Heidelberg: A Romance. Volumes I, II & III

"We must discuss this question, dearest mother, without passion or prejudice," was the next sentence; "great interests are at stake, your son's, the Protestant religion, the liberty of Germany,--"

"The great tun of Heidelberg brimful of wine," exclaimed the juicy tongue of the jester, "would not drown the gabbling of a page; he would still shout from the bottom of the vat and make empty bubbles on the top, as full of noise as a petard.--"

"Nothing more is wanting to shatter the whole constitution of this empire," Camerarius was heard to say, "than disunion amongst the Protestant princes, the fall of that kingdom which has first raised the voice against tyranny, oppression, and superstition, and the rejection of a preferred crown by the only sovereign prince who is qualified to guide the march of events by power, talent, and influence."

"Give me reason and a good supper," said the page.

"But have you an offer thereof?" asked the Electress.

"If I had the rule, you should have none," said the jester, "but a good whipping and a book to read."

"The sceptre of Bohemia."

"A fig for your bauble."

"A coxcomb against a page's feather."

"At the feet of your Highness's son, with all the advantages, which--"

"The König's-stool and the Heiligberg upon your head for a mad ape; you have untrussed my jerkin and let my fat out."

"No motives of personal ambition, no hope or expectation of renown, nay, not even the voice of an oppressed people would induce me, dearest mother."

"Though the gods and goddesses were to come down upon earth to wash themselves in the fountains of the gardens, you would still be an ass and drink deep to the increase of your carcass, and the perdition of your soul."

"Notwithstanding which, the voice of the people of Bohemia is not to go for nothing; and, when added to that, is the maintenance of the Protestant religion in merely its just rights and liberties--"

"A whoreson varlet with legs like a blacksmith's tongs; feet like the ace of diamonds, and shoulders vastly too intimate with his ears."

"Those who could advise the prince to give a decided refusal to such an appeal--"

But here Algernon Grey called off the attention of his fair companion from the curious conversation which they overheard, by gently touching her hand and saying:--"Methinks, we must listen to this no longer, sweet lady."

"How can we avoid it?" rejoined Agnes in a whisper. "To close either of the doors now, would be worse than to risk and go boldly down the stairs."

"Then let us go boldly," answered Algernon Grey. "It were better to risk anything personally, methinks, than to overhear what is evidently not intended for our ears."

"You are right," said Agnes, "you are right--I only feared--but no matter for personal fears; they shall not stop me from doing what I ought. Let us come, then;" and advancing a step, she opened the door upon the corridor and went out.

There was a large lamp suspended opposite to the door of the Electress Dowager, casting a full light upon the stairs. In the corner of the landing, leaning with one leg cast over the other, was a fat, short, red-faced man, dressed in the motley garb of the fools of those days; while, opposite to him, lolling against the balustrade, was a lad of some sixteen or seventeen years of age, habited in the splendid costume of the Electoral pages. Advancing straight towards them, and descending the stairs with a calm countenance, Algernon Grey passed on side by side with Agnes Herbert. The page moved and drew himself up, doffing his bonnet as they went by; but the jester, with the usual license of his calling, remained in his corner unmoved, shutting one eye and fixing the other keen grey orb upon the lady with an inquisitive stare. The moment she and her companion had passed, however, he stuck his tongue into his cheek and winked knowingly to the page, who replied merely by a low laugh.

"What will come of it, Master Joachim?" asked the jester, after a pause.

"Nay, I know not," replied the youth; "love and marriage, I suppose."

"Nay, love won't come," said the jester; "for he is there already; and marriage may come, or may not, as the gods will have it; but, if I were pretty Mrs. Agnes Herbert, I would take that long fellow to the buttery, and give him a toast and two or three bottles of Burgundy wine. She is afraid of doing so, for fear of being found out; but, methinks, it would be the seal of matrimony, which Heaven send her speedily; for the walking about in the passages of this old castle is somewhat like to chill the little god, Cupid's brother, who is known to be rather aguish."

In the mean while Agnes and Algernon Grey walked on and passed through the lower part of the castle, and upon the Altan again. There she paused with a momentary hesitation; for she felt how sweet a thing liberty must be to her companion, and she could not find it in her heart to say that it was time to return to his prison. Did any personal feelings mingle with her reluctance? Was she unwilling to part with him so soon? Who ever felt a joy that was not grieved to lose it? and Agnes Herbert had been very happy by the side of Algernon Grey.

He saved her the pain of speaking, however, by divining her thoughts ere they were told.

"Methinks, dearest lady," he said, "that it must be time for me to return, and for you to go to other occupations, though your kind heart will not tell me so. Let us on towards my tower, however. My heartfelt thanks are due for the alleviation you have given me, and I would not for the world mingle one pain with the pleasure you must feel in such an act."

"My only pain," replied Agnes, walking on beside him, "is, that you must return at all. The Electress Dowager, I think, may call for me again, or I would say, stay longer."

They were not long ere they reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the place of Algernon's imprisonment--it seemed to him, indeed, marvellously short--and there he stopped to bid her farewell for the night. True, he might have done so as well above; but there the guards tenanted the ante-chamber; and feelings which he would not own to himself made him unwilling to have witnesses to his parting with her.

"Farewell, dear lady," he said, pressing her hand in his; "if you could tell the relief and pleasure you have afforded the poor prisoner, your heart would, I am sure, rejoice.--Nay, I feel that it does, though you cannot know from experience how tedious the hours of captivity are. Thanks--a thousand thanks--for the solace of the free air, rendered trebly bright by your sweet company."

"You have no thanks to give," she answered, leaving her hand in his; "do I not owe you everything? and, surely, a few hours from the life you have saved is but a poor offering for a grateful heart to make. To-morrow night, at the same hour, I know I may promise to come again, and perhaps my uncle will come with me. Till then, I must bid you adieu. Sleep well; and pleasant dreams be yours."

He still held her hand for a moment--he still gazed upon that fair and beaming face by the pale light of the lamp that hung upon the staircase, and sensations he could hardly master rose in his bosom. They frightened him, and, breaking suddenly the spell that held him, he turned and mounted to the chamber, where sat the men on guard. There, came another adieu, colder in seeming but not less warm in truth; and, entering, he himself closed the door. He heard her hand laid upon the key; but it did not turn, and the next instant her sweet voice reached his ear, somewhat trembling in tone, as she said to one of the guards--"Here, come and lock it--I cannot."

"Why, it goes as easy as a wheel," answered the man, advancing with a heavy foot; and the next moment the door was locked.

Agnes trod her way back with a slow and thoughtful step towards the corridor of the apartments of the Electress Dowager; but at the foot of the stairs she met her uncle Herbert, and the keen eye of affection soon discovered that, from some cause, he was agitated, though he endeavoured to maintain his usual equable mien.

"What is the matter?" she said, clinging to his arm; "you are disturbed--I see it in your eyes."

"'Tis nothing, my Agnes," he said, "nothing. So you have given your prisoner his little holiday. How did he comport himself?"

"He enjoyed it much," answered Agnes: "in his calm and serious manner, he showed as much pleasure as I hoped he would feel."

"Ay, but to you, my child," asked Herbert, "was there any difference this night?"

"Exactly the same as ever," replied the beautiful girl, with a gay smile; "banish all fears and doubts. Indeed, indeed, you may. I thought they were gone for ever; for I know that such things linger not in your heart; and when once you trust, you trust implicitly. You may trust here--on him--on me; for not one word has ever passed our lips that the whole world might not listen to."

"'Tis well," said her uncle, thoughtfully, "'tis well--I do trust."

"Nay, but all is not well, I am sure," rejoined Agnes; "something has troubled you."

"Nothing but the words of a fool," answered Herbert; "and I am a fool for being troubled by them. Yet something must be done to set this matter right. Listen, dear one; I met, just now, that mischievous idiot, the Elector's droll.--How is it that men of common sense can find delight in the malicious drivelling of a lackwitted knave like that? He spoke with mockery of my Agnes--said he had seen her taking love's walk, which is a crooked one, forth from the bedchamber next the Dowager Electress' hall, down to the pleasure gardens, and bade me look well to my pretty bird, as he called you. What more he said, I need not repeat. One cannot strike an idiot, or I had felled him."

Agnes laughed gaily. "Nay, nay," she said; "he has but proved himself more fool than ever."

"Laugh not, Agnes, in your young innocence," answered Herbert; "no woman's name must be lightly spotted. You know not that the slightest foul mark upon a pure reputation remains for ever, breeding doubts and suspicions impossible to be removed. I'll tell you what, my child, I must have done;--for it shall never be said that with my will you ever did aught you were ashamed to acknowledge. I know that the Princess bade you bring him to her, though why you passed through that room I cannot divine; but now you shall go to the Electress Dowager, and tell her the history; you shall petition for leave to speak the exact truth of how and why you were seen coming from that room with the prisoner. You will obtain it, I doubt not; but if she should refuse, I must speak to her myself; for this may rest as a stain upon you, my child; and it must not be. So well do I know you, Agnes, that I say boldly and fearlessly, do anything you will, provided it be that which you can explain to the whole world, when it becomes necessary. But, at the same time, I warn you, dear one, never do aught that you cannot explain; for diplomacy is not a lady's trade; and, if it be dangerous in the hands of a man, it is fatal in those of a woman."

"I will go to the Electress, at once," answered Agnes; "for although, so far as I am personally concerned, I would scoff at all idle rumours, yet were they to give you pain, it would be no matter to be scoffed at."

"Go, Agnes, go," rejoined Herbert. "It is better, both for you and for me; when you have once the power of explaining all, I care not for aught else. Idle rumours affect me not, Agnes; and fools may talk and babble as they please; but doubtful circumstances, unaccounted for, must not affect you, my child."

"I go, then," replied Agnes; and, mounting the stairs, she hurried to the apartments of the Electress Dowager.

CHAPTER IV.

There was a lamp lighted in the chamber to which Algernon Grey returned. He found the room neatly ordered, as if care and attention had been bestowed upon it; and, in a few minutes after his return, a servant entered, bearing materials for a meal such as prisoners seldom taste. The man set it down and retired in silence; but Algernon Grey left the supper untouched. For nearly a quarter of an hour he strode up and down the room in deep thought; and then, breaking off suddenly, he said, "I will go to bed and sleep. What need of troubling my mind with things that may never occur? Am I to cast away every enjoyment of this mortal life, for fear of their remote consequences? No, I will guard my heart firmly; I will rule my conduct strictly; but I will not debar myself of my sole solace, for fear it should become too sweet. I will go and sleep, and these gloomy visions will take their flight before the morning."

Accordingly, proceeding into the other room, he undressed and went to bed. Neither did sleep refuse to visit his eyelids; for there are few things more wearing and wearisome than the dull lapse of solitary hours to an active and energetic mind; but his slumber was not calm; it was not of that soft and balmy kind which visits the pillow of careless childhood; nor was it chequered with those light gay dreams which hover over the bed of hopeful youth. Visions he had many; but they were all more or less dark, all more or less troubled; and the same forms and features were in each. Two female figures were ever present, and one was Agnes Herbert. But, as I have already touched this theme, I will not pause here to enter into the details of all that imagination and memory suggested to the sleeping brain. Suffice it, that he slept without repose; and that agitated feelings, running masterless in unreasoning slumber, wore both body and mind, even during the hours of rest.

He woke on the following morning languid and unrefreshed; and, if he had lain down somewhat gloomy in his thoughts, the next morning found him sadder and less tranquil still.

The heavy hours rolled slowly on, and nothing occurred throughout the morning to break the dull monotony of his imprisonment. The servant brought in the meals, arranged the rooms, and showed towards him every sort of civility and attention. But still it was not there that Algernon Grey could find companionship, and but few words passed, the young gentleman still speaking first, and receiving but brief and insignificant answers in return. The sight even of a human face, it is true, was pleasant to him; but yet it seemed each time that the man came and went as if his momentary presence and quick departure but added to his heaviness of heart.

He longed for somebody with whom he could converse--any one, it mattered not whom; and he looked eagerly for his cousin's promised visit; but that day William Lovet came not. It is true his conversation had a great deal in it more irritating than pleasant to the ears of Algernon Grey; but yet there was something in companionship, something in old associations and mutual habits of thought which he fancied would be a relief; and he felt disappointment as the moments flew, and he saw him not.

Perhaps there might be a desire to fly from other ideas--to rid his mind of reflection upon matters on which he did not wish it to rest; but as evening came on, and with it that change of light which, without diminishing the lustre of day, softens and saddens it, thought would have way; and Agnes Herbert was again the theme, resolution contending with affection, and an honourable spirit with a warm and ardent heart. He asked himself, "What am I feeling? What am I doing?" And to both--though seemingly very simple questions--he found it difficult to reply. The difficulty existed in the subtlety of man's heart; for skilful, indeed, must he be, and well experienced in the ways of that dark and intricate labyrinth, who can find the path to the arcanum at once. And yet he remembered his sensations towards Agnes when he had stood with her in the chamber adjoining that of the Electress; when her hand touched his; when, bending down his head to hear her whispered words, he felt her warm fragrant breath fan his cheek like that of the spring wind. Could he not have thrown his arms around her, and clasped her to his beating breast, and pressed warm kisses on those sweet lips, and asked her to be his--his for ever? Could he not at that moment have poured forth, as from a gushing fountain, the full tide of first and passionate love, bearing all before it on its fierce and eager course? He felt that he could; he felt that he had escaped a great peril; and he asked himself: "Should he risk the same again? Should he madly run into the same strong and terrible temptation? If he did, was it not improbable that any circumstances would arise anew to strengthen and support him; that any means of escape, that any happy accident would present itself to enable or lead him to fly from the immediate danger?"

"It is madness to put it to the hazard," he thought. "No, I will not go!--I will frame some excuse, not to pain her kind and gentle heart; and, even if I do show her want of courtesy, it is better than to show a want of honour."

He paused and pondered long. He thought of what he should do, and what he should say; he considered how he might best act, so as to avoid the perilous society, without wounding one whose sole wish was to give him pleasure. Vain thought! Idle considerations! as they always are with man. We raise an imaginary scaffold, and then build upon it. Comes firm reality and knocks it down beneath our feet; the whole structure falls; and happy is it if our best hopes and brightest happiness are not crushed in the ruins. The last two hours--they were hours of meditation--had passed rapidly--far more so than he had imagined. He had not heard the sound of the clock; he had not marked the rapid decline of the sun and the steady advance of night. He saw, indeed, or rather he felt, that darkness spread through the chamber in which he sat; but he had rung for no lights, and he changed not his position. He remained fixed with his eyes bent upon the ground, his arm resting on the back of the chair, and the left hand playing with his empty sword-belt, not raising a look even towards the window, where the glowing heaven shone in, radiant with the last smile of day.

In about a quarter of an hour after the key was turned in the lock, and some one knocked lightly at the door. He knew that it was Agnes's hand: he felt sure of it before he saw her; and, advancing quickly, he gave her admission, saying in a mingled tone of joy and sadness: "Welcome, welcome, dear lady, you are punctual to your hour."

"Not quite," answered Agnes; "but I was detained a little. Your time of freedom shall not be abridged, however; for we can stay out the longer--Now, will you come?"

There was a struggle in Algernon Grey's heart; his lips would scarcely utter the words he had resolved on; and, perhaps, had he not seen, as they stood together at the door, that the ante-chamber was for the moment vacant, the restraint which the presence of others always more or less imposes would at once have turned the balance against resolution. As it was, however, after a pause he replied: "Nay, dear lady, you will think me churlish and morose, I fear, when I say, it is better for me not to go, and, with deep gratitude and heart-felt thanks, decline your kindness."

"But why?" exclaimed Agnes, gazing on him with surprise; "surely, I should think it would be a relief."

"And so it is," he answered, "a sweet and joyful one; but that momentary relief, dear lady, makes me but feel the bitterness of imprisonment more painfully when it is over. Believe me, it is better I should stay."

His words, as so frequently happens with words which do not fully express all the speaker thinks, had quite the contrary effect to that which he intended. They made Agnes Herbert but the more eager to comfort and to soothe him, to lighten his hours of solitude, to banish the dark thoughts that seemed to oppress him; and she answered: "Nay, come! Do not give way to such gloomy fancies. I will take no denial. You surely cannot refuse a lady, when she asks your company in a walk through the free air. I fear you hold my gratitude as little worth; but this is the only means I have of showing it. I would willingly come and sit with you and cheer you through the day, if my uncle could come, too; but the Elector has besought him to hurry forward the new defences of the castle and the town; and every instant of his time is employed. Besides, you must come to-night; for I have got news for you of various kinds; and I cannot stay here to tell them."

Algernon Grey smiled faintly; but his resolution gave way; and taking Agnes's hand, he pressed his lips upon it, answering: "You are very kind--too kind; but I must not make you think me ungrateful for such kindness; therefore I come." At the same moment the guard re-entered the ante-chamber, and Algernon Grey followed the lady through it, and descended the stairs with her.

Grown somewhat bolder by custom, the lady led him at once across the great court, and thence into the gardens of the castle. "Now," she said, with a gay laugh, "if you had the will to be refractory, who could stop you from breaking prison? Not this weak hand, I fear."

"But these gardens are all walled round," answered Algernon Grey, "and hemmed in with the defences and outworks. Methinks it would be no easy task to make one's escape hence."

"As easy as to sail upon a lake with a light wind and a summer sky," answered Agnes gaily. "The ground is all pierced over which we tread, with subterranean passages leading hither and thither, some to the mountain, some down into the town.--Did you not see those two obelisks just now with two half-open doors by the side? Well, they lead straight into the city; and the first night, when I was wandering with you through these gardens, you must have remarked a man appear so suddenly that he startled me. He was some one belonging to the castle, who had come up by the vaults.--But I must not tell you all these secrets, lest, finding so many doors of his cage open, the captive bird should take wing and fly away."

She spoke gaily and lightly; and Algernon Grey replied, "No fear, no fear, dear lady; you have a stronger hold upon the poor bird than wires or bars--the chain of honour. No gentleman could so misuse your trust. But you seem yourself to be well acquainted with all these secret ways; though, doubtless, they are not much trod by lady's feet."

"Oh, I have them all in my little head," she answered, "as if upon a map. My uncle has shown them to me all; for he has a strange sort of superstition, that some time or another the knowledge may be needful to me. I know not what he fears or fancies, but so it is; for gloomy thoughts frequently possess him, and I do not wonder at it. But now I will tell you my news, and first a silly story about myself; for women, they say, always like to talk about themselves before all things. Do you know our adventure last night alarmed my uncle for his poor child's reputation?"

"How so?" exclaimed Algernon, with a start and feeling of more apprehension than the lady's words might seem likely to produce; "what adventure, sweet lady?"

"Oh, our adventure in escaping from the apartments of the Electress Dowager," Agnes replied. "Do you not remember passing the fool upon the stairs, and the page? Well, they saw us come forth from the room on the left; and that fool is as malicious and insolent as he is drunken. He met my uncle a few minutes after; he thought fit to jest with my poor name. But I only laughed when I was told; for, methinks, when the breast is clear and the heart quiet, one may well treat a fool's ribaldry with scorn. But my uncle took it up more seriously, and insisted I should ask permission of the Princess to tell the whole, in case of need. I related to her all that had happened to us, how we had overheard in the neighbouring chamber part of her conversation with her son, and how we had determined to confront the fool and the page upon the stairs rather than listen to more. She said we had done well, and gave the permission I asked for."

"Did it end there?" asked Algernon Grey; "or has this knave been busy spreading his scandal?"

"Oh, yes," answered Agnes, "he has; and perhaps it is lucky I obtained leave to speak; for early this morning the Elector sent for me, and, with a grave brow, told me I had been seen the night before leading the English prisoner down from his mother's lodging. I answered simply enough, 'I know I was, your Highness. The fool and the page both saw me.' He then asked me what it meant; and I replied, that I had her Highness's permission to tell him, if he asked, that it was by her commands that I had brought you thither and led you away again."

"What more, what more?" said Algernon Grey, as the lady paused.

"Why, this intelligence seemed to throw him into a fit of musing," continued Agnes; and, at length, he said, "'So, she has discovered him, too, and his errand;' and then he asked me if I knew who you were; I answered, 'I had been told your name was Algernon Grey;' and thereupon he laughed and shook his head; but inquired no further, saying, 'If it were by his mother's orders, it was well.' Nevertheless, I could see that he thinks you some great man, and that you come here upon some secret mission of deep moment. So, henceforth, I shall call you 'my lord,' and be very ceremonious."

"Nay, nay, not so," answered Algernon Grey, thrown off his guard; "give me none of such formal titles, sweet lady; from your lips they would sound very harsh to me."

"Then call me not 'lady' any more," she answered; "none but the servants here do that. I am the child of the castle, and to those who know and love me, I am only Agnes."

Algernon Grey felt his heart beat fast; but he had a habit of flying away from such emotions; and after a single moment's pause, he said, "I must clear your mind of one impression. The Elector is quite wrong; and so, I fancy, is the Electress Dowager. Because, for an idle whim, I and my cousin have pledged ourselves to each other to go through Europe for a year under false names, they fancy here, I find, that we have some concealed object, and that I, who never meddled yet with the intrigues of courts, am charged with some secret mission. I give you my honour--and by this time, I hope, you know it is to be trusted--that I have no such task to perform; that I have no state secrets of any kind; in short, that I am but a simple English gentleman, travelling hither and thither to while a certain portion of dull time--"

"Which you heartily wish were over," answered Agnes gaily.

"Not so, upon my life," answered Algernon; "although I deeply love my country, yet there are matters therein sooner or later to be brought to issue, which make me long to go on wandering thus, till life and the journey find their close together, and never more to set my foot on British shores. But here come sad thoughts again, and I will not indulge them. You hinted that there was more to be told me. I hope the rest of the tidings is less bitter; for it is painful for me that your great kindness, Agnes, should have brought discomfort upon you or your uncle."

"Oh, to me it is none, and with him it is past; but the rest of my news will, I am sure, be pleasant to you. You have heard of an unfortunate duel that was fought," she said, looking up in his face with a smile which the twilight did not conceal, "between an English gentleman and the Baron of Oberntraut. You have been sorry for the young baron, I am sure, and will be glad to hear that to-day he is much better. His wounds, indeed, seem not to be mortal, as was at first thought; and these terrible faintings, from several of which they fancied he would never revive, proceeded solely from great loss of blood. I hear he was up this afternoon and seated in a chair."

"This is good news, indeed," answered Algernon Grey. "Believe me I did not seek to wound him, and perilled my own safety to avoid it; till, at length, in the half-light--for it was then growing dark--I was obliged to return his attack, seeking to touch him but slightly. He slipped, however, and was thus more sharply hurt. You too are pleased, if I judge rightly," he added, gazing down upon her with an inquiring look; "for methinks that a part of the young baron's wrath against myself is a sort of retribution for one pleasant evening that I enjoyed too much with you in these same gardens."

"I trust not," said Agnes, eagerly; "I trust not. He should have known better. He is a noble, brave, and upright man, generous, and kind in many things; but still--" and there she paused, as if unwilling to speak farther.

Two or three minutes of silence had passed, and the hearts of Algernon Grey and Agnes Herbert were perhaps both busy with feelings somewhat similar. At length a wild strain of music rose up from the town below, and they paused on the edge of the great terrace to listen to it.

"A party of young students singing," said the lady. "Do you love music?"

"I must not say better than aught on earth," replied Algernon Grey; "but yet if I were to ask for any sort of consolation in hours of grief and heaviness, I would choose some sweet voice to sing my cares away. I made my cousin send me up an instrument; but I know not how it is I have not had the heart to use it."

"Oh, I will sing for you some time or another," answered Agnes; "I learned from a famous Italian musician who was here, and who said I was no bad scholar."

"It would be, indeed, a great delight," said Algernon; "but I fear I must not hope for it as a solace of my imprisonment, if your uncle is so busily occupied."

Agnes looked down thoughtfully for a moment and then laughed: "I do not know," she replied; "I do not know; we shall see. I trust your imprisonment will not be long; and you told me once you were going away very soon. I must lose no opportunity of showing my deep thankfulness for what you have done for me. It is little, indeed, that I can offer. Some men have mines of gold and precious stones, and some but a garden of poor flowers; but were I a prince, I would not value less the tribute of the poor man's blossoms, if given with a willing heart, than that of the great vassal's ore. I do hope that you will feel the same, and accept all I can do, though it be but small, as a testimony of what I would do had I greater means."

We need not pursue their conversation farther: for nearly an hour more it went on in the same strain; and if the resolutions of Algernon Grey faltered for a moment now and then,--if a tenderer word would fall from his lips,--yet still, considering the feelings that were at his heart, he exercised great power over himself. I know not whether it were better or worse for Agnes, that he did so; for certainly the calmness of his manner and the careful tone of his language aided her in deceiving herself as to that which was in her own breast. She laughed to scorn the thought of love between them. She was grateful, deeply grateful; and if there was aught more in her bosom, she fancied it was but a feeling of compassion for one whom she thought wronged by unjust imprisonment. She could hear him talk as calmly of his departure, she said to herself, as she could listen to a sermon or a lecture. She could speak of it herself without one emotion. Was this like love? Oh, no. She had a deep friendship for him; well she might have; but that, and gratitude, and compassion, were all. Agnes knew not what she would have felt had she been called upon to part with him at that moment. As it was, she went on gaily, like a child treading the verge of a precipice and gathering flowers upon the edge of destruction. And when the time of his short liberty was at an end, she was sorry for it; for it had been a sweet and pleasant time to her. They parted at the door of his chamber, each with a sigh; and Algernon Grey paced up and down his solitary room, and, as the moon rose solemnly over the hills, opened his window and gazed forth as if his thoughts would be more free with the wide expanse of heaven and earth before him. The moment after, he heard the sound of an instrument of music; and turning quickly round to the right he saw the light streaming forth from an open casement, which, as far as he could calculate, was near those of the Electress Dowager. He could not see into the room; but the sweet sounds issued forth upon the night air, as a skilful hand swept the strings; and a moment after a voice, the sweet, clear, rounded tones of which he knew right well, poured out a flood of melody, rising and falling on the ear like the notes of a nightingale in the spring eventide. The music was not exactly gay; but yet, every now and then, a cheerful tone enlivened the graver strains; and partly from memory--for he had heard the song before--partly from the exceeding clearness with which every word was pronounced, he distinguished each verse as it was sung.

CHAPTER V.

Another night passed of agitating thought, with but little sleep and many troublous dreams; and for more than one long hour Algernon Grey remained in deep and intense thought, pondering over the present and the future. I know not how or why--for there are many mysteries in man's nature, which the skill of philosophy, as yet, has not been able to unravel;--but certain it is, that at one particular portion of the night, unless sleep deaden the reflective powers and still the imagination, or active exertion occupies the thoughts with tangible things, dark and gloomy images come crowding upon the mind and seem to triumph over the powers of reason, with a supernatural influence, like that which has been attributed to spectres from the grave. All that is sad and horrible in man's general fate, all that is grievous or perilous or worthy of regret in the history of the past, in the aspect of the present, and in the prospect of the future, marches by in long and black procession; and the oppressed heart is fain to exclaim at this sight of human ills, "What! will the line last to the crack of doom?"

The couch of Algernon Grey was not without such apparitions; and--alas! that I should say it--the thought of her who had just quitted him in all her beauty, in all her sweetness, in all her grace, but rendered the wild phantoms of fancy more terrible. He felt, he could not deny, in that hour of the opening of the heart's secrets to itself, that he loved her, eagerly, ardently, with that first passionate love of enthusiastic youth; that to win her he would willingly have sacrificed rank, name, station, aught on earth but his own sense of right. But still, at the same time, came a voice from his own breast, like that of fate, repeating: "She cannot be thine! She cannot be thine!"

"What should he do?" he asked himself; "how should he act?" He could not reject her gentle kindness offered in simple innocence by a grateful heart. Flight was his only resource; but he was a prisoner and had no power to fly. Chained down to the sole society most dangerous to his peace, it seemed as if he were tied to the stake to endure to the utmost the fiery ordeal of temptation. Then again, he strove to cast the thoughts from him, and gained a brief interval of sleep; but visions all coloured by the same gloomy hues either disturbed repose, or made him start up again to think of the same themes and wrestle with the same dark adversaries.

At length the day dawned; and, rising quickly from his bed, he hurried to the window, opened it, and gazed forth. Oh, how sweet was the fresh aspect of the morning to his wearied eyes, as calm and reinvigorating to the mind as the gentle breath of the early summer day to the heated cheek it blew upon. The golden light spread through the valley and over the hills, sunk in amongst the deep woods, and threw out the masses of the dark trees from a soft background of luminous mist; while, here and there, a woodman's fire or cottage chimney sent up wreaths of faint blue smoke, rolling in graceful lines amongst the leaves and branches.

The day went on in its usual course: many hours of solitude, broken only by the entrance of a servant or the guard. Algernon Grey found no means of relieving the tedious passing of the time. He tried to read, but he could not. He turned from the instrument of music he had asked for, with a sickened feeling, as if sweet sounds would but increase the bitterness of meditation. Thought, devouring thought, consumed the moments; till towards evening, when the guard threw open the door, and to his surprise he saw his old and attached servant Antony enter and approach him. The man's face wore a mingled expression, as if he was striving to keep up his usual appearance of gaiety, when in truth his heart was sad; and his master would not suffer one who, he well knew, loved him dearly to see how bitterly circumstances made, him feel his imprisonment.

"Well, Tony," he said, in a cheerful tone; "so they have given you admission at length."

"Yes, my lord," replied the man; "they have come down from their high flight, now that they find their heavy bravo will not do.--I hope your lordship has not fancied I have been negligent; for I have been up here twice a day, and the page as often. The little devil would have stabbed the guard, I believe, to get entrance, if I had not stopped him; but we two are not enough to storm the castle, and we should have only got ourselves in limbo too. However, to-night they let me in to carry you these letters, which a courier brought just now from England; so there are now four of us; and, if you like, methinks between us all we can contrive to get you out."

Algernon Grey shook his head with a smile, and taking the letters, he read the addresses with a listless, uninterested look.

"No, no, Tony," he said; "they would only catch us again, before we had gone far.--But what was that you said of the young Baron of Oberntraut?"

"Why, the fellow you fought with, sir," answered the servant, "if you mean him, is getting better hourly. He was out in the garden up there to-night, by the bank of the river, sitting in a chair. You have not hurt him much, it seems. Pity you did not send your sword through his maw. The bleeding will do him good, however; for he is mighty pale, and won't affront an English gentleman again, I warrant. I saw him myself when I rode up to get tidings. There he was, sitting all white and colourless in a great gilt chair against the wall of the house, like a wax-candle in a sconce."

While the man had been speaking, his master had slowly approached the window, opened one of the letters, and was reading the first lines as his servant concluded. For a moment or two the subject of the epistle seemed to produce no great effect. He smiled slightly, ran his eye down to the bottom, skimming carelessly the contents, and then turned the page. The next moment, however, he seemed to be stirred by strong emotions; his brow contracted, his eye flashed, his lip quivered, and the hot angry blood rose in an instant into his cheek and overspread his forehead with a fiery glow. Straining his eyes upon the sheet, he read on; and, when he had done, held the letter open in his hand for several minutes, gazing sternly up into the air. He uttered not a word; but the servant could see how his heart beat, by the quivering of the paper in his hand. Then, throwing it down upon the table, he tore open the other hastily and read it likewise. The contents did not seem to mitigate his agitation, though they mingled a degree of scorn with the expression of his countenance. This time some portion of his emotion found vent in a few brief words: "So, so!" he cried. "So bold and shameless--and shall I be restrained by such scruples?--Nay, nay, this is too bad--England, farewell! You shall not feel my foot for many a day!"

"Ah, my lord," said the man, "things seem going on at a fine rate, truly; methinks, when one takes a part so boldly, the other may well choose his part too. Faith, I would let them whistle for me long enough, before I went."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Algernon Grey, turning upon him sharply.

"Why, my noble lord, I have had a letter, too, by Hob, the courier; and I dare say the news in mine and yours is all the same."

"And has it become the common scandal then?" said Algernon Grey thoughtfully. "So young, so fair, so haughty, and yet so shameless! Leave me, Tony, leave me, and come up to-morrow early. Doubtless they will give you admission, if all goes well--I want nothing more to-night--leave me, I say."

"Well, my lord, if I were you, I would not take it much to heart," replied the man, lingering for a moment ere he departed. "There's not much love lost on either side, I believe, and never was; and you will be just as well quit of a bad bargain."

Algernon Grey waved his hand for him to leave the room, but answered not; and when the man was gone, he strode up and down the wide chamber for full half an hour with quick and agitated steps. Then, casting himself into a chair, he laughed aloud, exclaiming, "I am a fool!--Why should I grieve? Why let such idle passion tear me?--I love her not--have never loved her--I contemn, despise her--have ever scorned her pitiful pride, and but strove, against my nature, to bend my affections to my duty.--Let her take her course.--Nay, indeed, she has taken it."

The door opened suddenly, and then, for the first time, he perceived that night had fallen, as the light from the ante-chamber poured in; and he saw the form of Agnes, without distinguishing her features, standing in the doorway, like a graceful shadow.

"Will you come to-night?" said that sweet, musical voice; and, starting up, Algernon Grey snatched his hat from the table, replying, "Most willingly, fair Agnes."

As they walked on, through the courts, along the Altan, out into the gardens, over the terrace, Agnes saw that a great change had come upon her companion. Far from seeming to have received any evil news from his native land, it appeared as if some heavy weight had been taken from his mind. His manner was light and cheerful; his words gay and full of unusual fire--somewhat wild and absent, indeed, at times; but still, the whole tone was sunshiny and very unlike the gloomy mood of the preceding night.

The difference made Agnes thoughtful. She asked herself, "Is it his nature to be thus variable?" But she would not believe it. There was something in her breast that would not let her think the slightest ill of him beside her. The picture of his character was already drawn by the hand of affection upon a woman's heart; and, when such is the case, stern, and hard, and continued must be the wearing power that can ever efface the lines. A new light seemed to break upon her; and at length she said, "I think I can divine that you have heard how much better your adversary is. It is said they will bring him into Heidelberg to-morrow."

"Yes, I have heard it," answered Algernon Grey, "and am exceedingly rejoiced to find his wound will not prove dangerous."

Agnes was satisfied; his new gaiety was accounted for; and, as they wandered on, she gave free course to all her own thoughts, as they sprang up from the deep well of the heart unobstructed to the lips. Once, indeed, she was a little frightened at her own feelings and at his manner. Not that he said aught to alarm or agitate her; but there was a tenderness mingled with the frank and rapid outpouring of all the ideas that seemed to cross his brain, which startled and moved her. But women have always some veil ready to hide agitating truths from their own eyes; and Agnes dismissed the thought ere it had possessed her mind for a moment. Carried away by the quick and sparkling current of his conversation, her brain seemed to whirl as the mind followed him; and he, in the turbulent emotions produced by the tidings he had received and the struggling love within his bosom, suffered himself to be hurried rapidly on, he saw not, he knew not, he cared not whither. Their perilous course in a frail bark some few days before down the furious torrent of the Neckar was but an emblem of the voyage of their two hearts along the troubled stream of love that night. Time flew on more rapidly then either of them knew; the castle-clock striking ten roused them as it were from a dream; and, returning to his prison, Algernon Grey, as before, parted from Agnes in the ante-chamber. The moment he had entered his own room, and the door was closed, he cast himself into a seat, leaned his folded arms upon the table, and, as if utterly exhausted, let his head fall upon his arms; and there, for three long hours, without a change of attitude, he remained plunged in the chaos of wild, unformed, unregulated thoughts. An attendant came in, but he took no notice of him. He placed supper on the table, and invited him courteously to take some. He replied not, for he heard not; and the man, thinking that he slept, retired.

At the end of the time I have mentioned, the prisoner started up, brushed back the rich brown curls from his broad forehead with a bewildered look, and, taking a light, retired to bed and slept, strange to say, profoundly.

The sun had risen high; an attendant had twice entered the large room; and all the world was busy with the ordinary affairs of life, before Algernon Grey awoke from one of those deep, dreamless sleeps, which sometimes succeed to the exhausting conflict of passions in the human breast. For a few moments he could hardly tell where he was; he could with difficulty recollect the circumstances in which he was placed, or the events of the preceding day. But, as they rushed at length upon memory, a shadow came over his face; and again the question recurred, "What am I doing? Whither am I hurrying?" The gloom of the preceding days came over him more darkly than ever, and he passed a full hour in anxious thought.

"No, no!" he exclaimed at length; "whatever be the temptation, I will not do such wrong to her young and innocent heart as to seek its love, while there is no chance, no hope of our ultimate union. I will rather see her give her hand to another, and live on in loveless, cheerless solitude myself. Yet, if I am kept here, if I linger near her in this constant companionship, with her beauty and her grace before my eyes, her sweet voice sounding in my ears, her high yet gentle thoughts mingling with and softening my own, how can I so guard myself as never to betray the secret of my bosom?--how can I restrain myself so as not to tell my love and seek hers in return? Men have tried the same before and have ever failed. I have no such confidence in my own strength, and I will not risk it; I will fly--whatever it cost to tear myself away, I will fly."

The hours went by; and a little before noon the prisoner received a brief visit from Herbert. The news he brought was so far satisfactory, as it showed Algernon the prospect of his speedy liberation. His adversary had been removed into Heidelberg the day before, had not suffered in the least by the exertion, had passed a good night, and pronounced himself quite well. But the duration of the old officer's stay was so short, that no other information could be communicated. After dinner Algernon's servant appeared again, but he brought no tidings; and when his master inquired, with some surprise, what had become of his cousin, that he saw him not, the stout servant answered, with a laugh, "Oh, sir, he is woman-hunting; some fair lady here has him always at her heels; but, though Heaven forbid I should say I love him much, yet I do believe he has striven to serve you, in this matter at least; for I know he has been twice with the Elector and once with the Electress about your affairs."

"And why love you him not, Tony?" asked his master. "I have seen, it is true, that you have less reverence for him than pleases me; but I would fain know the cause."

"I have known him from a boy," replied the man drily; "and, though he never did aught to injure or offend me, yet there are certain things that one sees, and hears, and knows, which, do what a man will, make up in the course of time an amount of love or disliking very difficult to be changed. I own I love him not; and, to say truth, I have found few that do who have known him as well; but it is no affair of mine, and, if you love him, I have nought to do but to be his humble servant."

"I trust you will show yourself so," replied his master; "first, as he is my kinsman; next, as he is my friend."

"I will, my lord," replied the man; "unless I can some time show you that he is not your friend; for that's a point I doubt."

"You are prejudiced," answered Algernon Grey; "and I thought not to see one, who wants not sense, recollect the follies of a boy, long, long years afterwards.--Now leave me."

"It is not only follies I remember, good lord," replied the servant gravely; "I never accused him of follies. It is not head he wants, it is heart. For ten long years I saw him in your father's house, a child, a lad, almost a man; and I know him well."

"Leave me," said Algernon Grey sternly; and the servant withdrew. But, if the truth must be told, his young master was more inclined to share his sentiments than he would admit. For some years he had not seen his cousin, ere he joined him on the continent. He had remembered him only as the companion of his boyhood, elder by several years, but still bending to share all his sports and pastimes; devising pleasures for him, and breaking the dull ceremonies of a stately household. After they met again, however, he had seen much that pained and displeased him; and he felt sorry, not without good cause, that he had entered into one of those wild and romantic engagements with him, to travel together for a certain time under feigned names, which had been rendered common at that period by the publication of the most popular, but, at the same time, it must be said, the most idle romance that ever was written--"The Astrea." He turned his mind, however, from the subject as soon as possible, after the servant had left him; and now he tried to read and pass his time with any other thoughts than those of Agnes Herbert. All those who have made such efforts know how vain they are. She was ever before his eyes, ever present to his fancy; and he gave up the attempt, asking himself whether, if she came again that night, he should go as before, or steadily refuse such dangerous companionship.

He was saved the struggle, however; for about five o'clock Herbert again presented himself, followed by a guard, and, taking Algernon's hand warmly, he said, "Come, my young friend, your imprisonment is drawing near an end. The Elector has sent for you, and, doubtless, it is to give you freedom; for this young Oberntraut is recovering fast. Come with me, and we shall soon hear more."

Algernon Grey followed willingly enough; and the English officer led him, by several of those passages and staircases through which he had passed with Agnes on the first night of his imprisonment, to the eastern part of the castle, where Frederic's own apartments were situated. At length, crossing a ante-chamber full of guards and attendants, they entered a hall where the Elector was waiting with his court. There was but a small attendance of the Palatinate nobility, it is true, not above fifteen or twenty persons being present; but Algernon Grey saw several who had surrounded the Prince on the first night of his presentation, and amongst the rest the old Baron of Oberntraut.

The worthy chamberlain's countenance, notwithstanding the reports made of his son's health, did not seem more placable than when last the young Englishman had seen it; and that of the Elector bore a somewhat grave and embarrassed look. As the whole party were assembled not far from the door, Algernon Grey had not much time for observation before he stood within a step of the Elector, and to his surprise found Frederic's hand extended towards him. He took it instantly, and bent his head over it; and the Prince, in a tone of much kindness, at once began the conversation, saying:--

"I have been grieved, sir, to be forced by the laws and customs of my country to subject you to the inconveniences of imprisonment till such time as the results of your duel with one of my officers, the Baron of Oberntraut, could be fully ascertained. We have an edict here repressing such encounters; but as you are a stranger to our laws, though amenable to them while in these dominions, I must say the fault was more his than yours. The Baron may now, however, be considered well; and I am willing to pass over the offence on both parts; in his case considering all that he has already undergone, and in yours, your ignorance of our laws. I have sent for you, therefore, to tell you, your imprisonment is at an end, and to reconcile you with the family of your late adversary. Henceforth, I trust, you will be friends, not enemies."

Algernon Grey was about to reply that he had never entertained the slightest enmity towards his opponent, when the old Lord of Oberntraut took a step forward and said, in a sharp tone, "I came here, noble prince, to seek reparation, and not friendship; and I beseech your Highness----"

But at that moment he was interrupted by a low voice from behind, saying, "Will you allow me to pass, my Lord the Count?"

The gentleman thus addressed made way; and the next instant the Baron of Oberntraut himself came forward, ghastly pale, and apparently somewhat feeble, but yet walking with a firm step and an upright head. The moment he stood before the Elector he held forth his hand frankly to Algernon Grey, saying, "I, at least, sir, entertain no such feelings; I come here to ask your friendship, and to thank you for a lesson you have taught me, which will make me a wiser man to the end of my life. I have been somewhat spoiled by success and flattery, sir, and needed a check, such as this wound has given, to teach me that no man can always have his way in the world. You are the most skilful swordsman I have ever seen; you dealt nobly and honourably with me, and in this presence I declare that the whole fault, from first to last, was mine. I sought the quarrel, urged it on, led you to the place of the encounter; and I do believe that, exposed by my rash anger to your cooler skill, my life was often at your mercy had you chosen to take it. I thank you, therefore, for the wound you gave, and trust you will forget the past, and take my offered hand."

"With my whole heart," answered Algernon Grey, pressing it warmly; "and I do assure you, Baron, that only the defence of my own life would have induced me to injure you. I could not help it, however; for you are not an adversary to be trifled with. Indeed it was more accident than aught else, which gave me a momentary advantage. Had not your foot slipped on the wet sward, the chance might have been against me, and I should have been lying still enough by this time."

The young baron smiled, with a look of great pleasure at this testimony to his skill; and the Elector, calling the old Lord of Oberntraut into one of the deep windows, said, "My lord, I intreat--nay, I command, that you let your anger drop, and cease all vain pursuit of revenge. This is no ordinary man you have to deal with. I know him, though he believes I do not, and am aware not only that he is one of the high nobles of England, but also that he is sent hither on a secret mission of deep importance to my welfare."

"A spy, sir, you would say?" murmured the old lord, in a low bitter tone.

"Hush, sir!" cried the Elector, his brow growing dark; "no more of this, if you would merit the continuance of my favour. I am not so powerless that I cannot make my commands respected by my own court. You hear what your son has said. He exculpates him of all blame. No serious injury has been done; and I insist that you yield to reconciliation."

"As the boy is satisfied," replied the chamberlain, doggedly, "and in obedience to your Highness, I submit;" and turning towards Algernon Grey, he added, "By the commands of my Prince, sir, I am ready to let this matter drop; but I must advise you not to try such things again with--"

"Hush, hush, my father!" cried his son, "I will proclaim to all the world that there never was a more noble gentleman than he who now stands before you; and as you have hated him solely as my adversary, I do beseech you now to love him as my friend."

"Well, sir, well," replied the old lord, "I have nought to say; let the matter be passed and forgotten;" but it was evident that his ill-will was but little diminished, and his angry pride unpacified.

"Now," said the Elector, with a courteous smile, "this all being settled, and animosities healed, we will part for the evening--and you, noble sir," he continued, turning to Algernon Grey, "though I will only call you by the name you are pleased to assume, will, I trust, grace our court by your presence tomorrow at the hour of eleven. We have there matters of some weight, which we wish to make known to all friends and well-wishers, either of the Elector Palatine, or his lady, the pearl of England; and we trust, that you may be ranked in both classes."

"I will not fail, your Highness," answered Algernon Grey; "but I fear it must be my audience of leave-taking."

"Not so, not so," replied the Elector; "we shall find means to keep you with us, I do not doubt. However that may be, farewell for the present;" and, passing through the opposite door with a large part of his train, comprising the old Baron of Oberntraut, he left the hall.

As soon as he was gone, Algernon Grey's late adversary once more grasped his hand, saying, "You must not go, my friend; the Elector has need of swords such as yours; ay, and of hearts and heads such as yours, too. If there is chivalry in your nature; if there is high spirit and generous enthusiasm--and I know there is--you will give him aid in his hour of need. I may be tied down to this spot by many things; but if you go with him, I know there is a better arm and better brain than any I could bring."

"Nay, not better," answered Algernon Grey, "though equally devoted to any good cause.--But I know not what you mean, on what expedition he is bound, or what enterprise is before him."

"I cannot tell you," answered Oberntraut in a low voice; "and I cannot entertain you, as I could wish, at my own lodgings, on account of this sickness; but if you inquire for me to-morrow, ere you come hither, I will let you know more.--Now I must return; for, to say truth, I am tired. I never thought to know the day when I should say that a short walk and a brief conference were too much for my strength; but so it is, and I must go and lie down once more, and rest."

The party broke up soon; but ere Algernon Grey quitted the hall for the purpose of returning to the place of his imprisonment, in order to see that all his effects were carefully carried down to the inn below, a gentleman approached, and, after shaking hands with him, said something in a low voice.

"This evening, if you please," answered Algernon Grey; "but what is it, Craven?"

His friend replied in a whisper; and a dark cloud immediately came over Algernon Grey's countenance.

"I know it all," he answered; "all that you can tell me, Craven. Come and see me, if you will. Right glad shall I be to spend an hour with you; but mention not that name again. Much is, doubtless, false; much is, doubtless, exaggerated; but much must be true that should not be so; and my own course is decided." Thus saying, he turned to Herbert, and, after a few words, walked back with him to the tower where he had been confined.