The Castle of Wolfenbach by Eliza Parsons (series like harry potter .TXT) 📕

Delby’s; and therefore supposing he never could be any thing to me, I judged it of no consequence, for the present, at least, to say any thing about him.’ ‘You have answered with candour and sincerity,’ said the Countess ‘and I expect the same to the following question: Do you love the Count De Bouville?’ ‘If, madam,’ replied she, hesitating a little, ‘to prefer him to any other man I ever saw; if to confess that I think him deserving of the highest esteem from every one he honours with his acquaintance; if this is to be called love, I must answer in the affirmative.’ ‘You are not quite so ready and explicit in this answer,’ said the Countess, with a smile, ‘nevertheless I believe your sentiments in his favour are pretty decisive; and if my conjectures are right what part am I to act, and how be expected to give a sanction to your union, which, in all probability will part us for ever.’ ‘Never, my dear mother,’ answered she, in a firm tone, ‘never; no power on earth shall part us again: how great soever my affection for the Count may be, be assured my duty, my love for you will greatly overbalance it; and if the alternative must be to part with one, behold me ready to give him up, without the least degree of hesitation.’ ‘Now, my dear Matilda,’ said the Countess, extremely moved by the firmness of her voice, and the expression in her eyes, now you have found the way to subdue me at once: you shall make no such sacrifices for me, my child; and I will think of some method to reconcile your duty and inclination to my wishes.’ Matilda kissed her mother’s hand with the warmest affection, and some of their friends coming into the room precluded further conversation. She went in search of the Marchioness. She was told that lady was in the garden, and thither she repaired, when, coming to an alcove, she saw her seated in earnest conversation with the Count De Bouville. She would have turned back, but the Count ran, caught her hand, and led her to the Marchioness. ‘I am rejoiced to see you,’ said she, ‘my dear child; do, pray, take this troublesome young man off my hands, for I declare he has been making down right love to me.’ ‘Who, I?’ said the Count. ‘Yes,’ answered she, ‘you know you have -as a proxy; and, as I am quite tired of being only a substitute, I leave Matilda to supply my place for the present.’ She got up and walked away, Matilda being too much confused to have the resolution to prevent her.

The Count seized this moment to know his doom. He besought her attention for a few moments, briefly ran over the affair between Mrs Courtney and him, as a mere Bagatelle, without wounding the lady’s consequence. His distress and pursuit of her through France, Switzerland, Germany, from thence to Tunis and back again. He described the fervency of his love and the tortures of suspence; called upon her in the tenderest manner, to remember the time when she had said, ‘If her rank and fortune equalled his, she would, with pleasure, give him her hand.’ ‘And now, madam,’ added he ‘that hour so much wished for by you, though of little consequence

in my estimation, when thrown into the scale with unequaled merit and dignity of mind; that hour is arrived, deign, my beloved Matilda, to tell me, if I still can boast a share in your esteem; tell me, if I may presume to hope, that, however changed your situation, your heart, faithful to your other friends, has not withdrawn itself from him who lives only for you, and depends on you for happiness or misery in extreme?’

Matilda endeavoured to assume a composure she did not feel, for after the conversation with her mother she thought she was not at liberty to act for herself. Being silent a few moments she replied, ‘Believe me, Sir, my heart is still unchanged, still the same grateful and affectionate sentiments predominate in my mind: the Count De Bouville possesses my esteem, if possible, more than ever, for my obligations to him are increased; but -I have a mother; no longer mistress of my own destiny, she must determine for me. I will not scruple to confess, that it will be to me the happiest moment of my life, if my duty and affection to her coincide with your wishes.’

The Count, transported with joy, kissed her hand in expressive silence, whilst Matilda rose from her seat and hurried to the house, rejoiced that this interview was over. She returned to her mother’s apartment. The ladies were with her. The Marchioness smiled a little maliciously at her, but observing she looked rather agitated, she asked, ‘What is become of the gentlemen this morning? have you seen the Marquis and his friends, my love?’ ‘No, madam,’ replied she, ‘I suppose they are rambling in the grounds.’

Just then the Marquis entered. ‘Ah! ladies,’ said he, ‘I am happy to see you together: I have undertaken to bring a cause before your tribunal to-day, against one of your coterie, and I expect an impartial judgement. What say you, ladies, dare you promise to be just and sincere?’ ‘Your impertinent question is so affronting to us,’ replied the Countess, ‘that I think we ought to decline hearing your cause.’ ‘Conscience, conscience, my dear sister,’ cried he, smiling, ‘nevertheless, I will open my brief. A gentleman of rank, fortune, and unquestionable merit’ -here Matilda trembled -‘has, for some time, entertained the warmest affection and respect for an amiable woman. When first he knew and admired her she was in a situation that precluded hope, he was therefore condemned to silence; that situation is changed; he has no obstacles to combat but the lady’s over-strained delicacy: she owns a preferable esteem, but -she cannot approve of a second marriage.’ Here all eyes were glanced at the Countess, who was confused. Matilda began to respire. ‘Tell me, ladies,’ resumed the Marquis, ingenuously, ‘should so futile an objection preclude her from making a worthy man happy, gratifying her own partiality in his favour, and giving a dear and valuable additional relation to her friends? You see I put the case simply and plainly. Will you, madam’ -addressing the Countess Berniti - have the goodness to speak first?’ ‘I am not an advocate, Sir,’ she answered ‘for second marriages; on the contrary, I think there are but very few cases that can justify them. If a woman is left with a family she is anxious to provide for, and has an eligible offer, that will enable her to do so, duty to them should make her accept it; gratitude to the generous man, should render her a good and affectionate wife. If a woman has had a bad husband, who has used her ill, and unworthy of her merit, I conceive she owes no respect to his memory, but may, without any imputation whatever, reward the affection of a deserving object, and find her own happiness in so doing.’ The Countess Marcellini, said, ‘My sentiments exactly correspond with my amiable friend’s.’ ‘And mine, also,’ cried the Marchioness, ‘only I must be permitted to add, that if a woman so situated declines the offer, from over-delicacy, which is no delicacy at all, and by so doing renders a worthy man wretched, and refines away her own happiness at the same time, I think her quite inexcusable, and deserving reproach from her friends.’ ‘Thank you, my love,’ said the Marquis; ‘and now, sister, your opinion, if you please.’ ‘Mine,’ answered she, in some confusion, ‘you are no stranger to, otherwise whence this appeal? but to convince you I am neither obstinate nor perverse, but open to conviction and the advice of my best friends, I will frankly subscribe to the opinion and judgement of these ladies.’ ‘Now,’ said the Marquis, ‘you have redeemed my love and esteem. I will not apply to our sweet Matilda here; she is unqualified, at present to judge; and I fear her trial is not far off from an accusation something similar, though not on account of a second marriage; however I shall now rejoice my client with intelligence, that he has gained his cause.’ He bowed with a smiling air, and left the room.

‘My dear sister,’ said the Marchioness, ‘accept my congratulations: Lord Delby is a most worthy nobleman, and offers to reside in whatever country you please; wherever you are will be his home.’

The ladies all congratulated the Countess.

‘I own,’ said she, ‘I have a very preferable regard for Lord Delby, and am, in all probability, indebted to him for my life and present happiness: it shall henceforth be my study to return those obligations.’

This matter being settled, the ladies retired to dress; and, after a little hesitation in her voice, Matilda informed her mother of the preceding conversation, between herself and the Count. ‘I have referred him to you, madam, and I beg previously to observe, I will implicitly, and without a murmur, abide by your decision. I never will be separated from you; and if my union with the Count must be attended with so great a sacrifice, no consideration whatever shall induce me to marry him. I have already shewn I can resign him, when I think it my duty to do so.’ ‘You are an extraordinary good girl,’ answered the Countess ‘but I will make no promises; when I have heard the Count, I shall be the better able to determine what I ought to do.’

This day a cheerfulness pervaded through the whole party. Young Frederic, extremely attached to Lord Delby, was delighted with the prospect of a nearer connexion. He was charmed with the Count De Bouville; but his young heart felt a little degree of envy when he considered him as the favoured lover of Matilda, whom he admired so exceedingly, that his extreme youth only prevented him from being a formidable rival.

In the evening, when they took their usual walk, the Count requested the honour of a quarter of an hour’s conversation with the Countess Berniti, and they retired to an alcove.

Matilda, who was leaning on the Lady Marcellini’s arm, trembled so exceedingly, that she pressed her hand, and said, ‘Fear nothing, my good girl, and hope every thing.’ This a little re-assured her, and they pursued their walk.

The Marquis suddenly joined them, and observing her companion engaged in chat, drew her gently aside, ‘There is a letter for you, under my cover, and I suspect, from Weimar.’ They walked aside, and Matilda, hastily opening it, found it was really from him. He had entered among the Carthusians, at Paris. He pathetically laments all his past crimes, and acknowledges the justice and mercy of God: calls upon her to forgive and pray for him; cautions her against the allurements of the world, and takes an everlasting leave of her; meaning, from the hour he receives one line from her, to inform him, that she has recovered a mother, and is happy in her present prospects, to shut up his correspondence and connexion with the world for ever.

This letter affected Matilda greatly; she remembered the care he had taken of her youth, though she shuddered when she considered him as the murderer of her father. ‘Unhappy man,’ cried she, ‘may God afford him penitence and peace in this life, and endless happiness in the world to come!’ She promised the Marquis to write an answer the following morning, and he undertook to enclose it.

She joined her friends; but the letter had given so melancholy a turn to her thoughts, that every one took notice of her dejection; and judging it to arise from another cause, every one was anxious to dispel it, and raise her spirits.

At supper they