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

with the warm enthusiasm of youth, cried out, ‘Is there no clue to trace them -I will myself pursue them.’ ‘Alas! my son, answered the Countess, ‘ ‘tis impossible to say where he may have carried her to; but let us hope, as she found means to send this letter, she will find an opportunity to write again; at all events, she has a protector, to whose care we must trust her, until we can obtain further intelligence.’

This letter threw a damp on the general joy.

Her story was repeated to Frederic, whose ardour was again raised to deliver the unhappy girl from her persecutor.

The Marquis, who was that day writing to the Count the happy event of their journey and meeting with his nephew, could not resist throwing in a postscript. ‘My dear Bouville,’ added he, ‘we are thrown into the greatest consternation, by a letter from Matilda. She is again in the power of that villain, Weimar; who, contrary to his engagements has procured an order from the king, and carried her off, we know not where. We wait with impatience to hear further.’

This letter from the Marquis found the Count De Bouville at Bath; where he vainly sought amusement, to remove the anguish which preyed upon his mind, arising from the impossibility of ever calling Matilda his. He viewed the gay females of fashion, with birth, beauty, and accomplishments to boast of, with perfect indifference. Ah! thought he, where is the modest retiring sweetness of Matilda? Where those unaffected charms -those natural graces of her deportment? Never shall I meet with a woman that I can admire or love, after knowing that lovely girl, whose very virtues preclude my happiness. He was in one of these reveries when the letter from the Marquis was delivered to him. The happiness of his friends gave him infinite delight; but how changed were his emotions on reading the postscript: his rage exceeded all bounds; he determined to leave Bath instantly. ‘I will hunt the villain through the world,’ cried he; ‘I will find her, if she is on earth, and no power shall ever take her from me again. O, Matilda! too scrupulous girl, you have undone us both, and ruined my peace for ever.’ He called his servants, and ordered the necessary arrangements for leaving Bath that night. He went out to call on some friends he had formed an engagement with, and to whom he thought more than a card was due. Crossing the parade, he saw, coming towards him, Madame Le Brune, Mademoiselle De Fontelle, and Mrs Courtney, who had arrived from Tunbridge together the preceding evening. Nothing could have happened more unfortunate than this meeting. His temper irritated before, at the sight of the two ladies together, both of whom he considered as enemies to Matilda, his passion increased beyond the bounds of politeness to restrain. I congratulate you, ladies, on an intimacy, minds like yours naturally create. For you, madam’ - turning to Mademoiselle De Fontelle, who was pale with fear, observing his violence -‘you were never an object of my esteem, and long since of my aversion and contempt: your diabolical falsehoods have deprived me of happiness for ever; but vengeance will one day overtake you -I promise you it shall,’ said he, in a voice that made her tremble and unable to go on. ‘For you, madam,’ turning to Mrs Courtney -‘I have still some respect: you have many good qualities; but your malice and dislike of an unoffending and excellent young woman, is inexcusable, and very evidently pursued, by attaching yourself to one you know all your and her friends despise; malice only is the cement of your intimacy. Take my advice, madam, -break it off, and entitle yourself to the respect and esteem of those who are the friends of yourself and Lord Delby.’

He was going to leave them, but Mrs Courtney, struck by his manner and words, still partial to him, cried out, ‘Stop, my Lord, - tell me how long you remain in Bath?’ ‘This night I leave it,’ said he, ‘and a day or two hence I shall quit England.’ ‘For heaven’s sake !’ cried she, ‘let me see you for five minutes, an hour hence; -do not deny me, ‘tis the last favour I will ever ask.’ Seeing he hesitated, ‘At No. 11, on the South Parade -I will expect you.’

She hastily followed her companions, who had gladly removed a few paces from them, and left the Count irresolute, whether he should oblige her or not: but recollecting the civilities he had received at her house and Lord Delby’s, he thought gratitude and honour required his obedience.

He called on his friends, and at the appointed hour attended Mrs Courtney. When introduced, she was alone, and very melancholy, but rose to receive him with evident pleasure. ‘I thank you for this visit,’ said she, ‘which I scarcely dared flatter myself with receiving, from your abrupt behaviour to me this morning.’ ‘You saw me, madam, very much ruffled; and the company I saw you in was not calculated to put me in better humour. You will pardon me, if I behaved any way rudely; but I really have too much respect for Mrs Courtney, to whose hospitality and kindness I am under so many obligations, to see her in company with a dissolute woman, whose want of chastity is perhaps her least crime; she is unprincipled, in every respect, with a base and malignant heart.’ ‘Good God! Count, cried Mrs Courtney ‘I did not know Mademoiselle De Fontelle, was charged with any other faults than a dislike to Matilda.’ ‘That of itself,’ replied he, ‘would to me be a sufficient proof of a bad mind; for only those who dislike virtue and goodness can be enemies to her: but independent of that, Fontelle is a profligate young woman, and by no means a fit companion for a lady of your respectability, though, being unknown, she may be received into company. I hope, madam you will deem this an apology for my abrupt behaviour; and now favour me with your commands.’ ‘Commands!’ repeated she dear Count, are you obliged to leave Bath so very soon?’ ‘I am, madam; and I will frankly tell you the cause.’ He repeated the Marquis s letter. ‘The amiable Matilda ever was, and ever will be dear to me; tho’ her superior greatness of mind will not permit her to accept my hand, I neither can nor will marry any other woman, nor shall she, if I can help it, be subject to the power of any man earth.’ ‘But,’ said she, ‘without knowledge even of the road they travelled how can you pursue them’ ‘It matters not,’ answered he, ‘I will not rest till I do obtain information.’ ‘This is really a Quixote expedition,’ said she; travelling the world through to deliver distressed damsels.’ ‘It may appear so,’ replied he, gravely, but don’t let me think Mrs Courtney possessed of so little feeling, as to be indifferent about the fate of an amiable girl, who esteemed and respected her. But have you any commands for me, madam-I am really hurried at present Well, Sir,’ answered she, if you are determined to go, I must own I wish to preserve your esteem, at least, and therefore I promise you I will profit by your advice, and give up the French ladies.’ ‘You will entitle yourself to respect, madam by so doing. Every French woman is not a Marchioness De Melfort, nor, I hope, a Mademoiselle De Fontelle; but ‘tis necessary ladies should discriminate in their acquaintance.’ Then rising and kissing her hand, ‘Accept, madam, my grateful thanks for the favours you have honored me with. If I ever return to England, I shall again pay my respects to you, if you will permit me; and, if I am ever happily settled in France, I shall think myself highly honoured by a visit from Mrs Courtney, and her worthy uncle, Lord Delby Mrs Courtney’s pride forsook her at this polite address, she burst into tears, ‘Adieu, my dear Count; may happiness attend you, though you leave me a prey to regret and sorrow.’ He hastened from her with some emotion. That woman, thought he, has many amiable qualities, but she wants steadiness and respect for herself: an imbecility of mind makes her resign herself up to her passions, from the want of resolution or fortitude to subdue them; she has naturally a good and generous heart, but she is easily led aside by others more artful than herself. He thought however he had done his duty by warning her against Mademoiselle De Fontelle; and returned to his lodging with satisfaction to himself.

Every thing being ready, the Count quitted Bath that night; slept a few hours on the road, and arrived in town the next day.

He pursued his route to Dover, and from thence to Boulogne. He went to the convent, to gain intelligence; the porteress very readily answered his questions, but that afforded him not the least clue to guide his search, as she knew nothing of the road taken. She told him that Matilda had left money to convey Louison to Paris, who had been gone upwards of a fortnight.

Although the Count scarcely supposed Weimar would carry her to his own house, yet he determined to go there. He wrote the Marquis, and proposed being at Vienna, should he prove unsuccessful in Switzerland.

It would be tedious to follow the Count thro’ his journey. He made all possible enquiries through the different towns, without obtaining any information. He arrived at Mr Weimar’s; they had not heard from him since he left England. Disappointed and mortified, he went from Switzerland to Vienna, and from thence to the villa of the Countess. He was received with transport. The Countess eagerly exclaimed, ‘She is found, we have a letter -O, such good news !’

The Count had hardly patience to go through the ceremony of introduction, before he begged to know the good news!

The Marchioness had two days before received the letter Matilda had written from Tunis -she gave it him to read.

Matilda had briefly given an account of her voyage and arrival at Tunis, the civilities of the captain, and dangerous state of Mr Weimar. She mentioned, that she had reason to suppose she was descended from a noble family, in Naples; that a short time would relieve her doubts; and, at any rate, she would write again, if not join them, in a very little while.

Lovers, who are ever industrious to torment themselves, would perhaps, like the Count, have conjured up a thousand fears to distract their minds. ‘Is this all your good news?’ cried he, ‘alas! I see little to depend upon here; “she has hopes” she belongs to some noble family, -a scheme of that villain Weimar’s, to keep her easy ‘till he recovers; besides, what dependence can be placed on a corsair? Ah! if these are all your hopes of safety, they are small indeed.’ ‘Upon my word, Count,’ said the Marchioness, ‘you are very cruel, to destroy the pleasing illusion we entertained of her safety; for my own part, I see no cause to doubt the kindness of the Captain, who, ‘tis plain, must have permitted her to write; and for the other, he can have no power, in his circumstances, whether ill or well.“I hope, madam,’ replied the Count, ‘your conjectures are founded on truth and reason, -I shall rejoice to find my fears are groundless; but, be that as it may, I am determined to go immediately to Tunis.’ ‘You are right, my dear Sir,’ cried the young Count, Frederic; ‘could I disengage my mind from superior duties, I would, with pleasure, accompany you.’ ‘Ah! the knight errantry of youthful folks!’ said the Marquis, smiling, ‘but I assure you, my good friend, we are all here equally interested