Two days passed drearily away to Helen. She could no expect tidings from her cousin in so short a time. No more happy dreams cheered her lonely hours; and anxiety to learn what might be the condition of the earl and countess so possessed her that visions of affright now disturbed both her waking and sleeping senses. Fancy showed them in irons and in a dungeon, and sometimes she started in horror, thinking that perhaps at that moment the assassin’s steel was raised against the life of her father.
On the morning of the third day, when she was chiding herself for such rebellious despondence, her female attendant entered to say, that a friar was come to conduct her where she would see messengers from Lady mar. Helen lingered not a moment, but giving her hand to the good father, was led by him into the library, where the prior was standing between two men in military habits. One wore English armor, with his visor closed; the other, a knight, was in tartans. The Scot presented her with a signet, set in gold. Helen looked on it, and immediately recognized the same that her stepmother always used.
The Scottish knight was preparing to address her, when the prior interrupted him, and taking Lady Helen’s hand, made her seat herself. “Compose yourself for a few minutes,” said he; “this transitory life hourly brings forward events to teach us to be calm, and to resign our wishes and our wills to the Lord of all things.”
Helen looked fearfully in his face. “Some evil tidings are to be told me.” The blood left her lips; it seemed leaving her heart also. The prior, full of compassion, hesitated to speak. The Scot abruptly answered her:
“Be not alarmed, lady, your parents have fallen into humane hands. I am sent, under the command of this noble Southron knight, to conduct you to them.”
“Then my father lives! They are safe!” cried she, in a transport of joy, and bursting into tears.
“He yet lives,” returned the officer; “but his wounds opening afresh, and the fatigues of his journey, have so exhausted him that Lord Aymer de Valence has granted the prayers of the countess, and we come to take you to receive his last blessing.”
A cry of anguish burst from the heart of Lady Helen, and falling into the arms of the prior, she found refuge from woe in a merciful insensibility. The pitying exertions of the venerable father at last recalled her to recollection and to sorrow. She rose from the bench on which he had laid her, and begged permission to retire for a few minutes; tears choked her further utterance, and, being led out by the friar, she once more reentered her cell.
Lady Helen passed the moments she had requested in those duties which alone can give comfort to the afflicted, when all that is visible bids us despair; and rising from her knees, with that holy fortitude which none but the devout can know, she took her mantle and veil, and throwing them over her, sent her attendant to the prior, to say she was ready to set out on her journey, and wished to receive his parting benediction. The venerable father, followed by Halbert, obeyed her summons. On seeing the poor old harper, Helen’s heart lost some of its newly-acquired composure. She held out her hand to him; he pressed it to his lips. “Farewell, sweetest lady! May the prayers of the dear saint, to whose remains your pious care gave a holy grave, draw down upon your own head consolation and peace!” The old man sobbed; and the tears of Lady Helen, as he bent upon her hand, dropped upon his silver hair. “May Heaven hear you, good Halbert! And cease not, venerable man, to pray for me; for I go into the hour of trial.”
“All that dwell in this house, my daughter,” rejoined the prior, “shall put up orisons for your comfort, and for the soul of the departing earl.” Observing that her grief augmented at these words, he proceeded in a yet more soothing voice: “Regret not that he goes before you, for what is death but entrance into life? It is the narrow gate, which shuts us from this dark world, to usher us into another, of everlasting light and happiness. Weep not, then, dear child of the church, that your earthly parents precede you to the Heavenly Father; rather say, with the Virgin Saint Bride, ‘How long, O Lord, am I to be banished thy presence? How long endure the prison of my body, before I am admitted to the freedom of Paradise, to the bliss of thy saints above?’”
Helen raised her eyes, yet shining in tears, and with a divine smile pressing the crucifix to her breast, “You do indeed arm me, my father! This is my strength!”
“And one that will never fail thee!” exclaimed he. She dropped upon one knee before him. He crossed his hands over her head-he looked up to heaven-his bosom heaved-his lips moved-then pausing a moment-“Go,” said he, “and may the angels which guard innocence minister to your sorrows, and lead you into peace!”
Helen bowed, and breathing inwardly a devout response, rose and followed the prior out of the cell. At the end of the cloister she again bade farewell to Halbert. Before the great gates stood the knights with their attendants. She once more kissed the crucifix held by the prior, and giving her hand to the Scot, was placed by him on a horse richly caparisoned. He sprung on another himself, while the English officer, who was already mounted, drawing up to her, she pulled down her veil, and all bowing to the holy brotherhood at the porch, rode off at a gentle pace.
A long stretch of wood, which spread before the monastery, and screened the back of Bothwell Castle from being discernible on that side of the Clyde, lay before them. Through this green labyrinth they pursued their way, till they crossed the river.
“Time wears!” exclaimed the Scot to his companion; “we must push on.” The English knight nodded, and set his spurs into his steed. The whole troop now fell into a rapid trot. The banks of the Avon opened into a hundred beautiful seclusions, which, intersecting the deep sides of the river with umbrageous shades and green hillocks, seemed to shut it from the world. Helen in vain looked for the distant towers of Dumbarton Castle marking the horizon; no horizon appeared, but ranges of rocks and wooded precipices.
A sweet breeze played through the valley and revived her harassed frame. She put aside her veil to enjoy its freshness, and saw that the knights turned their horses’ heads into one of the obscurest mountain defiles. She started at its depth, and at the gloom which involved its extremity. “It is our nearest path,” said the Scot. Helen made no reply, but turning her steed also, followed him, there being room for only one at a time to ride along the narrow margin of the river that flowed at its base. The Englishman, whose voice she had not yet heard, and his attendants, followed likewise in file; and with difficulty the horses could make their way through the thicket which interlaced the pathway, so confined, indeed, that it rather seemed a cleft made by an earthquake in the mountain than a road for the use of man.
When they had been employed for an hour in breaking their way through this trackless glen, they came to a wider space, where other and broader ravines opened before them. The Scot, taking a pass to the right, raised his bugle, and blew so sudden a blast that the horse on which Lady Helen sat took fright, and began to plunge and rear, to the evident hazard of throwing her into the stream. Some of the dismounted men, seeing her danger, seized the horse by the bridle; while the English knight extricating her from the saddle, carried her through some clustering bushes into a cave, and laid her at the feet of an armed man.
Terrified at this extraordinary action, she started up with a piercing shriek, but was at that moment enveloped in the arms of the stranger, while a loud shout of exhultation resounded from the Scot who stood at the entrance. It was echoed from without. There was horror in every sound. “Blessed Virgin, protect me!” she cried, striving to break from the fierce grasp that held her. “Where am I?” looking wildly at the two men who had brought her: “Why am I not taken to my father?”
She received no answer, and both the Scot and the Englishman left the place. The stranger still held her locked in a gripe that seemed of iron. In vain she struggled, in vain she shrieked, in vain she called on earth and Heaven, for assistance; she was held, and still he kept silence. Exhausted with terror and fruitless attempt for release, she put her hands together, and in a calmer tone exclaimed: “If you have honor or humanity in your heart, release me! I am an unprotected woman, praying for your mercy; withhold it not, for the sake of Heaven and your own soul.”
“Kneel to me then, thou siren!” cried the warrior, with fierceness. As he spoke he threw the tender knees of Lady Helen upon the rocky floor. His voice echoed terribly in her ears, but obeying him, “Free me,” cried she, “for the sake of my dying father!”
“Never, till I have had my revenge!”
At this dreadful denunciation she shuddered to the soul, but yet she spoke: “Surely I am mistaken for some one else! Oh, how can I have offended any man to incur so cruel an outrage?”
The warrior burst into a satanic laugh, and, throwing up his visor, “Behold me, Helen!” cried he, grasping her clasped hands with a horrible force, “My hour is come!”
At the sight of the dreadful face of Soulis she comprehended all her danger, and with supernatural strength, wresting her hands from his hold, she burst through the bushes out of the cave. Her betrayers stood at the entrance, and catching her in their arms, brought her back to their lord. But it was an insensible form they now laid before him; overcome with horror her senses had fled. Short was this suspension from misery; water was thrown on her face, and she awoke to recollection, lying on the bosom of her enemy. Again she struggled, again her cries echoed from side to side of the cavern. “Peace!” cried the monster; “you cannot escape; you are now mine forever! Twice you refused to be my wife; you dared to despise my love and my power; now you shall feel my hatred and my revenge!”
“Kill me!” cried the distracted Helen; “kill me and I will bless you!”
“That would be a poor vengeance,” cried he; “you must be humbled, proud minion, you must learn to fawn on me for a smile; to woo, as my sla............