The Castle of Wolfenbach - Eliza Parsons (little red riding hood ebook free .txt) 📗

‘with a thousand expressions of kindness and friendship from my sister and Mademoiselle De Bancre, to the charming Miss Matilda; but you must take them upon trust now, and permit me to express my own happiness in seeing my lovely friend well, and situated in the midst of a society so delightful as this.’ She attempted to speak, her voice, her powers failed her; ‘Your Lordship does me honor,’ was all she could utter. The conversation became general and sprightly, but she had no share in it; the day appeared uncommonly long, and she rejoiced when night came, that she could escape to her apartment and enjoy her own reflections.

The Count, who had observed her emotions, her silence and melancholy air, felt himself much concerned for the unfortunate girl; he thought her more lovely, more interesting than ever: the soft melancholy which pervaded her fine features could not fail of touching a susceptible heart; and the Count soon found the tender interest he had formerly taken in Matilda’s misfortunes, revive with more solicitude than ever. He seized an opportunity the following morning, to enquire some particulars respecting the cause of her distress. The Marquis told him of her alarm on seeing a gentleman she believed to be, and possibly, said he, might be, Mr Weimar. ‘I am really,’ added he, ‘unhappy about this charming young woman; we all love her exceedingly; beauty is her least merit; she has every amiable quality, joined to an excellent understanding, that can adorn a human being; I could not love my own child better; but she has too much sensibility to be happy -she feels her dependent and unprotected state too keenly, -it preys upon her mind and injures her health. Consulting with the Marchioness on this subject last night, I intend this day to write, and order a deed to be drawn, agreeable to our design of making her independent, at the same time, I wish not to burthen her feelings with too high a sense of obligation, by settling any very large sum on her: four hundred a year, English money, paid her quarterly, will enable her to live genteelly, should she ever wish to seperate from us, and will be a handsome provision for pocket expences, if she does us the favor of continuing under our protection.’

‘Will you permit me,’ said the Count, eagerly, ‘to add another two hundred to her income?’ ‘Indeed I will not,’ replied the Marquis; I think myself as much the guardian of Matilda’s honor and delicacy as of her person: no young man shall boast any claims upon her, nor shall she be humbled by receiving favors, which, if known, might subject her to censure -say no more, my dear Count,’ added he, observing he was about to reply, ‘the Marchioness will not have her prot��g��e under any obligations but to herself.’ ‘Shall I be sincere with you, Marquis?’ demanded the Count. ‘Doubtless, my Lord, you may, and assure yourself of my secrecy, if necessary.’ ‘Well then,’ resumed the Count,’ I confess to you, that with the Marchioness’s prot��g��e, as you call her, I should be the happiest of men: I feel, and acknowledge, that she has more than beauty -she has a soul; she has those virtues, those amiable qualities, which must render any man happy: but, my dear Marquis, her birth -the scandalous stories promulgated of her in Paris: ah! what can do away these objections which rise hourly before me, and bar me from happiness and Matilda?’ ‘Since you do me the honor of your confidence, my Lord, ‘tis my duty to be candid and explicit. That I entertain the highest opinion of Matilda, is most certain that I think whoever the man is, who is honored with her hand, will be a happy one, I also acknowledge; but, my Lord, family and society have great claims upon us; we ought not to injure the one, nor disregard the other. Could you bear to see your wife treated with contempt, as one whom nobody knew, as one who had no claims to distinction, but what your very great friends might allow her? Could you support the idea, that she whose genuine merit might entitle her to the first society, should be refused admittance among such, as in real worth she very far surpassed? No; I know you would feel such a degradation most painfully; and, though young men, in the moment of passion, think they could sacrifice every thing to the object of it; yet, believe me, passion is but short-lived, and though your wife may yet retain your love and esteem, you will regret the loss of society - you will feel the insults offered to your wife, and you will both be unhappy.’

‘Ah ! my dear Marquis,’ cried the Count, say no more. How happy are Englishmen ! free from all those false prejudices, they can confer honor on whom they please, and the want of noble birth is no degradation where merit and character deserve esteem; but we are the victims to false notions, and from thence originates all that levity and vice for which we are censured by other nations.’ He walked away with a melancholy air: the Marquis felt for him, but national honor was in his opinion of more consequence than the gratification of a private individual, how great soever the merit of the object.

The Count walked into the garden, his arms folded, his mind distrest, unknowing what he should, what he ought to do. Turning into a small alcove, he beheld Matilda, her head reclining on one hand, whilst with the other she dried the tears which fell on her face: they both started; she rose from her seat; he advanced, prevented her going and seated himself by her. Both were silent for moment, at length Matilda, making a second effort to rise, exclaimed in a faint voice, ‘Bless me! I dare say I have made the family wait breakfast,’ and attempted to pass him. ‘Stay, Miss Weimar, I beseech you; tell me why I behold you a prey to sorrow and grief?’ ‘Because, Sir,’ said she, withdrawing her hand, ‘I am the child of sorrow; I never knew another parent; poor, forlorn, proscribed, and dependant, I never can belong to any one.’ She snatched her hand, which he endeavoured to retain, from him, and flew like lightning towards the house; the Count followed, full of admiration and grief. He entered the breakfast-room; every one was seated, and rallied him on his passion for morning rambles: his natural vivacity returned, and he tried to make himself agreeable and pleasant.

They had scarce finished breakfast when the Marquis received a letter from the French Ambassador, requesting he might see him in town immediately, on an important affair. The Marquis was surprised, but gave orders for his horses to be ready. The Countess trembled, Matilda was terrified; each thought herself concerned, and when the Marquis quitted the house, retired together.

‘Ah!’ cried the Countess, the Count has discovered me !’ ‘No, no, madam,’ replied Matilda, “tis, I am discovered and shall be torn from you.’ Both burst into tears, equally for herself and friend.

The Marchioness, who saw him depart, now entered the room; ‘As I supposed,’ said he, you retired to frighten each other, but that I shall not allow, so ladies, if you please, throw on your cloaks; I have made up two parties this morning for an airing: in my coach goes Lord Delby, the Count, my sister, and Miss Matilda; I accompany Mrs Courtney, in her chariot; so pray hasten directly, the carriages wait.’

She withdrew on saying these words, and left them no power to frame excuses, and consequently they were obliged to follow, though with aching hearts.

They were disposed of according to the Marchioness’s arrangements, but for some minutes after the carriage proceeded all were silent. Lord Delby first spoke, and regretted the party did not seem to accord with the wishes of the ladies, if he might judge from their averted looks. ‘Indeed, my Lord,’ replied the Countess, ‘you do me particular injustice; I entertain the highest respect for every person here; to your Lordship I owe obligations never to be forgotten; I infinitely esteem the Count, as a friend, and this young lady I love with the affection of a sister. I have been a little agitated by the sudden departure of the Marquis, and my uneasiness has communicated itself to my friend; we beg your pardon, and will endeavor to be better company.’ After this the conversation became more general and amusing.

The Marquis proceeded to town, and instantly waited on the Ambassador. ‘I am sorry, my dear Lord,’ said his Excellency ‘to have broken in upon your retirement, and must mention the visit I received yesterday as my apology. A German gentleman, who sent in his name as Mr Weimar, requested permission to wait on me; he was consequently admitted: he entered upon a long story of an orphan he had preserved from perishing, of a paper fastened to the child, deputing him the guardian of it ‘till claimed by its parents; and in short, that despairing, from the number of years past, that those parents had any existence, he resolved to marry the young lady, that he might provide for her without injury to her reputation; that, from what motives he knew not, she had been induced to fly from his house, seducing a servant of his to go with her; and she was now detained from him by you, notwithstanding he had a lettre de-cachet, which he produced, commanding you to give her up; consequently, by virtue of that order, he requested I would compel you to deliver the young lady to his care. Now, my dear Marquis, I am prepared to hear you on the subject, for it is a delicate affair, and I am convinced you would be sorry it should be noised abroad.’ ‘No otherwise, Sir,’ replied the Marquis, ‘than as it might wound the young lady’s delicacy to be publicly talked of. I am obliged to your Excellency for your communications, and must trespass on your patience to elucidate the affair properly.’ He then recapitulated the whole of Matilda’s story, concealing every thing relative to the Countess at that time; and having deduced it down to the present period, he besought his Excellency to protect an amiable young woman, under the most unfortunate circumstances.

‘I am really,’ he replied, ‘much interested for her, and perfectly disposed to comply with your wishes, but the whole affair is replete with so many extraordinary circumstances, that I think we had best consult the German Ambassador before any thing can be determined on.’

The carriage was ordered, and his Excellency took the Marquis with him. They most fortunately found the German Minister at home, and after some deliberation it was settled Matilda should remain under the protection of the Marquis for one year, he to be answerable for her; during that interval advertisements should be sent to the different kingdoms, in quest of her parents; and if in the course of one twelvemonth no such persons appeared, Mr Weimar was the natural protector of the young lady, but could not oblige her to marry him -neither could he prevent her retiring to a convent, though she might be accountable to him for her choice of such a retirement.

The Marquis was obliged to be contented with this decision, and returning with the Ambassador, he said, ‘I shall in all probability have to trouble you again soon, on a still more extraordinary affair, and relative to one more dear and nearer to me than this young lady.’ ‘Upon my word, Marquis,’ replied the Minister, smiling, ‘you are quite a knight-errant, to protect distressed damsels.’ ‘A very honourable employment,’ answered the other, in the same tone; ‘but though these are not the days of romance, yet I have met with such extraordinary incidents