — *' Alice," 
 he said, '' this may not be — By what moans you
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 211 
 
 have found it possible to penetrate into this 
 place, and to corrupt even the savage men who 
 guard it, I am at a loss to conceive — but I can- 
 not profit by your friendly zeal, I cannot adopt 
 the plan which you propose." 
 
 Alice mistook his meaning: " Heed not," she 
 answered, ^' by what means I have ensured your 
 safety — suffice it, it is done. Everything is pos- 
 sible where there is determination in the heart, 
 and gold in the hand. But fear not for me — I 
 run no risk ; — my father, alas ! is but too pow- 
 erful among the evil rulers of the time — no dan- 
 ger can extend to me ; — do not, therefore, let 
 a false scruple rob me of giving life and safety to 
 so true a servant of the great cause — to him to 
 whom my youth, and heart, and life, have been 
 devoted — to him," she added, in a lower but a 
 firmer voice, *' to him whom I adore ! Oh ! 
 Hubert,"" she continued, her eyes flashing fire, 
 and the red blood burning in her cheek, '^ in an 
 hour like this, when we stand on the threshold of 
 life and death, the heart will be heard with the 
 voice of undisguised truth — the sensations which 
 throb within me will force themselves a vent; —
 
 212 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 ere we part for ever, my soul itself trembles on 
 my tongue, once, once to say — I love you 1 
 For years, that love has been hidden witliin my 
 breast — has corroded, has consumed it. I never 
 thought thus to speak it to your face — but a 
 moment such as this breaks down the resolutions 
 of a life-time — truth will not be silent now r 
 
 Tlie strong impulse of her mind communicated 
 itself to her outward frame — she v>-as no longer 
 the timid girl, pale and weakly from the ill 
 within, subdued in manner, feeble in voice, irre- 
 solute in speech ; — her accent, now, was firm 
 and rapid — her gesture unrestrained ; — her eye 
 blazed, her lip quivered, with the excitation of 
 pervading passion — she resembled a Delphic 
 priestess in the moment of inspiration — but the 
 deity which inspired her was Love. Truly, as 
 she herself said, there are moments when all con- 
 siderations of this world, almost of the next, 
 vanish before his influence ; — the magic of his 
 touch brings forth in an instant the feelings 
 which the heart has hidden for years — it makes 
 the timid bold — the silent, eloquent ; — like a 
 volcanic eruption, it carries away before it all
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 213 
 
 things which exist, and supplies their place with 
 living fire ! 
 
 The revulsion which always follows a burst of 
 passion such as this, kept Alice silent for a few 
 moments; and Hubert was not yet sufficiently 
 collected to speak. Again, it was she who broke 
 this silence. — '' But time wears," she said, *' we 
 must part. — Fly, Hubert, fiy — we shall never 
 meet more — but sometimes think on Alice 
 Lover — and again she raised the cloak to en- 
 velope him in its ample folds. 
 
 The monk again drew back. ^' Alice," he said 
 at last, in a voice in which emotion struggled with 
 firmness — ^' I did not think that, at this time, 
 anything could have drawn my mind to the world 
 again — I thought that the person did not live 
 who could have given rise to one throb of mortal 
 passion within my heart. — But your devoted zeal 
 — your — (I must speak it) — your self-sacrificing 
 affection— have called forth feelings forbidden 
 at all times — what, then, must they be now ? 
 Had our lot been differently cast — had we met 
 
 at a period but it is vain, it is worse, it is 
 
 wicked, to feel and speak thus — a bar immove-
 
 214 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 able, a gulf impassable, has ever existed between 
 us. — I was devoted to the service of heaven — 
 and it was my vocation as well as my profession. 
 If ever the feelings of this world have prevailed 
 against me — if ever a shade of regret has passed 
 across my mind at being what I was, — Alice 
 Lovel, it has been when your remembrance has 
 stolen between me and the thoughts which ought 
 ever to have been mine — when your image has 
 arisen to cross my view of those from which my 
 eyes should never have been removed. And 
 now — even at this hour, when the very minutes 
 of my life are counted — now, when my soul had 
 striven to draw near unto its God, and to cast 
 off all recollections of that life which is so soon 
 to end, — even now, your sight, your voice, are 
 sufficient to prove to me that I still belong to 
 the race of fallen Adam — that my heart is not 
 yet wholly dissevered from the ties of mortal 
 passions. That I thank thee, Alice, for all thou 
 hast now done, and art willing to suffer for my 
 sake — that my heart overflows with gratitude 
 and (shall I say it?) with affection towards you, 
 your heart, I am sure, must well believe. But,
 
 LORD LOVEL'S daughter. 215 
 
 there it ends — for I cannot, I may not, fly. 
 The glory of the Church — the service of heaven 
 •—demand my sacrifice. If I were to fall away, 
 the heretics would scoff at my lack of courage as 
 of faith — they would make the lapse of an indi- 
 vidual seem to be a sin of the whole Church. 
 Our enemies reproach us with the influence which 
 our ministry, especially in the holy sacrament 
 of confession, causes us to possess over pious 
 minds — and in particular, over those of your 
 sex — and shall I now give them a colour for 
 their blasphemous taunts by leaving in my dun- 
 geon, in my stead, a noble maiden such as thee ? — 
 'Twere a deed unmanly at all times — but almost 
 sacrilegious at this. No ! Alice — my race is 
 run — my fate is doomed — I will die as I have 
 lived — the faithful though unworthy servant 
 of the Most Highest !" 
 
 He bowed his head upon his breast in mental 
 prayer as he ceased speaking — and Alice was in 
 no mood to interrupt him . She perceived in his 
 manner that he was resolved — and her heart died 
 within her. The fire of her excited spirits had 
 now passed ; the eye was quenched — the lip grown
 
 216 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 pale — and a round spot of deep red in the centre 
 of the cheek alone remained of the radiant suf- 
 fusion which had before pervaded neck, and 
 bosom, and face, and brow. But she roused 
 herself from the despair which was creeping over 
 her ; — in such a cause she was not to be repulsed 
 by one refusal. " Nay, Hubert," she exclaimed, 
 ^' decide not thus; — it is sinful to cast away 
 your life when its preservation is in your power 
 — that life which is given to you to such high 
 issues — that life, Hubert, with which mine is 
 interwoven. Oh ! if you ever did feel one throb 
 of that affection for me which you but now- 
 avowed — if you do not now scorn and loathe me 
 — if my life is of any estimation in your sight, — 
 do not, oh do not, thus slay me by your own 
 act — thus strike my death-blow with the voice, 
 if not with the hand. Think you, Hubept, I 
 could outlive you ! — Think you, that this frail 
 body, on which the spirit has preyed so long, 
 could outlast the shock of your death ? — Oil 
 God ! and such a death !'' — a shudder of mortal 
 horror passed over her, as she spoke — and she 
 almost screamed as she continued — •* Oh Hubert I
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 217 
 
 if you have the pity of a man — if you have the 
 heart of a human being — -do not deny my 
 prayer ! — Oh ! fly, fly, from a fate so horrible 
 — spare me with yourself! do not crush my 
 ^ heart by embracing such a fate as this !"" 
 
 The soul of Hubert was shaken to its centre. 
 That love of life which is almost the last feeling 
 to leave human nature was partly re-awakened 
 by the passionate supplications of a being who 
 stood to him in a relation such as that of Alice 
 Level. The love which consumed her touched 
 the only chord of sexual passion which had ever 
 vibrated within his heart — she had sacrificed all 
 things for him — fame, wealth, station, — her fa- 
 ther's countenance — her natural home — and he 
 felt that she spoke only in the language of unex- 
 aggerated truth, when she said that his death 
 and her's were one. For a moment his resolution 
 tottered — but it was only for a moment. That 
 feeling which I have stated to exceed all human 
 feelings — even such as warred within his heart 
 at that moment — the enthusiasm of religion 
 prevailed. In Hubert this noble incentive had 
 been fostered and cultivated even from his youth 
 Vol. I. L
 
 218 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 — it had prompted, at once, and rewarded the 
 successes of his manhood, and had given rise to 
 the honourable and honoured visions of his am- 
 bition. It had shielded his heart from the 
 temptations of the world whenever they had 
 assailed him — it protected him now, in the 
 severest peril to which he had ever been ex- 
 posed. 
 
 " Speak not thus" — he answered, after a pause, 
 to the passionate appeal of Alice — '' abstain from 
 such language, — shun such thoughts ! — That my 
 death should involve your's would give me a 
 pang far, far greater than any which the tor- 
 tures of those bloody-minded men can inflict. 
 But the same motive which calls for my death 
 bids you to live — Religious duty. The cause of 
 the church would be betrayed — its reputation 
 stained — its enemies would triumph, — if I shrank 
 from the trial which awaits me. But how Mould 
 heaven regard a life lost through the violence of 
 guilty passions — extinguished by the force of 
 feehnirs which ouo^ht never to have been ? Alice 
 Lovel, rouse that strength of purpose with which 
 God hath so amply endowed thee — which has
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 219 
 
 been so fearfully shewn this day — Profit by 
 the piety which hath maintained its place within 
 your heart — purge it from unhallowed thoughts 
 — and oh ! reflect, reflect, how unfitted they are 
 for a season, for a place, like this!" — He paused 
 for some time — his eyes intently fixed on her, 
 as she lay in a state almost of inanition on the 
 pallet upon which she had sunk in exhaustion — 
 as though he was indulging to the full the luxury 
 of looking on her whom his soul loved, before 
 he withdrew that soul from all such thoughts 
 for ever! ''Alice, we must part," at last he 
 said : " my mind needs much discipline to restore 
 it to that state of calm and hope in which it 
 was when you re-awakened the tumultuous feel- 
 ings which agitate and pervade it now. — Alice ! 
 the farewell which closes our intercourse in this 
 world must be spoken now !" 
 
 There are several who would attempt — there 
 are some, perhaps, who possess the power — to 
 paint a parting such as that which took place 
 between Hubert and Alice Lovel. But I am 
 perfectly conscious that such a task is wholly 
 beyond me — and I feel that I should not have 
 
 L 2
 
 220 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 the heart to undertake it, even if I were assured 
 that I could accomplish it successfully. The 
 agony of mortal separation — the feelings which 
 are called into play when we leave to an assured 
 death the being we love best in the world, are 
 too awful, arc too holy, to be held up to the 
 general gaze. My readers have the outline before 
 them ; if they wish it filled up, each must do it 
 for himself. May they never, never, have the 
 assistance of experience to guide their hand !
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In his contumacie, 
 The Gospel doth deny — 
 The kyng to be supreme head. 
 
 InscrijHion on Friar Forrest's Scaffold, 
 
 The uses to which Smithfield has been, of late 
 years, devoted, are not of a nature to raise any 
 exalted or romantic associations at the mention' 
 of its name. But, at the period of which I am 
 treating, the very sound of the word was suffi- 
 cient to excite emotions of horror and of dread. 
 It was the scene on which those fearful tragedies 
 were acted, which were at once the curse and the 
 disgrace of their age. There were carried into 
 effect those terrible executions, of a nature teem- 
 ing with physical horror, and morally more 
 shocking from their being alternately inflicted 
 upon each other by two sects of men alike 
 calling themselves Christians. That spot has 
 witnessed the stern ferocity of the bigot, and 
 the constancy of the suffering martyr dis- 
 
 L 3
 
 222 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 played, reciprocally, now by Catholic, now by 
 Protestant — neither party softened in its wrath 
 either by the sufferings of its members, when the 
 weakest — or by the odiousness of the persecuting 
 spirit as evinced by their opponents when upper- 
 most. 
 
 On the day appointed for the execution of 
 Father Hubert, the area which is now covered 
 only with pens and folds for the division and 
 security of cattle, displayed the preparations for 
 a public spectacle of the dreadful nature of which 
 I have been speaking. The instrument by 
 means of which he was to suffer was of a descrip- 
 tion different from that commonly used for such 
 purposes, but which was occasionally had re- 
 course to, when the sufferer was more than com- 
 monly obnoxious. It was not a stake, to which 
 the victim is fastened so as to be in the midst of 
 the flames, but a gallows, from which he was to 
 be suspended by a chain passed round the mid- 
 dle and under the arras — the fire being so dis- 
 posed beneath as, at first, only to reach the ex- 
 tremities, and to extend to the vital parts by 
 slow gradations ! Near to this, a scaffolding was
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 223 
 
 erected containing commodious seats for, it 
 might be, about twenty persons — as well as a 
 species of elevated rostrum, which was to serve 
 as a pulpit from whence the execution-sermon 
 was to be preached. 
 
 Such was the appearance which was presented 
 by the official arrangements for the terrible event 
 which was to take place that day ; — that of the 
 effects of individual impulse was far more shock- 
 ing, if not to the senses, at least to the mind. 
 To see a space like that of Smithfield thronged 
 with human beings come to witness one of their 
 own species burned to deaths is indeed a spec- 
 tacle which, to the reflection, is not short of ap- 
 palling. Strange, strange indeed, is that appe- 
 tite for horrors, which, even in these days, we 
 see so widely spread, and so strongly active 
 upon the minds of even persons of humane and 
 kindly dispositions ! To behold the awful mo- 
 ment of the passage of the spirit into eternity, is 
 a sort of awful desire within us, for which the 
 term curiosity would be too mean and common. 
 But the wish to witness it under all the aggra- 
 vations of circumstance which attend a public 
 
 L 4
 
 224 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 execution — more especially under the infliction 
 of such bodily torture as that of death by fire — 
 is a feeling which, prevalent as experience com- 
 pels us to admit it to be, it is most difficult, if 
 not impossible, to analyze or to account for. 
 
 But, in addition to the persons brought thither 
 by such feelings as these, the concourse assem- 
 bled in Smithfield on that dav included a g^eat 
 proportion whose motives were of a different and 
 deeper character. On the one hand, were the 
 zealous votaries of the Reformation, men already 
 distinguished by stern energy and unbending 
 firmness — equally ready to endure or to inflict 
 martyrdom — and to glory in either deed as per- 
 formed immediately in the service of Heaven. 
 These men were come to feed those feelings of 
 religious ferocity, the prevalence of which, on 
 both sides, in an age somewhat later, caused so 
 vast an eff*usion of human blood. They came 
 to feast their eyes with the destruction of one 
 whom they considered devoted to the foulest 
 and most damnable superstition — and their coun- 
 tenances expressed that gloomy triumph which 
 such thoughts could not fail to call forth within
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 225 
 
 their hearts. There were also present a consi- 
 derable number of zealous Catholics, who came 
 to witness the martyrdom of one of the most 
 distinscuished confessors in their cause — and to 
 behold and to glory in the unshaken firmness 
 with which, they were confident, a religion such 
 as theirs would enable its votary to endure the 
 utmost tortures devised by the ingenious malice 
 of man. These persons wore an air, of sorrow 
 certainly, but of sorrow checked and upheld 
 by some motive far stronger and more exalted. 
 And even that portion of the crowd which was 
 attracted by curiosity alone, shewed, by their 
 appearance, that it was no common purpose which 
 had brought them together. For, the expecta- 
 tion of a spectacle of mortal interest always- 
 impresses upon the countenances of the expec- 
 tants a severe, and even solemn, expression, 
 which redeems any individual coarseness or vul- 
 garity, and gives to the whole body, as such, 
 an aspect which cannot be contemplated without 
 a sensation not far removed from awe. 
 
 At a little after the hour of noon, the persons 
 for whom the seats on the platform had been re- 
 
 L 5
 
 TALES OF PAS SI OX. 
 
 served, arrived. They consisted of a few of the 
 higher nobility — and of some members of the 
 council, both prelates and laymen. Among the 
 former was the celebrated Hugh Latimer, Bishop 
 of Worcester, who was to preach what, in the 
 phraseology of that day, was called the execu- 
 tion sermon ; — a discourse, namely, the professed 
 object of which was to convince the culprit of his 
 errors, and, by inducing him to recant them, to 
 enable him to obtain a pardon^ which the mem- 
 bers of council were there present to grant. But, 
 so few were the instances — I am not indeed 
 aware that there is any on record — of persons, 
 who had gone thus far, backsliding at the last 
 hour, that these sermons much more bore the 
 character of triumphant proclamations of the 
 prevailing doctrines, and of somewhat unchris- 
 tian vituperation of the sufferer, and exultation 
 over his fate. 
 
 There could not be a person in every way 
 more fitted for this stern and awful office than 
 Hugh Latimer. His eloquenc3, in the first 
 place, was peculiarly suited to a popular assem- 
 blage, — his style being strong, clear, and full of
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 227 
 
 homely images and illustrations — somewhat re- 
 sembling, mutatis mutandis, (if indeed I may 
 be permitted to use such a simiUtude on such a 
 subject,) the writings of William Cobbett. But, 
 exciting as political matters may be in our days, 
 they are weak and pale in comparison with the 
 agitating themes which formed the subject of 
 Latimer's oratory. Polemics were not then, as 
 now, confined to recluse schoolmen, or aspiring 
 ecclesiastics, — they then came immediately home 
 to the business and bosoms of men, in this world 
 as well as \vith regard to the next — they were 
 equally the topics of the ambitious and of the 
 pious — on them the worldly fortunes of men de- 
 pended, for them they sacrificed their lives, and 
 staked their salvation. 
 
 In every one of these many and momentous 
 points, Latimer was peculiarly qualified to excel. 
 His learning was great — his devotion to the 
 cause of the Reformation was extreme — ^liis am- 
 bition had, through its means, been successful — 
 and his character was of that stamp that he was 
 as fierce and relentless in persecution, as he was 
 stubborn and undaunted in supporting it when 
 
 L G
 
 228 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 his turn came. He was, indeed, a fair specimen, 
 ■whether in mental or moral qualities, of the 
 more sincere and disinterested leaders of the 
 Reformation, both in this country and on the 
 Continent ; — learned, eloquent in the pecuhar 
 style of eloquence of which I have spoken, se- 
 vere, stern, uncompromising, pitiless, — but at the 
 same time sincerely enthusiastic and ardent in 
 the cause they had espoused, and firmly believ- 
 ing it to be their duty to promote its success 
 even by those means from which the blood of 
 men, in our happier days, recoils. 
 
 Shortly after the lords of the council had 
 taken their seats, the prisoner was brought forth. 
 He had been permitted to retain his habit — a 
 privilege which was sometimes withheld, and at 
 others, with a curious spirit of contradiction, 
 enforced, for the purpose of degrading it, by 
 bringing it thus into immediate juxta-position 
 with the accompaniments of an ignominious 
 death. In Hubert's instance, however, no notice 
 had been taken as to how he was to be clothed 
 — and he had consequently retained the vesture 
 of his calling. He marched bare-headed — with
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 229 
 
 a calm and firm, though pale, countenance — his 
 mind, manifestly, withdrawn from the scene be- 
 fore him, and fixed on the contemplation of eter- 
 nity. As he passed along, the eyes of the whole 
 multitude were bent upon him — but their ex- 
 pression varied according to the sentiments of 
 each individual. Few, indeed, could behold 
 him without some feelings of admiration; — his 
 noble aspect ; his expression of unshaken resolu- 
 tion under the trial of mortal agony which 
 awaited him, even the great reputation which he 
 possessed for talents of the highest order and of 
 various kinds, all tended to cause him to be re- 
 garded, even by the strongest Protestants, with 
 sensations, in greater or less degrees, imbued 
 with respect. But, by those of his own religion, 
 he was looked upon with unmingled admiration 
 and pride. Among them, his name stood in the 
 very foremost rank of celebrity ; no one had ren- 
 dered services at once so distinguished, and so 
 useful, to their church — no one had, in the same 
 degree, counterbalanced the reputation which 
 the Gospellers, as the reformed clergy were then 
 called, had gained for eloquence, energy, and
 
 230 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 piety. And now that he was about to put the 
 crowning stone to the noble edifice of his Hfe, by 
 the manner of his death, the Catholics who^that 
 day beheld him were almost ready to forestall 
 canonization, and, seeing him to be a martyr, to 
 consider him already a saint. Nay, in the crowd 
 through which he had to pass, many pressed 
 forward, in despite of the guards who struggled 
 to keep them back, that they might touch the 
 hem of the garment of the holy man, ere yet he 
 was removed from among them. 
 
 When he reached the pile of faggots over 
 which, by a savage refinement in cruelty, he was 
 to be suspended, Latimer mounted the pulpit 
 which had been erected for the purpose. A deep 
 silence at once pervaded the vast multitude, and 
 all eyes were turned upon the prelate. As the 
 mental qualifications of Latimer were, as I have 
 said, eminently suited to fit him for the part he 
 acted in his time, — so was his personal aspect in 
 singular conformity with the powers and dispo- 
 sitions of his mind. Even at the period of which 
 I speak, he was considerably advanced in life, 
 and his beard, both on his upper lip and on liis
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 231 
 
 chin, was long, white, and flowing. His person 
 was spare, and inclining to be tall — and his face 
 was long, thin, and of strongly marked and pro- 
 minent features. His eyes were of that pale 
 grey, which, though they commonly do not 
 possess much expression when in repose, yet in 
 moments of excitation flash with a keenness and 
 brilliancy, perhaps exceeding those of any other 
 colour. In Latimer, they added much to the 
 effect of his oratory — the manner of which was 
 always animated, and generally impassioned. 
 
 When the bishop had ascended the pulpit, he 
 drew forth a bible, and prefaced his discourse 
 with an extemporaneous prayer, alluding to the 
 occasion on which it was made, and interlarded 
 with profuse quotations from the Scripture. He 
 then gave his text — which he took from the fifth 
 chapter of St. Matthew. " If thy right hand 
 offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee : for 
 it is profitable for thee that one of thy members 
 should perish, and not that thy whole body 
 should be cast into Hell !" 
 
 He began by applying this text — alleging that 
 it was an injunction as well to the Church of
 
 232 TALES OF PASSION". 
 
 Christ, in general^ as to individuals — and, there- 
 fore, that those members which were gangrenous 
 should be cut off, that the contagion might not 
 spread to the general body. He then recapitu- 
 lated the crimes which, in his perversity, Hubert 
 had committed. He dwelled especially upon the 
 recent rebellion, and, with that attention to mere 
 words which then so much occupied even the 
 strongest-minded men, inveighed with great bit- 
 terness against its having been styled the Pilgri- 
 mage of Grace. " These men in the North 
 Country," he exclaimed, " made pretence as 
 though they were armed in God's armour, girded 
 in truth, and clothed in righteousness. I have 
 heard say, they wore the cross and the wounds, 
 before and behind, and they pretended much 
 truth to the King\s Grace, and to the Common- 
 wealth — when they intended nothing less, and 
 deceived the poor ignorant people, and brought 
 them to fight against both the king, the church, 
 and the commonwealth. They armed them with 
 the sign of the cross, and of the wounds, and 
 went clean contrary to him that bare the cross, 
 and suffered those wounds. Lo! what false pre-
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 233 
 
 tence can the devil send among us ! It is one of 
 his most crafty and subtle assaults, to send his 
 warriors forth under the badge of God, as tho' 
 they were armed in righteousness and justice. 
 But those only are clothed with the habergeon 
 of very justice and righteousness, who are in 
 true obedience to their prince, and faithful love 
 to their neighbours, and take no false quarrels in 
 hand, nor any feigned armour — but, in justice, 
 * having their feet shod for preparation of the 
 gospel of peace. *' " He then descanted upon the 
 wickedness of denying the king's supremacy, 
 and acknowledging that of the Bishop of Rome ; 
 — he advanced the usual arguments on that 
 question which was then in almost daily contro- 
 versy, and illustrated and enforced them with all 
 that power of eloquence and of invective, for 
 which he was so famous. He next proceeded 
 to refute the theological doctrines for which 
 Hubert had been condemned. In this part of 
 his discourse, he addressed himself to his audi- 
 tory in general — ami exhorted them to beware 
 of false teachers, and not to permit the great 
 * Latimer's Sermons, p. 3. Ed. 1G35.
 
 234 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 fisher of souls to catch them with a bait like this, 
 a scarlet rag of the Whore of Babylon. He 
 entered into a long, argumentative, and learned 
 disquisition upon the disputed points — in doing 
 which he embraced, collaterally, nearly all the 
 principal theological topics of the Reformation. 
 At last, turning to Hubert, who had stood pas- 
 sively during the whole oration, he recapitulated 
 the principal arguments he had used upon the 
 three great branches of his subject — the Pilgri- 
 mage of Grace — the King's Supremacy — and 
 the spiritual opinions for which Hubert had 
 been judged an heretic : and he ended by asking 
 him whether he would express sorrow and con- 
 trition for having joined in the rebellion ? — whe- 
 ther he would acknowledge the Supremacy of 
 the kinoj ? — and whether he would recant the 
 doctrines which the council had pronounced to 
 be heretical ? — '' In that case,'" the bishop said, 
 ^^ these learned and pious lords have power 
 given unto them by the King's Highness, in his 
 great mercy, to remit thine awful sentence — if 
 not, thou art an obstinate heretic, and must 
 perish, as such, by fire."
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 235: 
 
 Hubert^ who appeared to have been absorbed 
 in mental devotion during the greater part of the 
 Bishop'^s discourse, raised his head, at this appeal; 
 and, when Latimer ceased speaking, standing 
 upon the faggots to give himself elevation above 
 the heads of the crowd, said in a loud voice : — 
 " Hugh Latimer, thou hast put to me three ques- 
 tions — and I cannot suffer this assemblage to 
 believe that I have no answer to make unto them. 
 You ask me, first, whether I repent me of hav- 
 ing joined in the Pilgrimage of Grace ? I make 
 answer that I glory in having so done — and that 
 I sorrow only for its holy end not having been 
 accomplished. We bare the sacred wounds upon 
 us as a badge to the outward man, but the me- 
 mory of Christ crucified was the standard under 
 which our inward souls were 'listed. We fought 
 for a Church desolated, for altars profaned, for 
 holy men robbed and outraged. In that cause I 
 would have fought unto the death, then — for that 
 cause I offer up the sacrifice of this earthly tene- 
 ment, now ! — You ask me, next, whether I will 
 acknowledge the supremacy of Henry Tudor— 
 rather would I acknowledge the supremacy of
 
 236 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 Satan, whose minister he is on earth ! — Lastly, 
 you ask me whether I will renounce the truths of 
 our holy religion. Already have I said, in ano- 
 ther place, before those judges who now come, 
 like executioners, to glut their vengeful spirits 
 with beholding the physical torture of my frail 
 body, — already have I said that ' though they 
 v/ould give me all the world, what is that in 
 exchange for my immortal soul ?"* The utmost 
 skill of human cruelty — and I see," he continued, 
 glancing at the unusual apparatus, " that it has 
 been exercised to the utmost — cannot protract 
 my sufferings long — and shall I, to escape the 
 passing pain of this mortal frame, give up my 
 soul to the fire of eternity? Shall I, in childish 
 fear at what the agony of this world can be at 
 the worst, voluntarily yield myself to eternal dam- 
 nation ? — Fools, even in your generation, must 
 ye be to think a Christian man can act thus ! — 
 My brethren," the monk continued, turning to 
 the multitude, his form erect, his hands out- 
 stretched, and his face beaming with the expres- 
 sion of religious enthusiasm in the hour of its 
 glory — " My brethren, this day am I to be a
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER. 237 
 
 bridegroom — behold my wedding-couch ! — Yea ! 
 I say unto you that my soul shall welcome these 
 faggots with more ecstacy to-day, than that with 
 which a bridegroom in the flesh rushes to his 
 bridal chamber. Think not that, though the 
 spirit may be firm, the nerves and flesh of my 
 body will shrink. No ! that God in whose cause 
 I sufl^er will temper the fury of the flames unto 
 mc, or will harden me so that I may abide it. 
 He will enable me to show unto you how one of 
 the true faith can die ! — And now, my brethren, 
 farewell and Benedicife ! I shall pray for you 
 this day in heaven r — With this, he extended 
 his hands as though he invoked a blessing upon 
 all there present — and then, delivering himself 
 into the hands of the executioners, they prepared 
 to bind him, for his death. 
 
 At this moment, a general shudder prevailed 
 the assembled crowd. All looked with respect, 
 and many with veneration, upon the sufferer — 
 and now the actual infliction of his terrible fate 
 had approached so nearly as to cause a recoil of 
 blood in the great majority of those who wit- 
 nessed it. Few had ever beheld such a spectacle
 
 238 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 before; and now that its horrors were on the 
 point of being exhibited, the natural, even the 
 merely physical, feelings of humanity shrank 
 from them with awe. 
 
 A chain was passed under each of Hubert''s 
 arms, and fastened, like a girdl round his 
 waist. He was then raised by pulleys fastened 
 at the top of the gallows, and made fast to it by 
 another chain. The wood was then disposed 
 around the foot of the post, and fire was set to 
 it. The flame rose slowly — and was some time 
 even before it reached the sufferer's feet. Hu- 
 bert remained with his hands placed together in 
 the attitude of prayer ; and, with his eyes closed, 
 seemed to have fixed his mind in devotion upon 
 the world above. At last, the fire fastened upon 
 his limbs — but no sound escaped his hps, no 
 contortion of the frame shewed consciousness of 
 the awful agony which it endured. The hu- 
 manity of the executioners induced them now to 
 shorten the duration of his sufferings, by putting 
 on the fuel lavishly — and the fire quickly enve- 
 loping Hubert entirely, he ceased altogether to 
 be visible. At the moment that the flame
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 239 
 
 reached to his head — he was heard to exclaim in 
 a loud voice : ' ' Oh Lord, pardon me as I for- 
 give mine enemies ! — In thy merciful goodness, 
 receive my soul !"" — This was the first time he 
 had spoken since he had been fastened to the 
 stake — and he was not heard again. 
 
 It was a short time after this, while the fire still 
 raged around the body, which occasionally was 
 partly distinguishable through the flames, that, 
 of a sudden, a tumult arose among that part of 
 the crowd which was nearest the scaffold. It 
 was occasioned by a female figure, clothed in 
 black, and with a black veil overshadowing the 
 face, struggling to penetrate it. After some 
 difficulty, she succeeded — the crowd believing 
 lier to be some Catholic devotee, who wished to 
 procure some of the ashes of the holy person 
 who had just perished, or to perform some 
 penance or ceremony before the shrine of his 
 sacrifice. But the object she meditated was far 
 different indeed : no sooner had she reached the 
 scaffold than, without uttering any audible 
 word, she threw herself upon the blazing pile ! 
 The surprise and horror of the assistants were so
 
 24 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 great, that some moments elapsed before they 
 attempted to save her. She was liowever speedily 
 withdrawn from the flames; — they found her 
 insensible. Astonishment was at its height — 
 nobody could divine who the unfortunate was, 
 or what her motive might be. At last, being 
 carried for space and air upon the platform where 
 the lords of the council still sat, one of them 
 recognised her to be Lord LoveVs daughter.
 
 LORD LOYEL'S DAUGHTER. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 They said her cheek of youth was beautiful, 
 
 Till with'ring sorrow blanch'd the bright rose there-^ 
 
 And I have heard men swear her fonn was fair, 
 
 But grief did lay his icy finger on it, 
 
 And chill'd it to a cold and joyless statue. 
 
 Maturin". 
 
 Several months had passed since the event 
 described in the last chapter, and Alice Lovel 
 still lived ; — if, indeed, a form wasted to the last 
 degree of tenuity and weakness, and a spirit long 
 wholly fixed upon the world beyond the grave, 
 can properly be said to be still within the pre- 
 cincts of mortal life. Immediately after the 
 death of Hubert, her father had reconducted her 
 to Crossland Court. She had passively submitted 
 to his will; — the blow she had received had 
 stunned, though it had not killed her — and she 
 was then, and for some time afterwards, in a 
 state approaching to inanition. Whether Lord 
 Lovel was fully aware of the motives which had 
 actuated his dausjhter — or whether he thouaht 
 Vol. I. M
 
 242 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 that she had been impelled only by enthusiastic 
 feelings of religion, I have never been able to 
 ascertain. It is probable, however, that so acute 
 a man of the world as he was, must have, at the 
 least, suspected the truth ; but, if he did, the same 
 character induced him to conceal his surmise, 
 and to act as though he believed his daughter's 
 conduct to have arisen from a fanaticism at that 
 time by no means rare even among persons of 
 hev rank. As little was said about the matter 
 as possible : but this was the colouring given to 
 the transaction when it luas spoken of. 
 
 The mind of Alice . herself was far removed 
 from such ideas as these. The world, with all 
 its considerations and all its ties, had vanished 
 from her sight for ever when Hubert died. 
 For some time she continued in a state of out- 
 ward apathy — of sorrow, numbed and stone- 
 like from its very severity. But she did not sink 
 under it at once. Life clings to youth with 
 extreme tenacity — and the stricken and weary 
 spirit cannot shake off the mortal coil from 
 which it ardently longs to get free. And thus 
 it was with Alice. When a few weeks had
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 243 
 
 elapsed after her return to Crossland, she seemed 
 in some de^ee to revive from the trance-Hke 
 condition into which she had been plunged. 
 She again commenced her usual course of life. 
 She renewed her visits of charity to the poor, 
 and, above all, the offices of her religion. But a 
 smile never was seen to beam upon her lip — no 
 tinge of colour was ever apparent upon her mar- 
 ble cheek, — and, had it not been for the sweet 
 soft voice, now heard but seldom, no one would 
 have recognized in this countenance, which was 
 Sorrow's throne, and in the frame so wasted that 
 it scarce seemed formed of aught more material 
 than air, — the lady of radiant beauty, who, but 
 a few years before, had appeared to the dwellers 
 in the Valley, like a spirit of gladness as well as 
 of peace and love. The ear still listened to their 
 humble griefs — ^the tongue still poured out to 
 them the sweet accents of consolation — the hand 
 was still open as the day to relieve their wants. 
 But the bounding spirits of the young "girl, 
 which spread themselves as though by contagion 
 to the most drooping — the bright and beam- 
 ing loveliness which shed, as it were^ a reflection 
 
 M 2
 
 244 TALES OF PASSION, 
 
 of warmth and beauty upon the hearts of all 
 around, — these now were fled ; and, in their 
 place, was an aspect of sepulchral sorrow, more 
 likely to impart itself to others than even its 
 opposite had been — a brow upon which Death 
 had so visibly set his seal as to shoot his gloom 
 and chill over all who contemplated a sight so 
 sad. 
 
 In the solitude of her own chamber, that feel- 
 ing which had been so energetically called forth, 
 and so unremittingly cultivated, still prevailed — 
 she sought in her supplications to heaven for 
 that peace which all of this earth denied her. 
 But in the pale, hollow cheek, and in the eyes 
 cold with the moisture of constant tears, upraised 
 with an expression almost of despair^ — who could 
 trace the portrait of the Lady Alice such as I 
 have described it, — where the prayer is that of 
 overflowing and hopeful faith — and where the 
 admixture of female passion, which is partially 
 betrayed in that speaking countenance, renders 
 more warm, and draws nearer to our sympathies, 
 the purer and more exalted rapture of heavenly 
 love ? Alas ! that form and that feeling had
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 245 
 
 alike ceased to be — that frame of radiant loveli- 
 ness had faded to bloom no more ! To borrow 
 the words of the beautiful verses which I have- 
 chosen as an epigraph to this chapter, — 
 
 — Grief had laid his icy finger on it, 
 And chilled it to a cold and joyless statue ! 
 
 Joyless indeed ! — the settled gloom of fixed sor- 
 row had closed up and darkened her heart — and 
 not one straggling ray of the light of life could 
 find its way within it. 
 
 The turret chamber which I have mentioned 
 as being Lady Alice's apartment in the Castle of 
 the Cross^ was exchanged in the new mansion, 
 for one of much more ample dimensions, and 
 fitted up with far greater splendour. But of all 
 the rich decorations which had been lavished 
 upon it, nothing had ever given her gratification 
 except the virginals, which had been procured 
 of an excellence fitted to the buildin": in which 
 they were to be placed. During the time which 
 had passed since Crossland Court was built, this 
 instrument had been her chief, if not her only, 
 source of pleasure ; and now, when all other 
 
 I\I 3
 
 24G TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 subjects of human interest were cast aside, music 
 was still able to exert its influence over her souL 
 But, like the talisman of a fairy-tale, it takes its 
 character and complexion from the individual 
 feehngs of the person who calls it forth. It 
 gladdens the heart of the young and joyful ; but 
 to the bruised in spirit it is like the fountain 
 Marah — its waters are those of bitterness. 
 There was an evening hymn which had always 
 been sung at vespers at the Abbey of the Cross, 
 during the days when Ahce had there un- 
 consciously drunk such deep draughts of love. 
 This air was the only one which now she ever 
 played — and as the dear and well-known sounds 
 grew beneath her touch, the hand which excited 
 them became more and more tremulous, till, at 
 last, it would sink from the task — and Alice 
 would lean forward upon the instrument, and, 
 burying her face in her hands, give way to irre- 
 pressible and choking tears. The sacred walls 
 in which she had heard these notes swell forth 
 in the voices of the full choir, were now laid low 
 — the holy and venerable men who had been 
 their tenants, were scattered like tlie leaves of
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 247 
 
 autumn — and he who had been the crowning- 
 jewel of the diadem — he in whom had been cen- 
 tred all the strongest feelings that ever had 
 
 existed in the breast of Alice, — he but her 
 
 heart always shrank from completing the pic- 
 ture. 
 
 It is strange 5 — the image of Hubert was ever 
 present to her mind — a general feeling, rather 
 than individual remembrance, of his dreadful fate, 
 had become part of her very being ; — yet had she 
 never reverted to it in detail — her thoughts re- 
 coiled from such a contemplation^ with instinc- 
 tive dread and shuddering, as the nerves do from 
 natural fire. How various and extraordinary- 
 are the folds of the human heart ! — how wonder- 
 ful are its phenomena ! — how inexplicable its 
 combinations ! — Strong as was the command 
 which her feelings had over Alice, yet she was 
 thus able to check them suddenly and at once, as 
 they approached their very strong hold — and 
 the power was given to her by their intensity 
 itself, at that approach. 
 
 And Alice also resumed the daily visit to the 
 ruins of the Abbey, which had formerly given 
 
 M 4
 
 248 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 rise to so fateful an event. Every evening, as the 
 sun sank, and the shadows of the dark trees and 
 crumbling walls began to deepen, Alice might 
 be seen pacing her slow and melancholy way 
 along the margin of the brook, in prosecution of 
 her constant pilgrimage. There she would seek 
 the shrine of the Virgin, which had heard her 
 prayers so often, and which had witnessed that 
 moment of tumultous and intoxicating ecstacy 
 that was all she had to set against the accumu- 
 lated years of struggle and of suffering which had 
 arisen from the same cause. There she would 
 stay for hours, brooding over those deep sor- 
 rows which were fast drying up the well-spring 
 of life within — and the moon was high in the 
 heavens, or darkness had long been spread over 
 the Valley, ere she retraced her steps homeward. 
 It was now advanced spring. The turf along 
 the brook had assumed a brighter hue — the trees 
 were bursting into leaf — and the wild flowers of 
 the season breathed their perfume upon the air. 
 The bank upon which the Abbey stood had 
 always been celebrated for a profusion of tlie 
 richest violets : and these were now in full bloom
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 249 
 
 and fragrance, though the venerable pile which 
 overshadowed them had *' fallen from its hio-h 
 
 o 
 
 estate." Alice had grown so weak that it Avas 
 with great difficulty she was able to reach the 
 ruins — and she had already, during the severe 
 weather of March^ been obliged occasionally to 
 desist from the attempt altogether. But this 
 evening was bright and warm — the sun glistened 
 on the early verdure — and the voice of the birds 
 of spring seemed to give fresh life to the whole 
 face of nature. Alice had not left the house for 
 some days ; she was, therefore, determined to 
 profit by so fair an evening, and to go down to 
 tlie Virgln^s shrine. 
 
 It was at exactly the same period of the year 
 preceding, that the interview between Alice and 
 Hubert had taken place on that spot — and^ as 
 she approached it now, at the same hour, and 
 under a similar state of the heavens, — the 
 identity of the scene struck most forcibly upoA 
 her heart. But one circumstance was yet to be 
 added to make the parallel almost too perfect 
 to bear — and, trifling as this may seem to many, 
 it had that effect to a remarkable degree. The 
 
 M5
 
 ■250 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 bank of violets had been in full flower at the 
 period of their meeting — and, though neither 
 had in the least noticed, at the time, that it was 
 so, 3'et, as the gentle breeze of the evening 
 wafted the rich fragrance upon the sense, Alice 
 shrank at the intense intimacy with which that 
 meeting was revived before her. More, far more, 
 than the sight of the scene itself — more even than 
 the sounds of the music with which his image 
 was so closely entwined, — did the scent of these 
 flowers recall the image of Hubert into being 
 before her eyes. It is certain, that of all the im- 
 pressions of sense, that which arises from any 
 remarkable odour is the most powerful in recall- 
 ing scenes, and days, and persons, long past, 
 long distant, long dead. Those, some agitating 
 circumstance of whose life has taken place where a 
 prevailing odour has struck upon their sense dur- 
 ing its progress, — must have often felt its almost 
 magical effect upon them, at remote periods, Mhen 
 their minds may have been intent on matters 
 utterly different, if the same scent has suddenly 
 become present to them again. With reference 
 to those we have loved, it has that added power
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 251 
 
 which that whicli relates to them always possess 
 over and above all other subjects of memory. 
 
 And thus Alice felt it; — never, in all the 
 dreary months during which her mind had been 
 occupied by 07ie object of grief and thought — 
 had such a startling sensation of reality attached 
 to the image which so engrossed her. Time 
 seemed to roll back the wheels of his car, and 
 to place her on the point where the year before 
 had seen her. ** Yes!" sighed the unhappy 
 one, '^ here, for one moment, I rested upon his 
 bosom — here, for one moment, our lips met — here 
 the ecstatic knowledge dawned upon me that I 
 was beloved ! Oh ! the flood of tumultuous de- 
 light which then burst over my soul repaid ten- 
 fold the long years of sadness and of suffering 
 which had gone before. It was at this hour — it 
 was on this spot — the light of the heavens, the 
 breath of the wind, were the same as they are 
 now — every thing here is unchanged — it might 
 
 be that moment itself— but, oh !" and the 
 
 pang of the contrast was too sudden and severe 
 to allow her ideas to shape themselves into words, 
 even in her mind. 
 
 M 6
 
 252 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 She sat on the fallen column upon which Hu- 
 bert had placed her on the night of their me- 
 morable meeting — and her recollection dwelled 
 on every circumstance that had contributed to 
 render that hour the great land-mark of her 
 existence. As the thoughts revolved in her 
 bosom, they, at last, came to look onward — hope 
 began to revive in her, not, indeed, of this world, 
 but of eternal life. — '' Yes !" she exclaimed, 
 " Religion here drew us together — the common 
 desire to pray at this shrine caused our meeting. 
 And will not the same blessed means effect our 
 re-union above ? — Yes, assuredly ! There, no 
 bar will exist between us — there our being toge- 
 ther will be no sin ! Oh, God ! — if such may be 
 thy pleasure, receive me speedily into thy rest !" 
 
 Thus, at the last, as at first, did the feelings of 
 humanity mingle unconsciously in the worship of 
 her Maker. Alas ! our being must be spiritual- 
 ized by death, before it can comr)letely separate 
 the earthly alloy from the pure ore of faith and 
 the service of heaven. 
 
 Late that night did the Lady Alice remain at 
 this the spot of her heart— for she felt she should
 
 LORD LOVEL'S DAUGHTER. 253 
 
 never visit it again. And her foreboding was 
 verified. The agitation which she then under- 
 went was the last addition to the burden which 
 already surpassed her strength — she sank beneath 
 it. She wasted and wasted, as the snow-wreath 
 melts away, still pure and fair till the moment 
 of its final extinction. And, perhaps, these her 
 last days were happier than any she had known 
 for years ; for she cherished the confident hope 
 that Hubert and herself would be united above, 
 though this v/orld had kept them asunder. Thus 
 did she decline — the sufferings of this life fading 
 from her sight, as the heliacal rising of the 
 glories of eternity became visible. The " ruling 
 passion^' was strong at the close — the image of 
 Hubert flitted before her last thought, his name 
 mingled in her last prayers — its sound quivered 
 on her stiffening lip, — and 
 
 The gentle suif 'rer was at peace in death ! 
 Lord Level's ambition to increase the ho- 
 nours and riches of his house was frustrated in 
 the very bud ; for the long line of his lordly 
 race determined in the person of his daughter. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST TALE.
 
 NOTE ON THE SUPPRESSION OF MONASTERIES. 
 
 ' Appended to Page. 142. 
 
 To set, at once and clearly, before the Reader, 
 the manner in which the monasteries were sup- 
 pressed, without overloading the text with histori- 
 cal matter, — I am tempted to extract the following 
 account of the suppression of that of Tewkesbury, 
 from the collection of records, printed by Burnet in. 
 the Appendix to his History of the Reformation*. 
 Of the Manner of Sup>pressing [the Monasteries^ after they 
 had surrendered. 
 
 *•' The reader will best understand this by the following 
 account of the suppression of the monastery of Tewkesbury, 
 copied from a book that is in the Augmentation Office, which 
 begins thus :— . 
 
 " The certificate of Robert Southwell, Esquire, William 
 Petre, Edward Kairne, and John London, Doctors of Law ; 
 John Aprice, John Kingsman, Richard Paulet, and William 
 Bernars, Esquires, Commissioners assigned by the King's 
 IMajesty, to take the surrenders of divers monasteries, by force 
 of his Grace's commission to them, six, five, four, or three of 
 them, in that behalf directed ; bearing date at his Highness's 
 Palace of Westminster, the 7th day of November, in the 
 thirty-first year of the reign of our most dread Sovereign, 
 Lord' Henry the Eighth, by the grace of God, King of Eng- 
 land, and of France, Defender of the Faith, Lord of Ireland, 
 and in earth, immediately under Christ, Supreme Head of the 
 Church of England ; of all and singular their proceedings, as 
 well as in and of those monasteries by his Majesty appointed 
 to be altered, as of others to be dissolved, according to the 
 tenor, purport, and effect of his Grace's said commission ; 
 with instructions to them likewise delivered, as hereafter 
 ensueth. 
 
 * Book III. Art. iii. Sect. 5.
 
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 a»3
 
 THE BOHEMIAN.
 
 Om SINS AHE LIKE THE DHAGON'S TEETH, SOWN BY 
 
 CADMUS — THEY RISE UP AGAINST US IN THE SHAPE OF 
 
 MEN ARMED FOR OUR DESTRUCTION. 
 
 BACON.
 
 THE BOHEMIAISr. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 She had the Asiatic eye, 
 
 Park as above us is the sky ; 
 
 But through it stole a tender light, 
 
 Like the first moonrise at midnight ; 
 
 Large, dark, and swimming in the stream 
 
 Which seem'd to melt to its own beam : 
 
 All love, half languor, and half fire. 
 
 Like saints that at the stake expire. — Byron. 
 
 It was in the last quarter of the seventeenth 
 century, that the Count Adrian von Oberfeldt 
 chanced to be at the fair of Leipzig. He was 
 there, not for purposes of business, nor di- 
 rectly of pleasure ; but to unite, with the dissi- 
 pating a certain portion of time, the chance of 
 meeting in the crowded and bustling scene some 
 object or adventure, which might give him that 
 excitation, the want of which made his time so 
 heavy on his hands. Oberfeldt was a person 
 very different from the race of Thonderten-
 
 264 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 troncks, then so common in his country ; — he 
 had had advantages which few of them pos- 
 sessed, and his natural gifts had enabled him to 
 profit by them to the utmost. He had, at the 
 a^e of eighteen, become attached to the Saxon 
 embassy at Versailles ; and had resided, for se- 
 veral years, at that brilhant and cultivated court. 
 Endowed by nature with great quickness of 
 perception, and susceptibility of temperament, 
 he had imbibed much intellectual improvement 
 from the atmosphere of wit and of literature by 
 which he was surrounded ; and, at the same 
 time, he graduated in that system of polished 
 gallantry, which, at that period of Louis XIV. 's 
 reign, was so prevalent at his court. In love, 
 as in play. 
 
 On commence par etre dupe, 
 On iinit par etre fripou 
 
 A young German, with the romantic feelings 
 of his country fermenting in his heart, and with 
 the blood of eighteen boiling in his veins, was, 
 of all men, the most calculated to believe the 
 world of love to be every thing that its first 
 aspect seemed to his intoxicated sight, — and.
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 265 
 
 consequently, to receive some most chilling and 
 painful shocks as the reality forced itself upon 
 him. In a state of society so factitious, and so 
 craving of excitement, as the French court then 
 presented, — a disposition new and ardent, like 
 that of Adrian Oberfeldt, was certain to be ex- 
 ceedingly attractive, and to cause its owner to 
 be proportionately sought after. But this very 
 effect must speedily destroy its cause : the bloom 
 which invited the touch was worn off by its fre- 
 quency, and Adrian, like Peter of Russia^ bought, 
 by his own experience, the power of retaliating, 
 and more than retaliating, upon the parties by 
 whose means he had suffered. If the warmth of 
 his disposition was likely to blind him, the keen- 
 ness and vigour of his mind sufficed speedily to 
 dissipate the mist ; and, like many persons of 
 similar fine qualities, he became spoiled from the 
 very reason of having possessed them. 
 
 There can be no character more dangerous to 
 women than that which Oberfeldt now became. 
 With mental powers^ which commanded respect, 
 and facilitated the accomplishment of the objects 
 to which he might devote himself, — he united 
 
 Vol. I. N
 
 26G TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 sufficient warmth of heart to throw an air of 
 sentiment and of reahty over his professions, and 
 sufficient experience and skill in tracing the 
 labyrinth of female feeling to prevent his pas- 
 sions running beyond his management, and thus 
 throwing the command of the game into his 
 adversary's hand. Exercising these advantages 
 to their full extent, and enjoying generally the 
 polished and intellectual society in which he 
 lived, Adrian Oberfeldt passed upwards of six 
 years ; when, to his great annoyance and morti- 
 fication, he was recalled into his own country. 
 
 Few things could be more different than the 
 boy who went and the man who returned. 
 There were, it is true, some points of resem- 
 blance left. The blooming youth had ripened into 
 the handsome man — the eye was keener — the 
 graceful limb more vigorous — the whole aspect 
 more decided and mature. The mind, also, bore 
 the effects of cultivation, but of cultivation of 
 the original soil — the capability of expansion and 
 accomplishment had been replaced by the acquisi- 
 tions themselves. But, instead of the ardent and 
 confiding disposition — the heart yearning to like
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 26 
 
 and to love — the generous self-sacrificing unre- 
 serve of boyish feelings, — there were now the 
 supercilious self-concentration of the man of the 
 world — the sentiments touched with the selfishness 
 of an indulged Epicurean — the calculating skill 
 of a man whose commerce with women had been 
 that of intrigue rather than of love — an art care- 
 fully studied, not the outbreaking irrepressible 
 feelings of uncorrupted nature. 
 
 To such a person as this, a country castle in 
 the circles of Saxony could not fail to be a most 
 distasteful abode. The business incidental upon 
 succeeding to his paternal inheritance, as well as 
 a reluctance to re-appear as a private individual 
 where he had always possessed the advantages 
 attending an official character, prevented his 
 returning to France, to which his inclinations 
 would otherwise have prompted him. The 
 coarseness and ignorance of his neighbours made 
 his intercourse with them confined to the neces- 
 sary formalities of his position. At the time, 
 therefore, at which I present him to my readers, 
 which was a few months after his return to Ger- 
 many, he was beginning to be devoured with 
 
 N2
 
 2G8 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 ennui — and to lament most heartily that fate 
 had made him a Count of the Empire, instead of 
 a member of the Court of Louis Quatorze. 
 
 " This will never do !"" he yawned one morn- 
 ing, as he sat picking his teeth after breakfast 
 in the large and gloomy hall at Oberfeldt — 
 ^* another month like the last, and I shall die of 
 the spleen beyond redemption. My tongue will 
 lose the power of articulation from sheer disuse, 
 as my mind has begun to rust already. What 
 brutes are these Saxon barons, worse than the 
 boars they hunt ! — What a picture would the Se- 
 vigne draw of that ogre Howlerwhissel, my next 
 neiirhbour — with his dun<2:eon of a castle — his 
 mountains of hams, and his seas of schwartzbier!" 
 
 His meditations on the difference between the 
 banks of the Oise and those of the Elbe were 
 interrupted by the entrance of one of his princi- 
 pal servants, to ask leave to be absent for a few 
 days, for the purpose of going to the fair at 
 Leipsig. Any change is acceptable to a person 
 in the mood of mind in which the Count then 
 was — and the idea struck him that he, too, would 
 go to the fair. " Anything is better than bccom-
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 269 
 
 ing rooted here !^' he exclaimed — and in a couple 
 of hours he was on his road to Leipsig. 
 
 It was not very likely that a German fair 
 should afford much amusement to a fastidious 
 Parisian ; and, accordingly, Oberfeldt wandered 
 through the multitudes thronging for business 
 and for pleasure, with an almost equal feeling of 
 disdain and discontent. He felt that he had 
 there no object, no pursuit — there was nothing — 
 as he judged — fit to be presented to an eye 
 formed on the exhibitions of the French Court. 
 How could one, accustomed to Racine and 
 Moliere, endure the wretched farcers who gri- 
 maced upon the German booths? — How could 
 one who had assisted at the ballets at Versailles, 
 bear to look upon the tumblers with whom the 
 uncultivated Saxons were delighted ? At last, 
 his attention was caught in a quarter where, of 
 all places, it was least to be expected. 
 
 He was lounging through the great square, on 
 his return to his inn, — when he saw, advancing 
 towards him, a party of Bohemians. They con- 
 sisted of two men and several women. Their 
 appearance was wild and peculiar — their dark 
 
 N 3
 
 270 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 eyes, and jetty hair, and embrowned complexion, 
 assorted admirably with the partially Oriental 
 costume which they seemed to affect. The men 
 were clad in loose trowsers — (a fashion which 
 then had scarcely obtained even among sailors) — 
 short jackets ornamented with a multitude of 
 buttons after the German mode — and caps 
 rounded at the top, and encircled at the brim by 
 a large and protuding band of fur, which gave 
 it somewhat of the air of a jVIoorisli turban ; — 
 thus conjoining in their costume, the fashions of 
 the country in which they were, and of that from 
 which they claimed their origin. The dress of 
 the women was of somewhat a similar nature ; — 
 the petticoat of red cloth might have been the 
 garment of a German peasant, while the dark 
 scarf which was wrapped in fantastic folds 
 around their shoulders, assumed the form of 
 Oriental drapery. Their head-dress, also, was 
 shaped into the fashion of a turban. 
 
 Oberfeldt paused a moment to gaze upon this 
 singular group, when three of their number 
 struck up a wild and spirited air, upon a flute 
 and two guitars, and a fourth, with a tambourine
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 271 
 
 in her hand, sprang into the centre of the circle — 
 which had, by this time, gathered around them — 
 to dance. The dancer was a young girl appa- 
 rently about sixteen ; — she was slender and finely 
 formed, like most of her race, but she was al- 
 ready of a height beyond their ordinary low 
 stature, and had the appearance of not being 
 yet arrived at her full growth. A petticoat of 
 bright scarlet displayed an ancle, combining, 
 like the fetlock of an Arabian horse, delicacy, 
 activity, and grace, in a singular degree. The 
 fine voluptuous outline of her limbs, at her early 
 age, gave token, to a practised eye like that of 
 Oberfeldt, of the perfection which it would at- 
 tain in the maturity of womanly beauty. Her 
 scarf was disposed around her bosom in a man- 
 ner somewhat fantastic indeed, but highly pictur- 
 esque and graceful,, — while her abundant tresses 
 of coal-black hair were, for their only covering 
 and ornament, intertwined with a few ears of 
 wheat and cornflowers, apparently just plucked 
 from the fields. Her skin was dark in com- 
 plexion — but of that exquisite clearness, and ex- 
 treme delicacy of texture, which almost render it 
 
 N 4
 
 272 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 doubtful whether it be surpassed by the most 
 perfect fairness. — It might be called 
 
 that clear obscure. 
 
 So softly dark, and darkly pure, 
 
 which we may suppose to have existed upon 
 Cleopatra's cheek. Of her eyes — those gems 
 which form the crown and completion to tlie 
 golden circle of beauty — the description has 
 already been given in the motto at the head of 
 this chapter. 
 
 The air to which she danced was wild and 
 irregular, and the dance was accommodated to its 
 varying expression. Now, it was spirited, ani- 
 mated, and even triumphant — and in such parts, 
 the young Bohemian's step became more rapid 
 and decided — her eye flashed and she swung her 
 tambourine into the air, with a free and even 
 fierce gesture, bespeaking exultation and pride. 
 Then would come a sudden pause, and the music 
 would recommence with a slow and soft mea- 
 sure; — the bright eye then became languid and 
 beseeching — the movements and the whole bear- 
 ing insinuating and subdued. Next, the tone 
 was of sorrow and dejection — and tliis versatile
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 273 
 
 creature sank her head upon her breast, drooped 
 her instrument by her side, and trailed her steps 
 slowly and sadly on the ground. Then again 
 the music burst forth into liveliness and joy — 
 and again she sprang into the air, like the wild 
 deer starting from the covert, and the danco 
 ended as it had begun, with the display of min- 
 gled activity, brilUancy, and grace. 
 
 The Count gazed in wonder upon a creature 
 so beautiful and so striking. The graceful 
 agility with which she danced — the picturesque 
 movements and attitudes which were displayed in 
 the performance on her instrument — and, above 
 all, the face of youthful loveliness which beamed 
 and sparkled with the exercise — all these v/ere 
 calculated to impress with surprise and delight 
 one who loved, and could appreciate, beauty as 
 much as Oberfeldt. A man who has studied ifc 
 as he had done, is necessarily something of a 
 physiognomist ; and, as he contemplated fixedly 
 the countenance of this fascinating being, he 
 thought he could perceive in it something supe- 
 rior to the lot which seemed to be her's, together 
 with a consciousness of that superiority. The 
 
 N5
 
 274 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 expression of her eye was not always in accor- 
 dance with the smile upon her lip ; — a glance, 
 now of weariness, now of disdain, was very per- 
 ceptible to one who looked with scrutiny; — and 
 the smile itself was frequently " in such a sort" 
 as though "her spirit scorned itself that it could 
 be moved to smile" for such purposes, and upon 
 such people. These indications were not, indeed, 
 open and plain. To the great majority of the 
 spectators she appeared as mirthful, as well as 
 active, as Terpsichore ; it was only to him who 
 possessed the talisman of refined observation and 
 acute deduction, that they were visible. At least, 
 he read them thus ; — though, perhaps, he might 
 be so quicksighted as to see that which did not 
 exist — he micjht invest her with the feelinors he 
 thought most suited to her position, and then 
 imagine that he traced them in her aspect. 
 
 As the dance ended she held the tambourine 
 horizontally — though without any more direct 
 supplication. The spectators showered money 
 npon it ; and the Count threw in a golden dollar. 
 The largeness of the sum caused the eyes of the 
 Bohemian, which were cast down during the
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 27S 
 
 whole of this proceeding, to be raised to the per- 
 son who bestowed it. She looked into the face of 
 Oberfeldt, as though to read the motive of his 
 lavishness — and it seemed that the expression 
 which she found there was peculiar and apparent 
 — ^for her eyes were, on the instant^ again low- 
 ered, and a suffusion of blushes spread over 
 her face and brow. 
 
 As the crowd began to move from the spot, 
 the Count drew near to the side of the young 
 Bohemian — '^ You dance enchantingly" — he said 
 to her in a low tone ; " I never beheld such 
 exquisite expression. — By whom were you 
 taught ?" 
 
 ^' By the women of our tribe" — she answered, 
 *' Had you no other instructors ?" 
 " None." 
 
 " Strange !" — muttered the Count. — He was 
 silent for a short time, but still continued by the 
 Bohemian's side, with his eyes riveted upon her. 
 She seemed conscious of his gaze ; for she kept 
 her eyes fixed upon the ground, and the " elo- 
 quent blood" spoke in her cheek. "There can 
 be no deception in this," thought Oberfeldt; 
 
 N 6
 
 276 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 «« this is either nature, or the perfection of art 
 — and a creature so young cannot have attained 
 such power of simulation : the soul which now 
 burns in blushes upon that cheek was surely not 
 meant to inform the frame of a wandering Bohe- 
 mian." 
 
 *' May I ask your name?" he added aloud. 
 
 *' They call me Mabel ;" answered the Bo- 
 hemian. 
 
 " Have you no second name?" 
 
 ^' Our tribe are all sprung from the same stock 
 — we are distinguished among each other but by 
 one name.*" 
 
 " Are your parents among your companions ?'"* 
 asked Oberfeldt, glancing his eyes, as he spoke, 
 over the rest of the party. 
 
 '' My parents died while I was yet an infant ;*' 
 said Mabel : and the Count felt pleasure at the 
 answer ; — for in the wild features of the Bohe- 
 mians, he traced expression too suited to their 
 lot, to make him feel wilhng that any of them 
 should have given birth to a being so interesting 
 as that by his side. He was again silent for a 
 few moments, and then added — **Do you stay 
 till the end of the fair?"
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 277 
 
 « We do"— 
 
 " We shall meet again, then" — said the Count 
 --" farewell !'' 
 
 As he turned from her, Mabel raised her large 
 eyes upon him ; and for the first time fixedly 
 surveyed him, as he walked away. She looked 
 after him till he disappeared in the crowd ; and 
 a heavy sigh struggled from her bosom, as she 
 followed her party to exhibit in another quarter 
 of the fair.
 
 278 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 She was an Abyssinian maid ; 
 And on her dulcimer she played, 
 Singing of Mount Ahora. 
 
 COLETIIDGE. 
 
 As the Count sat over his flask of Rhenish, 
 after his sohtary dinner, he was surprised to find 
 how strongly the young Bohemian interested his 
 mind. It was not, perhaps, so much the degree 
 of her beauty, as its pecuhar character, that had 
 struck his eye in the first instance — a circum- 
 stance the more probable from that eye having 
 been sated with beauty in its ordinary forms and 
 customary dress. The contrast, too, which he 
 thought he discovered between the life led by 
 this singular race of people and the mind of this 
 individual member, both interested his pity in 
 her cause, and stimulated his curiosity and 
 imagination. There are few objects of pursuit 
 more engaging than the following out the la- 
 byrinth of a character to which we believe that
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 279 
 
 we alone possess the clue: — and the subject 
 being adorned with youth and beauty does not, 
 in any degree, lessen the interest of the occupa- 
 tion. Oberfeldt was, at this time, pining under 
 the oppression of idleness ; his mind craved some 
 employment ; — his fancy was excited in the pre- 
 sent instance, and he determined to indulge it. 
 By the time he had finished his wine, he had 
 resolved to see Mabel again the next day, and 
 then to be guided by circumstances. Alas I 
 how much evil, both to ourselves and others, has 
 been perpetrated by our committing ourselves to 
 that guidance ! 
 
 Accordingly, the next day Oberfeldt sought 
 the Bohemians in the fair. He found them just 
 as a crowd had gathered round them to witness 
 their exhibitions — and again the performance 
 devolved on Mabel. She was standing in the 
 centre of the circle, with a small instrument of 
 the guitar kind in her hand — she preluded a few 
 notes upon it, and then began her song. Her 
 delivery, however, was rather that of recitative 
 than of positive singing; and, though her voice 
 was both sweet and powerful, the chief interest
 
 280 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 of the piece was in the vivid expression which 
 she threw into the successive passages, and the 
 appropriate and animated action with wliich 
 she illustrated the whole. 
 
 The song was a Moorish legend of a Numidian 
 girl being torn from her house and carried into 
 slavery in Granada. She is placed in the king's 
 haram, whither her lover penetrates in search of 
 her; — he is discovered, and, in despite of her 
 entreaties, is put to death before her eyes. She 
 falls dead upon his corpse. It is evident that such 
 a subject as this would give the amplest scope to a 
 rapidly varied representation of the passions, and 
 Mabel availed herself of it to the utmost. She 
 began calmly, even monotonously, with a descrip- 
 tion of the life of the Numidians of the desert — 
 their camps, their camels, their vast flocks and 
 herds, their hospitality, their honourable virtues. 
 But, as she advanced, she warmed ; and the agony 
 of being suddenly torn from all the ties of home, 
 all the charities of kindred and of affection, was 
 given with a pathos which drew tears from the eyes 
 of many of the listening group — how lictle soever 
 they might be supposed to be likely to be moved
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 281 
 
 by the effects of poetry and music. She then pro- 
 ceeded to describe the Alhambra : all the gor- 
 geousness of Eastern imagery was lavished upon 
 the description in the poem — and Mabel recited it 
 with a corresponding pomp and richness of decla- 
 mation, which shewed with what skill she could 
 shift the tone of her delivery, and adapt it to that 
 of the subject-matter. Then came the despair 
 of the new-made slave — her drooping and pining 
 in her splendid prison-.-and the sickening of her 
 soul, in the midst of every luxury of art and exery 
 beauty of nature, for the sandy deserts and simple 
 habits of her early home. There was, in this 
 part of her song, a cadence so mournful in her 
 voice, an expression of such deep gloom in her 
 countenance, that Oberfeldt could scarcely trace 
 the possible existence of the brilliancy of both 
 which had been displayed a moment before. 
 Then came the more agitating and tumultuous 
 passions — joy, frantic joy^ at the unexpected 
 meeting with her lover — anxiety for his fate — 
 despair at his discovery — energy, fervency of 
 supplication to effect his pardon — rapt, rigid, 
 deadly horror at the final catastrophe — all these
 
 282 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 varied emotions were rendered with a force and 
 truth, that struck Oberfeldt with amazement as 
 well as with dehght. 
 
 Few objects, indeed, could be more attractive 
 and enthraUing than that before his eyes. jVIabel 
 wore, this day, a roll of scarlet intertwisted with 
 her hair, which shewed its exquisite tint and tex- 
 ture in strong and beautiful rehef. From this, 
 however, in the energy of her action, a portion 
 had escaped, and streamed down her back in 
 long and waving tresses. Her finely-moulded 
 arms were bare — and as they were, now pressed 
 to her bosom, now outstretched towards heaven, 
 now trembling in supplication, and now again 
 only striking a few notes upon her lute — it seemed 
 wonderful that gestures so varied, so rapid, and 
 to all appearance so perfectly free and unre- 
 strained, should all, and each, be still within the 
 limits of grace, and of picturesque beauty. Her 
 eloquent countenance, too, varied with the vary- 
 ing sense — now calm — now bespeaking sorrow — 
 now fond affection — now the agony of entreaty — 
 now the extremity of despair. The fire rose 
 into her eye, the blood into her cheek — her lip
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 283 
 
 quivered, her brow was bent — she seemed wholly 
 engrossed and carried away by her subject, and, 
 unmindful of the admiring crowd around her, to 
 give herself up to the inspiration of the moment. 
 
 *' This is no ordinary being" — thought Ober- 
 feldt — ''Here are, indeed, capabilities and powers 
 which education would draw out into perfection. 
 The Desoeuillet herself* has not the natural 
 gifts of this young untutored creature. If she 
 can thus speak the language of all the passions 
 by the mere force of inherent genius, what would 
 she not do when art had lent her aid to cultivate 
 and fashion the first form of nature ? I must see 
 more of her." 
 
 Mabel, at the conclusion of the legend, stood, 
 with her arms drooping by her sides, and her 
 eyes fixed upon the earth, changed from the 
 inspired sybil which she had seemed so lately, 
 into a form so motionless that it might have been 
 mistaken for a statue, if it had not been for the 
 heaving of her bosom, quick and full, from the 
 exertion she had undergone. This time her 
 
 * A celebrated actress in Louis XIV. 's reign.
 
 284 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 companions collected the contributions of the 
 audience; and Mabel stood thus apparently un- 
 heedful of all around her, while they were so 
 doing. She chanced, however, to raise her eyes 
 for a moment, and they encountered those of 
 Oberfeldt fixed upon her with the expression of 
 approval and admiration to which the thoughts 
 I have detailed above would naturally give rise. 
 A flood of crimson poured over her neck, face, 
 and forehead, as she became conscious of the 
 intensity and the expression of the Count's gaze. 
 She moved towards her companions, and endea- 
 voured to mix with them in the crowd. 
 
 But Oberfeldt was in an instant at her side. 
 "So,*" he said in that tone of soft insinuation 
 which he knew how to assume so well — "I saw 
 yesterday but a sample of the gifts which nature 
 has showered upon you so lavishly — this vivid 
 and exquisite expression, in which the soul bursts 
 forth in every variety of passion and of power — 
 this could not have been taught you by the 
 women of your tribe. From whence, then, do 
 you derive accomplishments which would be 
 wonderful in any one, still more wonderful in
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 285 
 
 one in your position — from what source have 
 you acquired these r" 
 
 Mabel was silent. 
 
 '' Will you not speak to me ?" said Oberfeldt, 
 in a voice and with a manner which had seldom 
 failed to extract an answer. 
 
 ''How can I answer such questions as you 
 have asked me?" said Mabel in a low yet firm 
 tone. 
 
 '' I must answer it myself, then," returned the 
 Count — " It is from Nature that you have re- 
 ceived these gifts — no other hand can give them ; 
 — and yet it is strange," he added, as though in 
 soliloquy, yet taking especial care that no word 
 should escape his companion, " it is strange that 
 unassisted nature should produce such fruits as 
 these ! what would she not have done with culti- 
 vation f — Mabel slightly started at these words 
 ^ — and raised her eyes as though to scrutinize 
 Oberfeldt^s meaning. They sank again before 
 his gaze of undissembled admiration. He saw 
 that the arrow had struck — '' Should you not 
 desire," he continued, *' to receive some instruc- 
 tions to develope talents so exquisite ?"
 
 286 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 *' Alas !" she answered, in a voice in which 
 bitterness mingled with depression — '' who would 
 instruct the poor outcast Bohemian ? — who would 
 think one of that despised race w^orthy of kind- 
 ness or care ? No ! — I may continue to please the 
 ignorant rabble, or to draw an inquiry of pass- 
 ing curiosity even from such as you, Sir. But 
 that is the boundary which I can never pass — 
 there is the line that has been drawn between 
 my l:ace and the rest of mankind — they shrink 
 
 from us, we prey on them" her feelings 
 
 seemed to rise into anger as she spoke — this chord 
 seemed to jar all her feelings, and to be one that 
 she touched on often. 
 
 *' Nay," said the Count, " you do wrong to 
 both yourselves and us. You surely cannot be- 
 lieve that it is mere curiosity which impels me to 
 address you. Do you think that I am blind to 
 beauty and to genius, because it exists in a people 
 different from that of which I am one ? — Do you 
 think that I can bear to see qualities of person and 
 of mind such as you possess thrown away upon the 
 purposes to which I have seen them applied ?'''' — 
 '' If I do possess,"" said jNIabel, ^^ any portion
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 287 
 
 of those powers which you exaggerate so extra- 
 vagantly — such are the purposes to which they 
 must ever be devoted — such are the issues to- 
 wards which they must ever tend. I thank you 
 for your generous commiseration — ^but it can be 
 of no avail. I am the puppet of which my peo- 
 ple pull the wires — the praised and flattered pup- 
 pet I may perhaps become — but I remain the 
 puppet still." 
 
 The crowd had, in some degree, separated the 
 Count and her from her companions. At this 
 moment, as though to verify her speech — a shrill 
 woman''s voice was heard over the hum of the 
 crowd— "Mabel!" 
 
 '' Hark ! — I am called ; the wire is pulled," 
 she added with a melancholy smile, " and I 
 must needs obey it." 
 
 Oberfeldt seized her hand — '* Nay," he ex- 
 claimed, " we part not thus — I cannot, I cannot 
 
 thus lose sight of you" " Mabel !" again 
 
 shouted the old Bohemian. 
 
 " Loose me, Sir," — she said in -violent agita- 
 tion — " you know not what I may suffer for
 
 288 TALES OF PxN.SSION. 
 
 " First, then, promise that I shall see you 
 again" — "No, it is impossible — I cannot — 
 indeed, I cannot." 
 
 '' Here, on this spot, — to morrow — at twi- 
 light" — said Oberfeldt — *^ say that you will be 
 here." Mabel was again called — " Nay, I will 
 not let go my hold till you say you will !" — Again 
 the woman called her name, and in an angry 
 voice. 
 
 " I will" — she murmured in a scarcely audi- 
 ble tone. But Oberfeldt heard it full well — he 
 loosed his grasp, and she was out of sight in an 
 instant. 
 
 As the next day wore away, the Count was 
 surprised at the strong hold Mhich he found this 
 singular creature had taken upon his imagination. 
 Her manner, during their conversation, had fully 
 confirmed his first impression as to her capabili- 
 ties of improvement. There was none of the 
 affectation of a vulgar genius — not the least sha- 
 dow of the airs of a vulgar beauty. There was, 
 indeed, all the freshness arising from the pecu- 
 liarity of her race, and of her habits of life, with-
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 289 
 
 out any alloy of that coarseness which might have 
 been expected to attach to it. He saw that her 
 disposition was ardent, and he believed it to be 
 yet unstained. The painful consciousness of the 
 degraded condition of a Bohemian was evidently 
 the ruling feeling of her mind; and it would 
 seem to embitter a temperament otherwise enthu- 
 siastic, to turn the display of her talents into 
 matter of shame rather than of pride — and thus 
 to make what would have been the triumph of 
 another, humiliation to her. 
 
 It is ever thus, indeed, with a strong mind, — 
 when a stigma which, like that of leprosy, cuts it 
 off from equal intercourse with mankind, is cast 
 upon it, — it is sure to imbibe a portion of acri- 
 dity, from which, otherwise, it would have re- 
 mained free. '' It must indeed," thought Ober- 
 feldt, " be most galling to a spirit like her's to be 
 made a raree-show for clowns to gaze at — to be 
 ranked with the base mummers who grimace upon 
 the booths of a fair ! — for who will mark the dif- 
 ference between mental powers like her''s, and the 
 trick, and buffooneries of so many of her wretched 
 compeers ? Not surely those who commonly wit- 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 ness their exertion ; — both are exhibited on the 
 same scene^ and are popularly classed together — 
 that is enough for judges such as these. Poor, 
 poor creature ! — And yet she seems to reject pity 
 ■while she is touched by it — to cling tenaciously to 
 that lot of which, it is manifest, the iron has en- 
 tered into her soul. She is a problem difficult to 
 solve, and which needs further study" — and he 
 comforted himself with the idea that his inter- 
 view with her that evening would be uninter- 
 rupted and unwitnessed. 
 
 Again he felt his thoughts reverting to the 
 same subject — he found he could not drive it 
 from his mind — and he became almost angry 
 at the power which it had acquired over hhn. 
 " And is it for a Bohemian — for a common 
 stroller that I am taking all this interest ? Is it 
 possible that, at this time of day, I can be cal- 
 culating my approaches to a person like this, 
 after all that has come and gone?'" — and his 
 memory ran over several of his Parisian adven- 
 tures that made him almost feel ashamed of that 
 in which he was about to engage. '^ But am I 
 not,' he continued, "now judging of things in
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 291 
 
 the gross and by classes, as I have just accused 
 these burghers and boors of doing ? Is not the 
 study of such a mind as this young Bohemian's 
 — in all its strength of native talent, in all its 
 singularity of circumstance, and freshness of 
 youth, worth far more than the acquisition of 
 the hackneyed hearts of such women as Do- 
 rillac, and Fonville, and Rosalie ? — And for 
 beauty — real, free, unaided beauty — I question 
 whether I ever met her equal. At all events, 
 I will see her to-night — I will satisfy myself as 
 to what she really is — I will complete my map of 
 
 her mind, and then why then the hour must 
 
 suffice to bear its own burden on its wings." 
 
 The shades of the autumnal evening were 
 beginning to fall, when Oberfeldt arrived al the 
 appointed place of meeting. He paced up and 
 down with a degree of anxiety and impatience, 
 which he himself was surprised at feelinor for 
 such a cause — " She surely does not mean to 
 baulk me, and not come" — he muttered, as he 
 took his fifth turn along the square without see- 
 ing her — " 'faith it would almost serve me right 
 — Adrian Oberfeldt to be jilted by a gipsey !— • 
 
 02
 
 292 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 the story would tell well in the Marais * — it 
 would furnish excellent matter for a lampoon 
 — I have a mind to indite it myself. ' The 
 cozened Count, or the Bohemian bite' — 'Twould 
 make a nice variety for the minx to sing at her 
 next fair, instead of her Moorish ballad" — but 
 while he thus grumbled, with all the sensitiveness 
 to ridicule of a true Parisian, he continued to 
 walk close to the appointed place, as though he 
 did not think the hope so forlorn as he chose to 
 represent it to himself. At length he perceived 
 a female figure, wrapped in a cloak, crossing the 
 square towards the spot where he was — and as 
 it drew near, he recognised Mabel. He was 
 about to begin the conversation with some allu- 
 sion to her want of punctuality — for his ruffled 
 Belf-love was not yet quite composed — but the 
 serious and even melancholy expression of her 
 countenance, in which modesty, though not bash- 
 fulness, was mingled, — checked at once the half- 
 jest, half-sneer, that was on his tongue ; — with that 
 tact which no one possessed more than him, he 
 
 * Pj-o'oably tlie Count alluded to the circle at rs'iuou de 
 rEnclos'.
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 293 
 
 saw in a moment that it would be misplaced and 
 mistimed ; — he was about to change his key, 
 when, to his surprise, the Bohemian spoke first. 
 
 '' I have kept my promise, Sir," she said, 
 " which you wrung from me last night, I may 
 say so ungenerously — I have kept my promise, 
 to shew you that a Bohemian can hold her word 
 sacred : — I have come hither because I said 
 I would do so — but I cannot remain here — I did 
 not promise that — and it is not fitting that I 
 should " 
 
 ** Nay," interrupted Oberfeldt, " but it w^as 
 implied though not expressed in words. You 
 acceded to my request — you could not think 
 that that meant only that you should appear at 
 this spot, and then vanish in an instant. But 
 come — this is idle — believe me it is not for the 
 indulgence of curiosity, or of a casual and passing 
 sympathy, that I have desired to converse with 
 you. I have been moved deeply to see a creature 
 so young, so lovely, so gifted, devoted to a fate 
 such as that of most of your race. — I speak 
 frankly to you, Mabel — for I think you have 
 intelligence and strength of mind to understand 
 
 03
 
 294 TALES OF PASSIOX. 
 
 what I would infer, and not to take offence at 
 my inferring it. The talents I have seen you 
 display on a scene so unfitted for such talents, 
 need but slight cultivation, or rather direction, 
 to place you upon the eminence to which they 
 so well entitle you. It grieves me to the heart 
 to see them thrown away in your wandering 
 exhibitions — shall I add, to see you destined to 
 follow such a course of life ?" 
 
 It was in a low and tremulous tone that 
 Mabel answered him — ''Alas! Sir," she said, 
 ** the voice of kindness is so new to me, that I can 
 scarcely controul the emotions to which it gives 
 rise. I am praised and flattered often, it is true 
 — but there is no kindness, no feeling, towards 
 the object to whom that heartless commendation 
 is addressed. I will not affect. Sir, wholly to 
 disclaim the belief that I am fitted for something 
 better than the wretched life I lead — but I can- 
 not escape from it ! — It is to me what his caste 
 is to the Indian — however hateful, however 
 loathed, there is no outlet from it — every other 
 condition is barred ac^ainst me." 
 
 " I Avas confident,""' said the Count, *' that the
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 295 
 
 life of a Bohemian could not but be distasteful 
 to you !— " 
 
 '' Distasteful ! — Oh God ! did 3'OU but know 
 what it is to smile when the heart is bursting — 
 to strive to gain the applause of those you scorn 
 — to display your acquirements, like the paces 
 of a managed horse, by word of command — to 
 be the shew for a mob to gaze and gape at — 
 watching their nod, seeking their smile, — you 
 would indeed think my lot deserving of compas- 
 sion ! To be scoffed at as one of an outcast race 
 — to be despised for the very blood which flows 
 within my veins — nay, to live among those who 
 prove the slur not to be wholly unjust — the 
 distance and suspicion to be in some degree 
 deserved — these things are indeed bitter ingre- 
 dients in the cup of life — they may well make 
 my soul sicken at the prospect that lies stretched 
 before me !*" — and she paused, as though from 
 the pain arising from the picture she had drawn. 
 '^ If such be your feelings,'"* said the Count, 
 with the rapidity and warmth of strongly excited 
 feeling — " there is no reason why you should be 
 longer exposed to their operation. You are an 
 
 O 4
 
 296 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 orphan — you have no natural ties to the band 
 among whom you have been brought up — Trust 
 yourself to me — to one whose first and dearest 
 wish will be to contribute to your happiness — to 
 advance your welfare. The interest to which 
 you have given rise within me is not to be 
 measured by the date of our acquaintance ; — 
 your beauty, your natural gifts and superior 
 acquirements — the contrast between your posi- 
 tion and your merits and feelings — all these 
 things have wrought the work of time — through 
 my sentiments of admiration and compassion they 
 have touched my heart. ^^ 
 
 '' Alas !" answered INIabel, after a pause, and 
 in a voice of melancholy, " this is another 
 of the curses of my wretched lot ! — There can 
 be for me no such thing as disinterested kind- 
 ness ; — you seemed to have felt it — and lo ! it is 
 changed at once into the selfishness of disho- 
 nourable solicitation. No, Sir ! believe me the 
 fatherless, unhappy Bohemian girl prefers her 
 wretched condition, with all its pain and humilia- 
 tion, to the ignominy 9f escaping from it by 
 acceding to propositions made to her, in the 
 trust of that very wretchedness itself."
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 297 
 
 ** By heavens ! you do me wrong :— it is not 
 as a poor Bohemian that I regard you ; — if I 
 did, you would be subject to no sohcitations 
 from me. It is as one on whom Heaven has 
 bestowed beauty the most touching, talents the 
 most exquisite — gifts, in a word, which dazzle 
 the imagination while they enthral the heart — 
 which engross the whole being in wonder and 
 delight. I do not use the language of exagge^ 
 ration — I speak the merest truth when I say 
 that since yesterday I have never for a moment 
 been able to drive you from my thoughts — I 
 have even (you will believe me now), I have even 
 been angry with myself for allowing your image 
 to occupy my mind so absolutely. And it is 
 this which will scarcely permit me to believe that 
 two days ago I saw you for the first time — My 
 feelinsrs have been so accumulated and crowded 
 together during that period, that it seems as if 
 months were necessary for their sensation. And 
 yet you say that I presume upon your unhappy 
 situation — that I should not thus address a per- 
 son of happier fortunes. Perhaps this may be 
 true — for towards one so placed my feelings 
 
 O 5
 
 298 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 would not have been thus excited — that discre- 
 pancy would not have existed between your 
 destiny and your deserts, which awakened sensa- 
 tions first of surprise and then of tenderness." 
 
 " You speak but too plausibly, Sir — ^}^our 
 sophistry is too subtle for me to be able to refute 
 it — but I am not in the slightest degree the less 
 aware that it is sophistry. There is but one 
 right and one wrong ; — colour them as you 
 may, the voice within proclaims which is which, 
 — it remains with ourselves to choose what we 
 shall follow. I am grateful, believe me, most 
 grateful for the interest which I am willing to 
 believe you feel in the fate of one so forlorn and 
 desolate as I am — I am touched most deeply, 
 by being an object of interest to any one. You 
 have spoken to me considerately, also, as well as 
 kindly — you have respected my feelings — and 
 the sensation that you have done so — now felt 
 for the first time — is, heaven knows ! most 
 delightful. Do not, therefore, stain your con- 
 duct towards me by the blot of the common and 
 selfish temptation you have striven to set before 
 me. Between your rank and mine — (for I am
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 299 
 
 well aware who you are) — there is an impassable 
 bar— All attempts to draw them nearer to each 
 other only tend to the degradation of both." 
 
 Oberfeldt was amazed. It is seldom that when 
 the heart is warmed and touched, the reason can 
 remain firm and cool — and least of all did he 
 expect to meet with this phenomenon in a young 
 uneducated Bohemian. So much straight-for- 
 ward sense and rectitude of feeling, without the 
 slightest tinge of prudery or of pique, astonished 
 him. He saw that he must shift his ground. 
 He had hoped to effect a coup-de-main, but he 
 perceived that her heart must be irrevocably 
 entangled before her reason could be hushed. 
 The prospect of the occupation inspired him — 
 the appearance of difficulty, real though, as he 
 hoped, slight, spurred his imagination, as the 
 sprinkling of water makes a fire burn the keener. 
 These ideas and sensations passed through his 
 mind in a moment's space — and, with all the 
 animation of an artist engaging in a pursuit in 
 which he is skilled^ he renewed the unequal 
 warfare. 
 
 *' I am glad," he said, '* that at least you do 
 
 O G
 
 300 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 me the justice to believe that I do feel interest 
 for your fate — but, so believing, how can you 
 suppose it possible that I can bear it to continue 
 such as it now is ? If you know who I am, you 
 know that I have the power, as assuredly I have 
 the wiU, to give those talents which first charmed 
 me, every expansion that instruction can yield : 
 — surely the desire to see them meet the fate 
 they merit, to witness the effect of the nand of 
 tuition upon them — to see Art mould such ex- 
 quisite materials of Nature — this surely is not 
 selfish, at least in the reproachful sense in which 
 the term is commonly used, nay in which you 
 have now used it ? If I must plead guiltv to 
 selfishness, it is that I covet the reflection that I 
 have been the means of rescuino; such a bein^ 
 from a condition so deplorable — and of adding, 
 as far as in me lay, to her comforts, to her 
 happiness, to her merit itself. To this extent I 
 indeed am selfish." 
 
 " And," said Mabel, ^' to a more moderate 
 extent I must be so too. — I am too selfish to 
 buy even such advantages as these at the price 
 of my self-esteem. I am wretched, it is true — I
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 301 
 
 belong to a race branded with the scorn of man- 
 kind — but I am innocent ; — I have the proud 
 consciousness that, individually, that scorn is 
 unmerited ; — under the impulse of this feeling I 
 can even hurl it back again. No ! my lot in this 
 world is one doomed to suffering and to mortifi- 
 cation of all kinds^ — -but T cannot escape from it 
 without guilt — in it I must continue for ever !'** 
 
 Oberfeldt took no notice of those parts of this 
 speech which were the most awkward and diffi- 
 cult for him to answer : — but he seized quickly 
 upon the points that he could apply to his pur- 
 pose. 
 
 " Nay, you are scarcely ingenuous with me. 
 You have painted the miseries of the life you 
 lead with a vividness and force of feeling that 
 have shewn me how faint even the extent of my 
 ideas of its operation upon your mind was in 
 comparison with the truth. I was aware of the 
 strength of that mind — but I was not (pardon 
 my bluntness — but I have begun by being frank 
 with you, and I will continue to be so, cost me 
 w hat it may) — I was not prepared to find its deli- 
 cacy so great. I thought misfortune must have
 
 302 TALES OF PASSIOX. 
 
 blunted the fineness of the edge, which, I per- 
 ceive, it has served only to increase. I always 
 knew that your feelings must shrink from a 
 daily task such as your's — but I had not fully 
 estimated with what disgust and loathing. Every 
 moment, indeed, that I converse with you I 
 receive fresh emotions of surprise — I see every 
 instant, more and more, how extraordinary is 
 the character with which I have to deal. But 
 while, in proportionate degrees, it excuses me to 
 myself (you know I have promised to be frank) 
 for the inextricable hold which I find you to 
 possess over my mind, — in the same ratio do I 
 receive more intimate knowledfje of what vour 
 sufferings must be — in tlie same ratio does my 
 desire to free you from them acquire additional 
 intensity of purpose. And not, INIabel," he 
 added more tenderly — " not from selfishness." 
 
 At this moment, the clock of the Town Hall, 
 near which they stood, began to strike. ]\Iabel 
 counted it with eagerness, almost like that 
 of poor Cinderella at her fated midnight — it 
 struck eight — *' I must begone !" she exclaimed, 
 her whole feelings undergoing a sudden revolu-
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 303 
 
 tion — the visions of the moment vanishing at 
 once, and the reality of Hfe becoming again ap- 
 parent, — ^' I must go ! — I cannot stay one in- 
 stant longer ! I have already staid too long — " 
 and she began to cross the square at a rapid pace. 
 
 " You must see me again," said the Count — 
 '' I will be here at the same hour to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no — I did not mean to have staid 
 to-night, but come again I cannot." 
 
 " Nay, this is not treating me with fairness — 
 it is not shewing fairness to yourself. — What- 
 ever may be your determination, surely what I 
 have said does not merit to be broken off thus 
 abruptly — surely I have given you no cause to 
 distrust me. — However you may finally deter- 
 mine, see me once more : do not let us part thus 
 hurriedly — give the thought of four and-twenty 
 hours to what I have proposed, and here, to- 
 morrow, I shall expect your answer. I think I 
 may ask thus much of you — I hope I have not 
 deserved a refusal at your hands — have I ?," 
 
 " I cannot say but that you have acted by 
 me most kindly — most generously ; but indeed, 
 indeed, it is better we should meet no more 1"
 
 304 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 *^ Nay," said the Count, taking her hand, 
 and assuming a manner in which tenderness 
 seemed to break through all other considera- 
 tions — " if it be only to say farewell — after what 
 has passed, I cannot bear that we should part 
 thus, and you seem too urgent to press on 
 homeward for me to ask you to stay now. Let 
 me see you to-morrow, if it be only for you to 
 say that you have maturely weighed my propo- 
 sition — and for me to assure you that, come what 
 may, you will ever find a friend in Oberfeldt — 
 say, say, I may hope to see you !"* 
 
 She answered, " You may !" 
 
 He folded her to his bosom, and pressed his 
 lips upon her brow. — " Good night !" he said^ 
 " remember to-morrow."" 
 
 Alas ! was it likely that she should forget 
 it.?
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 305 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Chateau qui parle, et ferame qui ecoute, tous deux vont se 
 rendre. Fiiench Proverb. 
 
 Oberfeldt was now in his element. He was 
 no longer the yawning, dawdling, bored being, 
 that had come to the fair of Leipsig, from sheer 
 weariness of his own society ; — he had an object 
 - — there was just doubt enough of its attain- 
 ment to excite him in the pursuit, and his feel- 
 ings were sufficiently engaged to render the result 
 a matter of considerable interest. It is seldom, 
 indeed, that a man of the stamp of Adrian Ober- 
 feldt engages fully in an affair of this nature 
 without having his affections far more touched 
 than, at the beginning, he intended they should 
 be. They remain, it is true, at an immeasur- 
 able distance from that headstrong uncontroul- 
 able love which causes the reason wholly to merge 
 in the impulse of the heart ; — he keeps them still 
 under his own power — but, at the same time, 
 they make themselves strongly heard and felt.
 
 306 TALES OF PASSIOX. 
 
 The Count now considered and determined 
 what should be his conduct with regard to 
 Mabel, in the event of her yielding to his soli- 
 citations; — for his offer had been, in truth, the 
 impulse of the moment in which it was made. 
 The determination to which he came smacked 
 strongly of his Parisian education and habits. 
 He resolved to bestow every pains upon the per- 
 fecting her abilities ; — that, during this process, 
 she should reside at Oberfeldt as much as was 
 possible, consistently with her receiving the in- 
 structions of professors — and that when he had 
 nursed this exceeding promise into equal ex- 
 cellence, he would take her to Dresden, and 
 bring her out upon the stage there, at that time 
 the most brilliant in Germany. It was during 
 the reign of the celebrated Elector, Augustus I., 
 King of Poland, — and the tone and footing of 
 his'court, in every respect, fitted it for such a 
 project. Its polish and cultivation would render 
 it, far more than any of the German courts of 
 that period, capable of appreciating talents like 
 those of INIabel — while its extreme laxity of 
 manners would render his connection with an
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 307 
 
 actress less liable to censure than was elsewhere 
 the case with reference to delinquencies of this 
 kind, which had a plebeian for their object. 
 Such was the plan which Oberfeldt conned over 
 during nearly the whole day that followed the 
 interview with Mabel that I have detailed in the 
 foregoing chapter. 
 
 In the evening they met again — and this gave 
 rise to another, and another meeting. Oberfeldt 
 shunned rather than sought bringing matters to 
 a crisis ; — for he felt that, in the first instance, 
 the decision would have gone against him. He 
 exerted all his powers to attract, to soften, to 
 engage her heart. He saw plainly that the road 
 to her conquest was through her affections, and 
 for these he strove. Oberfeldt, as I have said, 
 had profited to the full by the society in which 
 he had mixed during his residence in France. 
 His conversation would have been distinguished 
 even among the most talented and fastidious — 
 was it then to be wondered at, that it should 
 work extreme effect upon a young girl like 
 Mabel, — who, with natural talents sufficient to 
 enable her to taste and to delight in merits of
 
 308 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 this description, had hitherto been confined to 
 the company of gross and ilhterate persons — 
 strongly contrasted even with her own ideas — 
 how much more so, then, when she had a stan- 
 dard and a model wherewith to compare them ! 
 The manner also, of mingled tenderness, ad- 
 miration, and respect, which the Count inva- 
 riably used towards her, delightful as it always 
 is to its object, had to her the additional force 
 of perfect novelty. Among her comrades, she 
 had always been treated, if not with harshness, 
 at least without any thing approaching to con- 
 sideration — and now at once she found herself 
 courted, flattered, almost worshipped, by a per- 
 son in whose presence the boldest of her band 
 would scarcely dare to stand covered. Ober- 
 feldt had, also, ' all the advantages arising from 
 being an experienced wooer — he knew when to 
 strike, and when to give line — when to evince 
 tenderness and when pique — when to be candid 
 in the extreme, and when to colour and to hide 
 the truth. The reader may have observed that, 
 in the conversation with Mabel which he has 
 just read, the Count made great parade of his
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 309 
 
 frankness, — and, in point of fact, did at such 
 times speak what would, at first, appear to be 
 distasteful truths. But never is the whole truth 
 more distant than when such portions of it are 
 displayed. They are the certain prelude to 
 flattery, which succeeds only through the confi- 
 dence begotten by the frank bluntness which has 
 gone before. This proceeding may be com- 
 pared to the habit of swindlers to allow their 
 dupe to begin the game by winning consider- 
 ably, that they may more securely fleece him in 
 the end. So, when a suitor makes great pro- 
 fession, nay exertion, of his candour, it is a 
 moral certainty that he means to deceive. 
 
 On the seventh evening of meeting, poor Ma- 
 bel, although she still struggled, might be con- 
 sidered as already lost. Let not the reader smile 
 at the slenderness of the virtue that could be 
 undermined in the course of one week. But 
 let him reflect, that there are many circum- 
 stances under which the actual space of time is 
 increased tenfold in power — that these few days 
 to Mabel we^-e as much as weeks, or months, 
 under combinations less peculiar. Here was a
 
 310 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 young girl — untrained as the wild colt of the 
 Steppes — who had never had either example or 
 precept to guide her to virtue — possessed only 
 of her own strong sense, and natural perception 
 of right and wrong — tempted by a man young, 
 handsome, accomplished, and — what, perhaps, 
 is as much as all these put together — inti- 
 mately versed in knowledge of the female heart ; 
 — with wealth, love, and all the amenities of po- 
 lished life on the one side — and poverty, base 
 drudgery, and scorn, on the other ; — here, com- 
 panions loose, ignorant, and leading lives of 
 low vice and profligacy — there, a lover of a de- 
 licate and feeling mind, and refined and culti- 
 vated habits — can it be matter of wonder that 
 she recoiled from the one, that she hearkened to 
 the temptations of the other? 
 
 During these days, her public tasks became 
 irksome and odious to her, in the last degree. 
 Oberfeldt kept away from these exhibitions; — 
 and, since her acquaintance with him, she felt 
 doubly their degradation. Her heart grew sick, 
 as she came forward to dance before die rabble ; 
 — the feeble smile faded from her lip, as she at-
 
 THE BOHEMIAN. 311 
 
 tempted to sing as she was accustomed ; — her 
 mmd reverted to her evening interviews with 
 Oberfeldt, and she shrank at the contrast be- 
 tween her situation at the two periods, respec- 
 tively. This again led her thoughts to what she 
 might be ; and, when the music of her compa- 
 nions struck to call her again to the dance, she 
 shuddered as she reflected upon what she was. 
 
 Still she was undecided : she felt that nothing 
 could compensate for the loss of self-respect ; 
 she was sensible that the path of duty led her to 
 part from Oberfeldt for ever. Thus she rea- 
 soned when they were asunder. But when they 
 met, — the sound of his voice modulated to affec- 
 tion's key — the gaze of his passionate eyes, ia 
 which fervour and fondness equally mingled, — > 
 changed at once the complexion of her thoughts 
 — and all was hope, and confidence, and love. 
 
 '* The fair ends to-morrow," said the Count, 
 *' the time is come, Mabel, when we must part, 
 or be united, for ever ! The season of doubt and 
 delay is past. The fate of both of us hangs 
 upon your next word — I almost dread to hear 
 it spoken. And yet, I cannot bring myself to
 
 312 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 doubt its import. — Oh ! IVIabel, at a moment 
 like this all words are weak — I cannot find ex- 
 pression for the thoughts which crowd upon me 
 for utterance — my heart chokes me " 
 
 Mabel did not speak ; but the tears flowed 
 fast and heavy down her face ; and she suffered 
 Oberfeldt to enfold her within liis bosom unre- 
 proved. The thought of rudely tearing away 
 this fairy vision for ever — of returning to her 
 former life after the delicious witchery of the 
 week which was just closing — was more than her 
 resolution was equal to. Thus is it ever with 
 the tumults of a forbidden passion. They break 
 through our habits of occupation (our surest 
 safeguard against them) — they unsettle our 
 mind — they render every thing vapid and dis- 
 tasteful in the comparison. In the case of 
 Mabel, there were circumstances to occasion just 
 repugnance towards the usual course of life — 
 and they operated but too strongly in affording 
 a foil to the brilliant temptations which glittered 
 before her eyes. 
 
 " Alas !" she said, "what security can I have 
 that it will be as you say ! — I do not distrust
 
 SECOND LOVE. 313 
 
 by any manner of means. We were in the 
 convent, talking, eating, and drinking, for about 
 an hour — five-and-fifty minutes of which I de- 
 voted entirely to the contemplating this most 
 lovely and interesting object. After a short 
 time, she became conscious of my gaze ; at first 
 she seemed to think it was casual, and merely 
 turned her eyes away : but, again and again 
 finding mine rivetted on her, the blood rushed 
 to her cheek and brow, in volumes of a rich and 
 exquisite red, which proved how clear and tran- 
 sparent was that beautiful skin, on which the 
 fine olive tint of her country was subdued by 
 a superadded paleness, that gave to it in- 
 creased delicacy, without taking from its original 
 richness. 
 
 *' You know right well, dear Frank, that I 
 have not used my eyes for so many years, with- 
 out being, by this time, pretty skilful at the 
 weapon ; and I was quite conscious that it would 
 not do at all to alarm this secluded and sensitive 
 creature by a gaze expressing all I could have 
 expressed at the moment. Nay (you will, per- 
 haps, laugh at me for it, but it is the truth) my 
 Vol. II. P
 
 314 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 mind was so much filled with the feelings of 
 pity to which I have given expression above, — 
 that I needed but very little self-control to 
 soften the expression of the look which I kept 
 fixed upon the nun, into one in which sympathy 
 and respect mingled so largely with its admira- 
 tion, that it was impossible for her to be either 
 startled or offended by it. Once or twice, in- 
 deed, when I purposely removed my eyes for a 
 time, I found her, on turning them upon her 
 again, looking fixedly at me, with an expression 
 partly enquiring, and partly, as it seemed, grate- 
 ful — and when she caught my glance, she turned 
 away in confusion. 
 
 " As the conversation proceeded between the 
 rest of our party (except Gordon, who could 
 not speak Portuguese) and the Abbess, the sub- 
 ject of the progress of the war chanced to be 
 broached. The old lady was very curious about 
 the battle of Vittoria, at which she had had a 
 relation 5 and one of our officers, to whom she 
 addressed her questions, referred her to me, as 
 the only one present who had been in the ac- 
 tion. I happened to know the regiment to
 
 SECOND LOVE. 315 
 
 which the Abbess''s cousin belonged, and was able 
 to tell her it had distinguished itself exceedingly. 
 From question to question, I was led to say a 
 good deal about the battle — and, although I 
 hope I am not such a lying braggart as Othello, 
 and therefore did not talk 
 
 — " . . ■ of the cannibals that each other eat, 
 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders, 
 
 yet could I perceive that to what I did say 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline. 
 
 I could see my fair nun turn pale at the 
 dangers of which I spoke, and then gaze pity- 
 ingly upon my sling, in which I am still obliged 
 to carry my left arm. She did not speak — be- 
 yond, here and there, an involuntary exclama- 
 tion ; but I could see that she let her feelings 
 take more uncontrolledly the direction of the 
 moment — and, also, that that direction was to- 
 wards me. 
 
 '^ When we were about to come away, I 
 
 found to my great surprise and delight that we 
 
 had a ceremony to undergo, of which I had had 
 
 no idea. Senor de Saram, being accustomed 
 
 P 2
 
 .^16 TALES OF PASSION. 
 
 to such visits, led the way, and we all followed 
 in our turn. To the Abbess and the Portress 
 successively, we stooped and bent the knee, and 
 they formally invoked a benediction upon us, 
 laying their hands upon our heads as they spoke. 
 But to the other nuns De Saram (and I was but 
 too rejoiced to follovv his example) held out both 
 his hands horizontally, while they, laying their 
 palms flat upon his, muttered a few words of 
 good wishes rather than of formal blessings. 
 This was far more than I had had the least 
 notion or hope of — and, you >vill think it strange, 
 and even absurd, in one so practised as I am, — 
 but I certainly felt nervous to a most boyish 
 degree as I passed along the line to approach 
 Sister Angelica, as I found, from the Portress 
 addressing her, that my beautiful nun was 
 called. You must have felt in some circum- 
 stances of your life — as so have I, though not 
 for many years before — a certain indescribable 
 sensation just an that part of the chest from 
 whence the breath seems to be drawn — a sort of 
 
 vague but no, I can't describe it — you know 
 
 what I mean, I am sure, and if you don't, vou
 
 SECOND LOVE. 317 
 
 will not be able to understand my description. 
 Well, this did I feel as I approached Angelica — 
 and, if I may judge from the varying flushing 
 of the cheek, and the rapid and heavy heaving 
 of the lawn that covered her bosom — so did she 
 likewise. I had passed all her sisters, and now 
 I came to her. My hands shook considerably 
 as I held them out to her — she laid her's very 
 lightly upon them — but, by the exertion of the 
 muscles of mine, I took care that they should 
 meet closely, firmly, fully. I endeavoured to 
 fix my eyes upon her's at the same moment — 
 but they were bent upon the earth. But I mur- 
 mured in a tone which she alone could hear, and 
 which the sudden thrill of her whole frame 
 shewed me that she did hear, and felt — ' God 
 bless you. Madam !' The words are nothing — 
 but their intonation may make them convey a 
 world of feeling. I have heard them so spoken 
 to me, and so I meant, at least, to speak them 
 to her. 
 
 ** In a few minutes we were on our road 
 homeward. I scarcely spoke the whole way. 
 My thoughts were entirely engrossed by this
 
 318 TALEB OF PASSION. 
 
 lovely vision — and I brooded upon them, in its 
 fullest sense, till we reached Lisbon. 
 
 " How thoroughly they engross my mind 
 still, I think the length and the detailed cha- 
 racter of this letter (lucky it is for you it goes 
 by a private hand !) sufficiently demonstrate. 
 The truth is that, as Sir Harry Wildair says— 
 ' This girl has got into my heart, and I cannot 
 get her out of my head.' — Into my heart '^ — 
 Yes ; after a fashion — that is, after my fashion, 
 with which, you will say, the heart has very 
 little to do. Well, so be it ; I should be come 
 to a fine pass if I allowed a nun to twine herself 
 round that said commodity, my heart. Taken 
 in the deep and strong sense of the term, we 
 have parted company years ago. The only 
 heart that I have known of late has been an 
 easy excitable sort of gentleman, quickly roused, 
 and quickly calmed — sensitive enough to confer 
 a great deal of pleasure, and not half sensitive 
 enough to give a moment''s pain. The heart of 
 other years was a very different sort of person 
 indeed. 
 
 *• But be this as it may, I must see my fair
 
 SECOND LOVE. 319 
 
 nun again, and that anon. I cannot let matters 
 rest here, and yet I scarcely know to what ex- 
 tent I mean, or wish, to carry them. See her 
 again, however, I must : and I understand that, 
 luckily, this convent is frequently visited by the 
 English here — being a very eligible one for a 
 shew-place of the kind, as the ride thither is 
 beautiful, the house itself rich and well appointed, 
 and the Abbess conciliatory and civil. I shall 
 certainly get up a party for next week. — God 
 bless you, Frank — I shall ' sit again' without 
 ' asking leave,' and then 'report progress' as in 
 duty bound. 
 
 " Ever your's, 
 
 " E. s;' 
 
 END OF THE SECOND VOLUaVIE.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOU'LS, 
 Stainford-street.
 
 :%