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

am resolved to wait weeks, months, or years, to have a chance for the removal of those impediments; and if I do not succeed at last, in all probability I shall never marry at all.’ As he ended this speech he withdrew, with a respectful, but reserved air. ‘Heavens ! said she, peevishly, ‘is this the gallant, polite Frenchman! I see ‘tis all over; I can make nothing of him, and I will gratify his vanity no longer; on the contrary, treat him with levity and contempt.’ Pride stepped in to her aid, and produced that change of sentiment which reason, honor, and good sense had failed to do: so true is the poet’s observation,

Pride saves men oft, and women too, from falling. She determined, however, not to accompany her friends; being so lately returned from the Continent, she had no inclination to revisit it, without a powerful inducement, such as she had no chance of.

The Count’s motives for refusing were of a similar nature.

The Marchioness had heard from Matilda. She declined being of their party, and entreated to remain in the Convent ‘till that lady returned to France. She wrote a letter of congratulation to her dear Countess, on the great change in her situation, but gave, what she thought, very satisfactory reasons for not going into Germany. Lord Delby, however, could not resist his desire of attending the Countess, though so recently returned from thence. He entreated the Count to accept his house, but he had previously accepted a similar offer from the Marquis.

In a few days the party separated: the Marquis, his Lady, the Countess, and Lord Delby for Germany: the Count, to avoid attendance on Mrs Courtney, went to Bath, and that lady soon after accompanied a party of friends to Tunbridge.

From the time that Mr Weimar had agreed, before the Ambassador, to permit Matilda’s residence twelve months with the Marquis, her friends had sent advertisements to all the different courts in Europe, describing the particular circumstances attending her birth, without mentioning names. No intelligence arrived, nor enquiries had yet been made on the subject, though they still entertained hopes of one day meeting with success. As to the young lady herself, she had none; resigned to her misfortunes, her only wish was to remain in the convent, free from the persecutions, and exempt from the temptations, of the world. She heard of her friend’s unexpected restoration to her family and fortune, with real delight; and no mention being made of the Count or Mrs Courtney, in the letter she received from the Marchioness, she concluded they were either married, or soon to be; and though a few sighs would follow the idea, she supported herself with fortitude and resolution.

She was one day sitting in her apartment, and ruminating on past events, when the superior of the convent came in, and with a look of regret, ‘Ah! madam,’ said she, ‘I am grieved to be the messenger of ill news to you, and sorrow to the whole community.’ ‘Bless me ! ‘ cried Matilda, ‘what is the matter?’ Alas ! my dear child, I have received an order from the king to deliver you to a Mr Weimar, and another gentleman, waiting to receive you.’

The unhappy girl repeated faintly the name of Weimar, and fell back, almost senseless in her chair. The good mother ran to her assistance; she soon recovered. Oh! madam,’ said she, ‘save me, keep me here; I wish to be a nun -I will not go into the world again. ‘ Would it were possible for me to protect you,’ answered she, shrugging her shoulders ‘but we have no power to retain you from the king’s order; you must go, we dare not keep you.’

At this moment entered St Magdalene, all in tears.

‘Well, madam,’ said Matilda, endeavouring to collect fortitude from despair, ‘have the goodness to inform the gentlemen I will presently wait on them.’ The superior appeared rather unwilling to leave her with her favourite, but however she withdrew.

Her good mother advised her instantly to write a few lines to the Marquis, and likewise to the Countess at Vienna. ‘Give me the first letter,’ said she, ‘I will endeavour to have it conveyed; take the chance of leaving the other at some inn on the road: but make haste, for we have no time.’

Poor Matilda, more dead than alive, soon executed her task, and the other assisting in packing, she was just ready when a messenger came to hasten her. With a resolution that astonished her friend, she followed the persons who came for her Trunks, and went down to take leave of the community. Every one was affected, for she was generally beloved; but when she kissed the hand of her good mother both burst into a flood of tears. ‘Farewell, my dear, my amiable friend, ‘ said she; ‘farewell, my good mother: if my wishes were gratified, and I have ever any power over my own actions, I will return to reside with you for ever.’ ‘To the protection of heaven I leave you,’ said mother Magdalene; ‘persevere in virtue and goodness, truth in God, and doubt not of being the object of his care; for he is a Father to the fatherless, and will never forsake the virtuous.

With streaming eyes Matilda followed her conductor. The porteress opened the gates; there stood Mr Weimar and his friend. He seemed at first to shrink from her view; but recovering himself. advanced and took her hand. ‘Well, ungrateful run-away,’ said he, you are once more in the custody of your true and natural protector.’ She made no answer, nor any resistance; she was placed in the carriage between them. Mr Weimar was hurt at her silence, ‘You are sullen, you are ungrateful Matilda.’ ‘No, Sir, I am neither: I am grateful for past benefits, and if I do not speak, ‘tis because my sincerity or sentiments cannot be pleasing.’ ‘You are mistaken,’ said he; ‘I wish you to speak with sincerity; to tell me why you forsook the friend of your youth, the man who offered to make you his by every holy tie, to fly with an acquaintance of a day, and who, after all his professions, at last placed you in a convent?’ ‘It was my own voluntary choice, Sir, and very distressing to my friends, that I persisted in choosing a retirement from the world. To the first part of your question ‘tis not necessary for me to answer: you know my motives for quitting your house, and for the subsequent offer of your hand, if you really were sincere, I must confess I think circumstances more than inclination prompted you to it. How you mean to dispose of me, or by what right you assume to yourself to be master of my destiny, I know not; but of this you may be assured, no force shall prevail upon me to act contrary to my own inclinations and judgment; and since I am not your niece, you have no legal authority over me.’

Weimar looked confounded at her spirit, the other stared with surprise; all were mute for some time, at length he said, ‘You have taken up unjust prejudices, Matilda; but you will find I am still your best friend.’ ‘Then,’ replied she, ‘I shall truly rejoice, for it is grievous to me to think ill of any one, much more of him, whom, for many years, I was accustomed to think my nearest relation and protector. If you are sincere, permit me to write to the Marchioness that I am in your care, to dispel the anxiety she will naturally feel on my account.’ ‘We will think of that, said he, ‘when we are settled.’

This evasion proved to her, she had not much favour to expect.

She was entirely ignorant of the road they took; she knew it was different from the Paris route, and had no opportunity of asking a single question, much less of dropping her letter, as the chaise being their own, they sat in it whilst they procured horses at the different posthouses, and at night stopt at a miserable hut, where they got only a few eggs and a little milk, no beds were to be had, and they were obliged to remain four hours in the chaise, until they could enter the next town. The distress of mind, with fatigue and want of rest, overpowered Matilda; as they were changing horses, she fainted. Weimar was frightened; he had her taken out of the carriage, laid upon a bed, and every method used to restore her. It was a long time before she recovered, and then she was so weak and exhausted, that he was at a loss how to get her on. Some wine and toasted bread was given to her, and he quitted the room a moment, to order refreshments into the chaise: she seized the opportunity; taking the letter and a louis d’or out of her pocket, ‘If you have charity,’ said she, ‘let that letter be sent to the post.’ The woman, surprised, took the letter and money, and going to speak, Matilda heard his footsteps; she put her finger to her lips; the other understood, and thrust both into her bosom. Joy and hope gave her spirits, and when he told her she must pursue her journey, she arose with difficulty, but without speaking, and was rather carried than walked to the chaise. When they drove off she recollected she had forgot to ask the name of the town; she put the question to him. ‘Faith I have forgot,’ was his answer. She said no more.

The two gentlemen talked of indifferent matters, which afforded her no information; she therefore resigned herself to her own contemplations until they arrived at a sea-port town.

She was astonished when he told her they were to embark on board a vessel. ‘Where are you going to carry me to,’ said she, trembling. ‘To Germany doubtless,’ replied he. ‘By water?’ ‘Yes, by water: but ask no questions, Matilda; I am once more your uncle during this voyage, to preserve your character.’ ‘And do you think, Sir,’ said she, assuming courage under a palpitating heart, ‘do you think I will give a sanction to your falsehoods, and permit myself to be made a slave of’ ‘You will find,’ answered he, ‘you can have no voice to alter my determinations; but I will now make you a fair proposal, If you will consent to marry me, I will, in this very town, receive your hand, and without scruple then carry you to join your friends: if you refuse I will not part with you, but where I propose carrying you, shall be entire master of your destiny. The old story is propagated by my servant, that you are my niece, and I am saving you from a shameful marriage with a footman.’ ‘Good God !’ cried she, ‘is my character thus traduced? And do you suppose such methods will oblige me to become your wife? No! Sir; I will die first.’ ‘Very well,’ answered he, calmly, ‘you have had your choice - I shall pursue mine.’

Presently they were informed the vessel was ready. She was lifted out of the chaise, and notwithstanding her resistance, and cries for help, she was carried on board and down to the room below.

‘You are now safe in my possession,’ said he. ‘I am sorry you made force necessary; but you must be convinced ‘tis now in vain to contend with me.’ Matilda sat stupidly gazing at him; but the vessel beginning to move, she turned very sick: without any female on board to assist her, she was compelled to let him place her on the bed; and then requesting to be alone, he retired, and left her to her own very painful reflections.

All hope of assistance from the Marquis was