Peveril of the Peak by Walter Scott (best fiction novels of all time TXT) 📕

Such a man were one for whom a woman’s heart should beat constant while he breathes, and break when he dies.”

She spoke with so much energy that the water sparkled in her eyes, and her cheek coloured with the vehemence of her feelings.

“You speak,” said the Duke, “as if you had yourself a heart which could pay the full tribute to the merit which you describe so warmly.”

“And have I not?” said she, laying her hand on her bosom. “Here beats one that would bear me out in what I have said, whether in life or in death.”

“Were it in my power,” said the Duke, who began to get farther interested in his visitor than he could at first have thought possible—“Were it in my power to deserve such faithful attachment, methinks it should be my care to requite it.”

“Your wealth, your titles, your reputation as a gallant—all you possess, were too little to merit such sincere affection.”

“Come, fair lady,” said the Duke, a good deal piqued, “do not be quite so disdainful. Bethink you, that if your love be as pure as coined gold, still a poor fellow like myself may offer you an equivalent in silver—The quantity of my affection must make up for its quality.”

“But I am not carrying my affection to market, my lord; and therefore I need none of the base coin you offer in change for it.”

“How do I know that, my fairest?” said the Duke. “This is the realm of Paphos—You have invaded it, with what purpose you best know; but I think with none consistent with your present assumption of cruelty. Come, come—eyes that are so intelligent can laugh with delight, as well as gleam with scorn and anger. You are here a waif on Cupid’s manor, and I must seize on you in name of the deity.”

“Do not think of touching me, my lord,” said the lady. “Approach me not, if you would hope to learn the purpose of my being here. Your Grace may suppose yourself a Solomon if you please, but I am no travelling princess, come from distant climes, either to flatter your pride, or wonder at your glory.”

“A defiance, by Jupiter!” said the Duke.

“You mistake the signal,” said the ‘dark ladye’; “I came not here without taking sufficient precautions for my retreat.”

“You mouth it bravely,” said the Duke; “but never fortress so boasted its resources but the garrison had some thoughts of surrender. Thus I open the first parallel.”

They had been hitherto divided from each other by a long narrow table, which, placed in the recess of the large casement we have mentioned, had formed a sort of barrier on the lady’s side, against the adventurous gallant. The Duke went hastily to remove it as he spoke; but, attentive to all his motions, his visitor instantly darted through the half-open window. Buckingham uttered a cry of horror and surprise, having no doubt, at first, that she had precipitated herself from a height of at least fourteen feet; for so far the window was distant from the ground. But when he sprung to the spot, he perceived, to his astonishment, that she had effected her descent with equal agility and safety.

The outside of this stately mansion was decorated with a quantity of carving, in the mixed state, betwixt the Gothic and Grecian styles, which marks the age of Elizabeth and her successor; and though the feat seemed a surprising one, the projections of these ornaments were sufficient to afford footing to a creature so light and active, even in her hasty descent.

Inflamed alike by mortification and curiosity, Buckingham at first entertained some thought of following her by the same dangerous route, and had actually got upon the sill of the window for that purpose; and was contemplating what might be his next safe movement, when, from a neighbouring thicket of shrubs, amongst which his visitor had disappeared, he heard her chant a verse of a comic song, then much in fashion, concerning a despairing lover who had recourse to a precipice—

“But when he came near, Beholding how steep The sides did appear, And the bottom how deep; Though his suit was rejected, He sadly reflected, That a lover forsaken A new love may get; But a neck that’s once broken Can never be set.”

The Duke could not help laughing, though much against his will, at the resemblance which the verses bore to his own absurd situation, and, stepping back into the apartment, desisted from an attempt which might have proved dangerous as well as ridiculous. He called his attendants, and contented himself with watching the little thicket, unwilling to think that a female, who had thrown herself in a great measure into his way, meant absolutely to mortify him by a retreat.

That question was determined in an instant. A form, wrapped in a mantle, with a slouched hat and shadowy plume, issued from the bushes, and was lost in a moment amongst the ruins of ancient and of modern buildings, with which, as we have already stated, the demesne formerly termed York House, was now encumbered in all directions.

The Duke’s servants, who had obeyed his impatient summons, were hastily directed to search for this tantalising siren in every direction. Their master, in the meantime, eager and vehement in every new pursuit, but especially when his vanity was piqued, encouraged their diligence by bribes, and threats, and commands. All was in vain. They found nothing of the Mauritanian Princess, as she called herself, but the turban and the veil; both of which she had left in the thicket, together with her satin slippers; which articles, doubtless, she had thrown aside as she exchanged them for others less remarkable.

Finding all his search in vain, the Duke of Buckingham, after the example of spoiled children of all ages and stations, gave a loose to the frantic vehemence of passion; and fiercely he swore vengeance on his late visitor, whom he termed by a thousand opprobrious epithets, of which the elegant phrase “Jilt” was most frequently repeated.

Even Jerningham, who knew the depths and the shallows of his master’s mood, and was bold to fathom them at almost every state of his passions, kept out of his way on the present occasion; and, cabineted with the pious old housekeeper, declared to her, over a bottle of ratafia, that, in his apprehension, if his Grace did not learn to put some control on his temper, chains, darkness, straw, and Bedlam, would be the final doom of the gifted and admired Duke of Buckingham.