THE SECRET OATH
J.OaMuutc rrmw	London Published z2ft^jffot.THE
SECRET OAT Mi
on
o$looTi^tainj$ ©agger,
A 110MANCE.
"-Oh ! what form of pray'r
Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ! That cannot be, since I am still possess'd Of those effects for which I did the murder.
" Shakespeare."
Hontoon:
Printed for T. Hurst, No. 32, Paternogter-Rowj
And sold by J. Wallis, and T. Hughes, Paternoster-Row; C. Chap-h.e, Pall-Mall; T. Dean, Newgate-street; J. Dingle, Bury; T. Gibbons, Bath; T. Ri chaids, and W. Gray, Plymouth; Messes. Clarke and Co. Manchester; fit Harrod and Turner, Nottingham.
Printed ly T. Plummer, Seething-Lane, Tower-Street.THE	\
SECRET OA^H;
i • I	•
OR
BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER,
A ROMANCE.
TR
JLDORN to an elevated rank in society, and educated ;n the sphere of a court, Albert de Moritfort shrunk from the approaching frown of poverty, and prudently resolved, while an opportunity offered, to fly to the chateau of Moht-noir, situated on the confines of Lombardy, the melancholy a,syluro.of him and his unfortunate family. Previous to the Revolution in France De Mont fort held the hereditary rank of JVIarquis, enjoyed a large estate bequeathed to his wife, and possessed many lucrative situations under the government. Gifted by nature with a benign heart and .™ able head, he was revered by all who knew him, but neither virtue nor talents were a protection against the iudiscTimihating fury of the people, who pull down one tyranny and "set up andtber. In the summer of 1792, the Mar cus and Madame de Montfoit, their daughter Scri-na, and the venerable Abbe Btfsauf, quitted their house in the Place de Vendome, and, disguised as peasants, passed the barrier of Paris. Six hundred Lottis «foris and some jewels corripdfced the whole of their fortune. On their second day's rotfte, they purchased, an Old cabriolet, in which they travelled; and to avoid, sus-' picion, the task of conversing was consigned .to the Abbe, who, as a native of Languedoc, spoke the provincial dialect fluently. On the third day a tempest of thunder, lightning, and rain, compelled thern to take shelter under the skirts of 3, thick wood :—" The storm will be soon o-\er;" said De Mofltfort, but when will the storm subside that crimsons over my distracted country, and destroys her children : where will her exiled nobles find an asylum f—" Why cannot they live/'said Serins., their amiable daughter, " like
1 i 24	THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGEIL
tbe hapjj^villugerSi you just pow xlescj^liedthey,, labour and <p e,r tojppp£.'' The^ipnocen^ renjar^s..	9fJ,en
silenced. De Montfort. The fourth morning rose with a beautiful serenity, audit had a-similar effect on their minds. Haying crossed the Appenines, aid arrived at .Milan, the Marquis's first inquiries were after an old and rich friend, a, Monsieur j5o£Bcr.' The" Marquis's, high spirit enj.qined his wife and daughter not to betray a word of their reduced circumstances, as dependence on another was what he neVer. could submit to. M. Dodier was the godson of De Mont-fort's father. The gamekeeper of the old Marquis having lo6this life in his service,- recommended his son, a shrewd boy, to the protection of his master, lie was brought up_ ■with, Albert, and became his companion ;. and at the death of the old Marquis he left.young Dodier the chateau and terrc of Montnoir, in Lombardy, with the most considerable part o'f hi§ property, to the great mortification of Albert.
Fourteen years had passed without any letters from M. Dodier^ whose pride, on De Montfort's arrival, instantly became alarmed, lest the Marquis should expose his former stallion in life at IVJilt;n, where he passed as a near relation of .the late. Marquis de Montfort. For this reason, he made strong professions of friendship to Albert, not only to en • hance his own consequence, but to promote an idea he had conceived of marrying his son to Serina de Montfort. The chateau of Montnoir had been uninhabited for seventeen years, nearly the period since the old Marquis had expired; be had given it as a marriage portion to his wile, a Milan, lady, who died while Albert wa& in his infancy. M. Dodier never visited the chateau j.he hated solitude; in his temper he was sordid, avaricious, tyrannical, and treacherous ; in liis j erson, low in stature and ill-formed. Previously to becoming possessed cf Montnoir, he married a humble female, who was delivered of a son, and died the year following. The boy, Argand, as'he grew up, proved his legitimacy, by being the perfect epitome < f his father.
Tihe melancholv ideas imprinted on De Montfort's Blind -were but jjl suited ta a scene of mixed society; anil, finding the house of M. Dodier too much frequented foi; his exitecj circumstances, he requested permission to make the chatie&u cf Montnoir tbe residence of his family, to which his friend, after a time, reluctantly consented., On'their arrival atihe chateau, they found it inhabited by two domestics, OrranoTHE\B100D-STAISED DAGGER; 5
Conflazzo sand kisrtrtftfter Aqttiliita. The fbrfifM» WW in bis ■ person gigariw, swart hy_, and crooked ; and hi&.vokre was as discordant as his visage was deformed and ferocious.. He met Monsieur de Montfort's family at the outer gate, as he had just returned from wood cutting, when his long black beard, sunken eyes, and wooden-shoes, startled Madame de ' Montfort and her daughter. Entering the first court of the chateau, they had uo reason to be better pleased with the mother of Corma^zo: her meagre masculine figure and Scowling.brow were objects of an unfavourable presenli-ihent.. She gazed on the fugitives with a malignant curiosity, and then,.muttering a malediction, hurried into her apartment, whic h was in the lower story of a corner tower.1 ©rsano kindled a fire in a gloortiy saloon, where the new visitors passed the evening. The portrait of the aid- Marquis often drew tears into their eyes, suspended among the* musty tapestry and heraldfy of their ancestors. From- thfc1 eieling was hung a heavy antique chandelier, in which? a single tape? was lighted,, that gave a gloom, to the surrounding objects.
Albert de Montfort had married. His- wife- against his father's consent, after which tfrey sat out for England. The bid Marquis was a rigid Catholic, aiid he laid so heavily t<y heart the marriage of his son with a' heretic, that-he fell! into an incurable melancholy, and soon niter died/ Except in this, the Mirquis had always betoan indulgent parent; when Albert(-heard of his illhess, he hastened* to' Paris J and Was kindly received ; but he came too late to -restore his fathers peace. The physicians ordered him change of climate,va»d the situation of Madame de Montfort preventing either her or her husband from accompanying their father, M: Podier travelled with him to the foreet of Mont-•noir, where letters to Prfrb soon brought the account of his dissolution. The Marquis's w.ill, though it gave'a share of his pjoperty to M;' Dodief, limited :it tf> his hfc. 'only; after which it ^vas to revert to.Serina de Montfort-who, at hef grandfather's decease, was about thlpee mdiYthfc old '; in'case of her death' it returned :tb the fceirof;"th& Dodierfeaiily.	J|	'
At-ltSe period of'their exile from Pa'm,',tfie Mdr'qips was ifi bis 3?th year, and' his:v;ife-wasV one-year ybuftgfcri fehikotiwopic Abb#had' bt&ti histutof from infancy, an'ft
li 3" -	-6	TEE BLOOD-STAINED ©AGGfttt:
was d^toifninedto be the. faithful companion ©f his ^upM'S'-•misftntunes. l bough their antique asylu^a wfis ui the bosom of an extensive forest, its lofty towers rising above the foliage presented to the eye the outstretched plains of Lqib-bardy, and tjie majestic and tremendous Alps, After the ohamvs of novelty had a little subsided, De Montfort sunk, ftito despondency : his «ountry, the abandonment of connexion, and the hastening poverty of his family, were a pjiialaux af misfortunes that goaded him- every hour, and planted on his: countenance the looks of a heart broken by persecution. In. one of their evening Excursions through' the long vista tha>t intersected the fores,t, th? Maiquis ab-^ ruptly stopping, exclaimed, " Have you courage to return to Paris with me, and end this load of misery by death V $Ty father," returned Serina,. " we have health and hands to toil cheerfully for our necessities.—It is your misery, not own, we would relieve !"—u Can I suffer you to toil," said De Montfort,, " while the insinuating fawning; villain, who wormed-me out of my father's property, enjoys life in opulence? Shall I. remain in sufferance beneath ihe. roof that was the dowry, of my mother, and skulk,over these vast domains 1 ike, a coward ? I tell you, this serpent Dopier is my evil genius! Serina, he thinks that J will give yon to his son ;—-no!—I would rather see .you expire, than be the victim of such a base alliance !"
At this juncture, M. Dodier joined them abruptly at the corner of the vista ; he had overheard the whole conversation, but concealed his feelings .infinitely better than De •Montfort, who, on reaching the castle, retired to his chamber. The fallowing morning M. Dodier proposed, the object of his visit, in private to the Maiquis which was, the union of Argan.d -and Serina. The proposal-was rejected with indignation; mutual sarcasms and irritation ensued, Jill the Marquis put an end to the altercation by striking his jppDonent., Mad&me de Montfort and Serina now rushed hi to mitigate the mutual rapcouv, but Dodier palliated the affront; and ascribed it to the warmth of De Mont fort's *wgqa,rded temper ; this geDeroua treatment in a moment calmed De Mpntfort's passion, and he threw himself 03 ^adier's neefc^iecl&rkig,. that he was still the friend of who cqwldso easily excuse his, misconduct." De Mont-Ip-rt's. despondency increasing* Dodier readily adopted an ideiv ctf^ejina's, ao$ invited her father to return with hiniBLOO^-^TAmED DAGOETl.	f
to Ipjvkth for amcfulh. Their joint arguments at last were Successful, and, having taken a tender farewell of his wife and daughter, be set ott' one evening with his kalian friend. Senna loitefed atthegate till the noise of the clrarioft wheels were undistmguishable from the gusts of wind that howled over the distant Appenines, and then retired to rest. The sight was storany, and a thousand apprehensions for the Marquis's safety for several hours disturbed then repose* till the wind dyifig away, they gently sunk to repose.—* Every day now made the gloom of i»he castle mora in Sup** portable. The injunctions of the Marquisj respecting their little fortune, never was a moment from his wife's raand. An irort box now contained all their means of futfcwre- Subsistence, and she felt alarm from the dangers of banditti* and the aspect of^Orsano and his mother.
A fortnight after the Marquis had left the chateau, Madame de Montfort, as she sat concealed in the jalousie ©f .hei* window, saw Orsano and his mother enter. 1 hey advanced poftly to a small-closet, which contained the iron chest 5 in. Oreano's. hand was a hatchet, and his countenance wore a horrible grin of delight. lie had just raised his arm to the door of the closet* when Serina entered the chamber,. arj4 the intruders retired. When Madame de Montfort rnenv tioned her suspicions of Orsano to Serina, it was laiqaediv ately determined lo examine every part*of the chateau, and deposit the iron box hi some secure niche. The next morning a letter came from the Marquis, informing them his health w as. much amended* and charging them moat strietly to watch the treasure. "Thus it is/'.said Madame rife Montib-rti ;t Your father's pride is.su eh „ that he. would rather exterminate his race, than hve on the bounty of another.';' jSeriwwttS shocked at the violent idea-, and defcemraned that .night, with her mother, to explore the unfrequented chambers of the old -castle.
intent at night on their object, they .crossed th& square .court of the cloisters, aud ascended a;narrow -flight of stairs -to a gallery, where several doors opened to a variety of apartments. Regardless of the Bight.chili, and ;the bones of their ancestors buried i*i the . chapetiynetiAh, they * entered the first door, which grated on.HeTfron hinges, The room was a vaSt and lofty ^ibrary^ona. shell i f which tlood a volume of Ariotko. Serin:*-endeavoured-to? remove it, but it was 8©-presse4 tefittreeu tke ^fafebi^s,. that. ita	TiiE BtOOlJ-S'TAmE© DAGGERS
required a strong effort to remove it, in doing which a false door swung open, and presented a dajsk recess to their View. At this moment the hollow sound of footsteps seemed to advance along the gallery: they listened, and, hearing nothing, again approached the recess. Before they had time to examine its interior, a deep sigh obtruded itself on their ears, but they saw no object near them. On inspecting the-recess, it instantly occurred that it was a chapel of the de ceased Marquis, about ten fleet square. Beneath the crucifix of ebony was a small door, most neatly fitted into, the wall. They almost despaired of opening this closet,, when recollecting that an iron bar stood near the window-«f the adjoining library, Serina hastened with the light to-fetch it.- Madame de Montfort was no sooner in darkness?: and alone, than a deep and mclanGboly voice pronounced; ^ Seel? no farther!"—When Serina returned with the iron bar, theif joint efforts forced open the door 5 the first article was a book of devotion, the leaves of which were cemented together by; a congealed substance; the second was A carpet of tapestry; the third was a poniard, corroded with rust, and the handle richly studdeji and inlaid witlr gold. Madame de Montfort uttered a groan of horror, and ■Serina, having- replaced the articles, rose to quit the ch'apeU. Raising her eyes towards the latticed window, which threw a feeble liHht into the recess, she beJteld a pale and hideous visage. Overwhelmed with terror* as they must pass the: terrific object in their return along the gallery, they paused. On looking again, the awful face was gone !■—Encouraged by this circumstance, they retraced the steps-they had taken-, and reached their chamber at dawn> before any one was stirring in the chateau.
It was on this terrifying night, that M. Dodier had in*-■vi-ted a^large assembly-to his house at Milan ; when the pep-son of the Marquis captivated the- fancy of a- beautiful joung Italian lady, the daughter of the Count Guculli, a Tuscaa noblemao. M. Dodier had long been the slave both of her beaaty. and wealth, and a-day was fixed for thfeir marriage; the lady's obedience- arose/ from never having felt any partk-uImpartiality for one object more than another. It- chant*-one night at the gaming table that M. Dodier won 20,000 sequins--of the. Count. Rendered desperate, he proposed jhe ha-nd-of his daughter against double the su«i he had'-lott. The* Count .again. lo&t;- and Sospi^T^mm^D-snvims Mom,' a
W» the-pledge of her &£beifoui4isc^«»D«:: -A)}
minariea of lie nuptials had been agttjled &t the tinaeabe saw-the Marquis at M. Dodier's;,	,^oipc!nts.hiseye«r
and upas8umiugc worth did more! tbani;all #ie beau* of Milan-sighed £or; they awakened iq her bpsom the passions of lov^ and the tear of sensibility, Her action and look soon be-? trayed her to M. Dodier, whose mind stained one with falsehood and the other with treachery. Afte? supper was oyer,, De Montfort handed §ospira to her carriage; ^n descending the stairs?, M. Dodier heard the.lady ask. De Montfort how; lorcg he should remain in Milan. " Only,a few days," replied he; before which I hope to be present at'yoyr mar-: riage with my friend Dodier." " New!" cried Sospimi ?' never will I yield my hand; to suqh a beangj" ,
The following morning the Count waited on M. Dodier* to inform him of his daughter's vofv-. to rej^tjwo?* and-to retire to a convent if she were refused byt th&n\an \yljo hat} la$t night captivated her affection. Tbajik heavetV' ex-) claimed M. Dodier, " then that man* the Marcos de Mont-.' fort, is. married!—He has ijasulted the honour of ypur fa-i inily, for I heard him extort the vow which she .repeated to you so solemnly! Now shall the mi$oreau;t aeqk.fr.om stran? gtfrs that bounty, which I have liberty,Wuw^dJ" ThQ Marquis wa,s- writing at this time in another ropH>» and overheard the conversation. The cowardly Dodier shrunk at the sight of him .as he rushed into t)u: room.—" Dodier," said lie, " I- shall expect you at day-bre-akJa the forest uea« Moi>tnoir-Ca&tle.—At your peril fail not!" He afterwards-gave every-satisfaction to the Count, and they parted cop-Jidential and firm friends. The one proceeded in the evening to the chateau; the other set out the following mQrniqg ibr Tuscany.
It was the Marquis's custom during his absence daily to yrite a line of remembrance to his family, but in the la&t £4 hours nothing had been sent. Evening came, and Ma-r dame de Montfort. loitered' ip the avenues of the chateau Jill njght closed. In passing over the draw-bridge they were overtaken by Orsano, who had been cutting wood ; a dis* patented thuftiror hung upou his lips a^they wished him good night, and they passed on to their apartment. The uneasiness of Madame de M«ntfort. at length determined tlwi good AJib6 to go to the cottager's^ about half a league oq ^ shirty of- the forest, wheye the qqwkt tefeall letters di^10- THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
rected for the chateau. It was eleven o'clock'when he set out, taking the Marquis's favorite spaniel with him to beguile the way. The Abbe was answered from the cottage, window, that no letters had been left by the courier, and turned his footsteps back through the fojrest. " He is returned!" exclaimed Serina, as the Abb6 rushed in, faint and covered-with blood. "My father—" said Serina. "Will bleed to death/' rejoined the Abbe, " if I do not return instantly to the forest." Madame de Montfort uttered & shriek, and ran to the drawbridge; in passing the outer gate beyond the moat, she heard a deep groan—another followed, and she marked the spot whence the sounds "proceeded. Encouraged by' the presence of the Abbe Besanfc and Orsanq, she supported her trembling steps to the scenei. ©f misery.
In proceeding, Orsano stumbled over the root of a withered tree, and extinguished the light of his lantern.—Th^ groans had ceased, but the body was distinguishable in iho gloom, on which Madame de IVIontfori threw herself, and clasped it in an agony of grief, exclaiming, " He is dead, gone for ever!" The Abbe Besant assisted her to raise the body, front. which the blood flowed profusely. The respiration of the wounded man now returned as the fainting fit. subsided; and, having placed him on his feet, they supported him to the Castle, where they arrived just as the morning dawned. The stranger, however, it appeared, on a closer inspection, was not De Montfort; and a general joy overspread the little family. In a short t-ime he had recovered, and hearing Madame de Montfort speak to Serina in English, Mr. Dorville addressed her in the same language, and repeated the particulars of the outrage. His postilion having lost the route in Montnoir forest,'he had alighted to make inquiries at a distant cottage, in the window of which he saw a light. lie had not. proceeded far before a maii stabbed him with a poniard;, and repeated "the blows till be fell motionless: he perfectly remembered that the assassin; as he gave the last wound, exclaimed, " Receive thy death from the exiled De Montfort!"
The Abbe and the Marchioness were struck dumb at this, relation; and the countenance of Orsano wore a malignant smile, who, he quitted the room, uttered a, threat that the assassin De Montfort should not escape him.- Dorville said that he should know the villain by his voice, and vowedTHE BLQOD-STAINED DAGGER. %i
lb bring Vim to punishment wherever he met him. Madame de' Montfort now explained to him that the name he had mentioned was that of her unfortunate husband, who had been driven to desperation by some fiend, but was no practised murderer. Her tender and agonised intercession, t6 spare the husband of her love, drew from Dorville a solemn promise, that he would hide the business for ever in his osvn bosom; and he proposed, that he might avoid giving evidence, to set off in a fevv hours from the chateau. Serina was fortunately absent during the revelation of the dreadful secret; and Madame de Montfort hoped it was unknown to Orsano, as it was told in English. The latter having found the carriage in the forest, and brought it to the Castle, Dorville departed; and the Marchioness felt a heavy load removed from her spirits at* the generous flight of this noble stranger.
Occupied with fear for the fate of the Marquis, she has~ tened to her chamber; from which she wa9 in a few minutes after summoned by the sound of horses trampling over the drawbridge.—It was the Marquis himself, who instantly alighted, and with the most unembarrassed air embraced his wife; he was armed with a blunderbuss, which appeared covered with blood.—He had scarcely pressed his lady to his bosom, when four armed men rushed in, seized him, bound his arms with cords, and hurried him into a carriage waiting at the outer gate. The presence and shrieks of the Marchioness exposed her to particular notice; blood appeared on her a«n, and she was placed in another carriage as an accomplice. ''While they tied her with cords, Orsano and one of the men searched the apartments, where they found a handkerchief and Neckcloth stained, with blood : the little iron chest was secured, the reces9 visited, and the poniard in the secret closiet was drawn forth; after which, all these articles of proof were inclosed in a trunk, and the unfortunate, pair, with their daughter, set off from the chateau guarded. The Marchioness had requested that tfoe Abbe might attend them, but, from some cause, he had been missing, from the time of Dorville's disclosure.
They passed near the spot of the assassination, from which to the: chateau the track of blood mi^it be traced: the visible agitation of the Marchioness at the sight of the sanguinary jplace was also noticed by the guards. At midnight they reached the prison of Milan, amidst the Execrations-of12
THE BLOOD-STAINXD DAGGER.
■the mob; .here they were placed in different cells; Serigfc was conducted to the story of a lofty tower, which commanded an extensive view of Lomba.rdy. The culprits were jeach chained, except Serina: and the anguish of the Marchioness was much heightened by being imprisoned at ihe side of her husband, without the possibility of communicating with him. She could hear his groans, and trace-Ins jestless hours by the rattling of his chains; the hours of the day struck on the clock, but not a ray of -light irradiated ;her prison darkness. About eight o'clock thejailor opened the door of the cell, and permitted her to walk a few mi-mutes in a square open court, surrounded with high spikes. " Will they allow the Marquis the same indulgence ?" demanded the Marchioness in a piteous tone. "Alas, madam," ■said Angus JViaillet-, the jailor, " our's is a cruel and a silent office.—1 am tired' of it." " I read in your face," said the .Marchioness, " that you are a pitying angel, sent to support me m my misery [" He then conducted her to her cell, and the Marchioness ventured to request him to introduce Serina to her the following night when the prisou was still. To urge him to conduct her to her husband was impossible, as Maillet did not keep the.key of his dungeon. Having promised, if possible, to execute her request, Madame de Montfort earnestly intreated him to carry a message to M. Dodier, who was powerful, and.could intercede with effect for a mitigation of their sorrows. Maillet promised to undertake the task, though perpetual imprisonment would be the consequence of detection. At midnight, the time when the Marchioness expected Maillet and her daughter, a surly ruffian entered the dungeon, and said he suspected some treacEeiy was going forward; in a moment after Maillet came to the door with his lamp, which the ■Marchioness blew out, and bid him fly for his life.—The -radian now-sprang after him; and returned in a few .minutes to place his prisoner in another apartment, into which --a sloping light' entered; its floor was two feet above the ground, and it opened to an, outlet of -the prison. Three weeks were passed in this apartment, before she again sa\v 'Mailletj whose -wife bad learned where the Marchioness Was bow -imprisoned, fj-om hearing her call on her husband's name as she was passing in the street. Maillet spoke to ht r from the outside of the prison, and hence she learned, that, in leaping the walls that night to escape detection, he hadTHE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.	13
tftsiocated his shoulder. " I am now come," said fee, " to render you any service I can, before I leave Milan.—If I am discovered here, my punishment will be severe.-^-My fellow-jailor overheard the conversation between your daughter and myselfe* wherein T offered tp assist your escape!—Be brief therefor&gjffiladam, if you have any thing to communicate/'', " AwH^ou carry a message from me to Dodier?1* saicl the! Martigp. <l Alas !" replied Malllet, " know you not that youtHausband is the mjutJterer of Dodier!" The Marchioness shrieked; the guard was alarmed, and Maillet iu a moment made his escape.—Every gleam of hope, now vanished from the bosom*of De Montfort and hiswife; and inevitable death seemed t£> be their mutilal portion. A number of circumstances, almost amounting to proof, combined to criminate the Marquis.—Dodief had accepted the Marquis's challenge, but had not been seen since the evening the latter left the city of Milan.
Monsieur Locar, as the friend of each, had followed them to propose an accommodation.—After sending notice to the justice of the peace, he followed, arid reached the forest before day-break. On approaching the chateau, a foot passenger ran towards him, and said that a murder had been committed not far off, and that he was passing at the time. M. I -.ocar then returned with the peasant to endeavour to find the spot, but they were bewildered till the dawn opened, and shewed they had taken a wrong path. The peasant related that he was returning to his village when he heard thft sound of voices approach, and concealed himself behind one of the'forest trees.—A voice then said, " Receive tby death from the exiled De Montfortj" The assassiu upon this mounted his horse, and escaped. " Presently after," continued the peasant, " the assassin1 returned, listened to the dying groans of his victim, and left this spaniel howling oVer the 'body.—I secured the dog; alas! Signor, it-is,the Marquis de Montfort's, and his name-is On the collar.— I then followed the sound of footsteps, saw 'the < assassin let into Montnoir-Castle, and I was going to alarm the village when I met ybu."
M. Locar on his return met the two • carriages of the po^ lice officers, and sent them to the Gastle, where the inhabitants, as before mentioned, were made prisoners. Every search had been made for M. Dodier, and the absence of
KkTHE, BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
tlic Abbe confirmed , the suspicion that he was a party in the disposal of him. The Marquis at length" was put on his trial, and supported the shock with a manly dignity and firmness. The evidence of the peasant, of M. Locar, and Orsano, went strongly to corroborate each other. Orsano testified the uneasiness of the Marchioness on that night, and an expression of anxiety slae uttered for tHe sale return of her Lord. The other articles in the trunk^ere severally produced and identified. Tlie prisoner startedjaghast at th.e ■sight of the poniard ; and was asked if he knew it.-—" It was my father's!" sa;id he, and he heaved a deep sigh. The JVIarchioness was now placed at the bar beside him; arid th.ey looked at each other with griefs too big for utterance. The little iron chest was next exhibited; at the sight of which., the Marquis, clasping his hands, exclaimed, " Noftr lead us to the scaffold]—and terminate the menaces of pb-verty anrl procrastinated suffering.—I have nothing to urge in my vindication further.—Death wijl bring independence, and with it tranquillity!" The prisoners were then re-conducted to their dungeons.
From the place of Seriba's confinement, she could observe on the evening of her father's trial, that several men were erecting a scaffold in the prison-^ard below; ignorant of •whom it was for, she enquired, and was briefly answered for the Marquis de Montfort! The dreadful news made her utter a piercing shriek? after which a weight of despair seemed to settle o>i her "mind. The night she passed in prkyers to share her father's fate; and the following moi'h-ing the tolling of bells and the din of the populace announced the approaching execution. While she was occupied, by these "deep and afflicting objects, a voice impressively pronounced her name, and a paper was thrust through the aperture iiNicr prison door.—It contained an invitation to'her to be ready to depart in half an hour, when the gates would be opened to one who had an equal power and inclination to serve her. From her window she could see her deliverer hurry through the jail door, muffled up in a large cloke, and give the jailor money. The disguised person m a few minutes after returned, and, having cautiously shut the door of Seriha's apartment, explained to her th#t commiseration for her situation, now her father land mother were inevitably doomed to death, had induced him to offer her a sale conduct to an asylum, where compassionatingTHE ELOOD-STAINED DAGGER,
/riends would comfort and protect her.. £erina hesitg/jte<||; but the stranger being peremptory, she" permitted 1/iinJo conduct her; and, having passed the last gate, as they .continued to pass under the prison wall, the broken 'accen ts anguish burst from the lips of Serina in the name of hec unfortunate parents.—The stranger, grown desperate "trqnpf ]his danger, seized Serina, and in his arms transported h^r to his carriage, which drove off with violent rapidity, nor stopped till it reached the chateau of Montnoir.., ^ Serina during her journey discovered her fleliverer was, |i priest, of a youns anil interesting, mien, and his^ behavio^' ^as of th£ most friendly kmdl liaving placed his fair cnarge ph the sofa in an inner, apartment of the ch^feW* -he 'retire^. jhe coarse reflectiqns, o(JAquilina, on uie fate o]f .fcfe Moqtfbrt, increased the .duressyf ^er '^istrqssj j^nd, ^s the nigjit advanced^ every hovir ./augin'entej^ "hpr le^ror Deing.al9^e,t apd unprotected.—Sne thought, sli§ "beard sai indistinct gumming in an adjoipirig room, 'ah^'rp^e.^o^isteji at her;door, "but all was .silent'^ /Concluding^ il was.A^uj-lina, she called to neFto lanng 'a light', apd. pontfucl fier t^ji Ker yhaipber;.b,ut receiving answer,. s^e/advanced across the court-yard t>y the light'of tftej&P^t roqnd she observed a lamp liung njear. A'^uiftna^ 'den,, ana made directly towards it.—A man ^he pojy observed darted towards the mouldering stepjs,, asc$pde$'t<j: the.jpUery, entered the door of t&e library. Ipe ^erri^V^Serip^ ran' Afjuilina, w"l>om shef6uWc| Ibusily empfq^ecl in. pr^'oarji^.a supper, apd demand,ed if ste kne(w the oian^an^ ^is.business at the chaieati. Un^exstaQdinj^by ^the manner of the old hag that this was the me^, ^'etin^.'VQ^,^ and proceeded, to her apartpaen^, , T^be. step of jthf .manJfoN Jo wed close, and overtook her at the moment her ^uick njo-tion had extinguished ,'th.e light. The, man nqw sei'zeclt Jie^;, and demanded if shq did hotknqw hIm?^Stie,only ajj§wered fcy a loud, shriek,. which relieved' her fro in the pressure, 9'f his grasp. A light m a lew minutes "gleamed toward and ^Ji'ewed her .the young priest, who, taking her(haii^ \yith tenderness, told her that the object of hei alarm w^ Ar£and?, the voting and amiatile s.611 of M. Dod'iei , vviio i^nly waited ner consent to espouse aiici make, her .nappy. This speech w£st Followed by ,tiie,r^-appearanc§ .of wno^declared His deterntinatiqn not to be trifled witli^The16 THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
priest interceded with him to abate his violence, to which Argand replied aside, that in one hour more the whole mystery might be unravelled, and his purpose defeatecj. The priest now drew the son of Dodier on one side, apparently /to remonstrate on his precipitate behaviour; but every kind intention of the priest was frustrated by the entrance of Orsano, whom Argand ordered to do his office: he then seized the petrified Serina, and carried' her ihto the library, where she was place.d in a chair, unable to resist or expostulate. Argand mocked her terrors; and told her that he would leave her for a few minutes, while Orsano guarded ttie door.—A confused whispering was soon after heard in the gallery, and, as the clock struck twelve, Serina heard the chains of the draw-bridge let down. By the sight of a dull lamp,' in the gallery, she soon perceived a figure advance to her, whom she recognised to be the elder Dodier. " You shall riot now escape me!" he uttered in a harsh voice, planting himself between her and the door.—'' For whom, did my parent perish \" exclaimed Serina, and sunk iriamriiate at his feet. When she had recovered, he forced her into tfce private' chapel, near the recess, and. joidered Argan d to call Orsano arid his wife as the-witnesses of his Bon's marriage with Serina.
While^he>as gone, Serina again enquired for whom her .parents had suffered, aud Dodier said, " Do you not know that the IViarquis here in the forest, at midnight, murdered a wretched traveller, and afterwards concealed the body ? Part of the victim's clothes were also found in the chamber of your riiother." Serina shrieked with horror, and exclaimed,, " He lives! and my parents have died innocent'/' Argand having returned with Orsano and Aquilina, Dodier ordered Seraphina either to permit the marriage, to take *j>lace, or accompany him to a small.house he had on the forest. At the conclusion 6f this menace he seized her arm, and dragged her through the library into the gallery, where, Scarcely visible in the faint light, the feeble form of Madame *ie Moritfort advanced toward them!—-Serina rushed to her suds, and Dpdier instantly made his escape. As he traversed the forest, the image of Madame de Montfort pursued his cruel cowardly soul. A dreadful storm, intermixed with awful thunder and lightning, made him take shelter afe the post-house, the master of which arose from his bed on hearing his name, and prepared a fire and accommodations.TIIE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.	\f
<Mt ,	)••.'..	*t > I I 1 . Its'.	\
A pea] of thunder inade, the hjoet e^p-j^im, " Qq4 bave.i^e^djr oq the guilty.—I dcjp't remember .such a. night sinpe th^ Marquis died, —the villagers t^en could not help .thinking
fie was-" Thinking what?":,exclaimed Dodie^, ,sqi?
zing him by the cpllar; then, ^recollecting.himself, he a&k«d who had changed horses t^ere the preceding night. " Why," replied the host, " tb$ Marquis,. with M.a,damer and tfrj young Englishman, wjio, (was wpunded ' in,(the forest som§ time singe.—.Aftej; gejtting some refreshment at Montnoir? Castle, he, went,to J&oligna, where .the.news peached, hinjt fhat D.e Montfort/was accused-of his assassination.—-Upojsj hea.ring thi§ he instantly flew to( Milan, u and arrived, ther$ it the moment previous to th(j execution. At this juncture a courier entered the prison-court,. ..who, announced, that.lig had actually overtaken a messenger with letters frojn M". Dodier to his son; and produced a letter in his. hand-writing, dated since his supposed, murder, Tl*e proof cqulcj iuH bar resisted; De Montfort, and jt»is wife were liberated, and. their property restored. The Englishman is taking every rjieans to trace put the assassin, whose .identity he is certain of." How!" cried Dodier,,." certain Qf his identity!". " Yes," replied the host, " froni a. millipn-r—Suspicion has alighted on the old Abbe—but whpever the vi.l'-j lpn be that would have endangered the life of thje good Marquis, I hope to see him gibbeted;.—don't you, §ignor?"t Dodier looked frowningly ^t the post-master; and, .having palled for his horse, departed. t ..t In the evening he reached Milan, where he. tecejved thfj welcome of his .friends onjiis return; to whom he sta,fce$ tliat, vexejjj! at. the refusal of the-Sigiipra^ospira, hft hai^ followed her father, to Florence; but,( finding hera verse to> his wishes, he had set out. for the forest of. Moptntnr, (p apswpr the challenge of the Marquis. M.. Dodier now determined to remove the Marques from the. chateau, and sent him a letter tq that effect,, in which he stated; that was no longer possible to protect a man who \yas stigmatized, as an ^ssiassin. Xje^Montfort received the. letter with cofl.-t tempt, and was breathing, his indignatipji pgpinst; Dodie^v w^en Dprvillp entered.—The Marq,uis end^<j,vpured to'.sup^ preps his anger, and, faking the arnj.-.p/ Doryille, led into the'salopn, talking,upon, indift'e^nt,^ubjectgr;j^)f}^]i ineffectually, concealed iiis agitatiqp. Hisjwtfe and daughter K k"3 ...... 'i8 TIIE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
had just joined them for a promenade, when a servant at^ rived from Dodier, demanding an answer to the letter.—-During the time the Marquis retired vvith him, the Mqj-thioness frankly explained tljeir situation to Dorville, who offered to intercede with the cruel Dddier. The Marchioness requested him not to hint such ah intention to her husband, who shortly after joined them, and declared his resolution of leaving the chateau 011 the following morning.— After some beautiful airs on the mandolin by Serina', every sound of whose accompanying voice, vibrated to the heart of Dorville, the whole family at ten o'clock retired to rest, and ros« on the following morning to.pjosecute their journey to Leghorn. Dorville, seeing the shattered state of their old cabriolet, offered the use of his coach as he was going the same route, and should be happy to be the co.m-paliibn of their journey. Mademoiselle de Montfort seconded the proposal, and'their little iron box being firmly fastened before the carriage, they all entered Dorville's vehicle, De IMontfort's servant occupying the old cabriolet.— They terminated their first day's route at a village near Milan. -The villagers were dancing on the green before the: door of the mtberge, and Dofville led Serina to* the top of the dance, while the Marquis and his wife, looking 011, seemed for a while to share the general hilarity.
As Dorville conducted his fair partner to the house, he put a letter into her hand, the contents of wliich being verv jnysterious, he charged her to read when she was alone, jmd reflect on before she communicated the contents to the Marquis. During supper, they were attended by the woman of the house, who possessed an unceasing fund of anecdote and loquacity ; in the course of which she proceeded in this
jnanner:-4t Signor, I once lived at the chateau of Mont-
noir, and, sad to-say, our Signor, who was a very good and great man, died by his own hands.—He was at prayers when he killed himself; frfm which hour the north wing of the f.hateaii'has been1 shut up, as if it were infested by an evil spirit!" "1 see it clearly!" said the Marquis, pacing the room in the greatest agitation; and the woman, taking the expression literally, departed in a great hurry. Serina at midnight, by the light of her lamp, opened her letter, having previously observed that nothing stirred in the auberge, and that her door was fastened. The contents were these: *l Secure the daughter, as the Marquis will probably escape.THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
Either by force or persuasion, she must be your's, before the events transpire which will destroy our hopes, or she must die!- -Be secret—farewell "
As Serina laid thf paper on the table, almost overcome with amazement, she beheld in the mirror before her the stern features of a man looking over her shoulder.—[Fixed in mute astonishment, it was some minutes 'before she had courage to turn round, but nothing mortal was near her.— Taking the damp she examined the chamber; the door was secure, and she saw no visible means by which any one could have entered. Willing to persuade herself it was but an illusion of fancy, she began to re-examine the . letter, when a deep 6igh startled her.—A groan succeeded, and she heard these words articulated, " Touch not the paper!— your life depends on your ignorance:" Serina, convinced there was reality in what-she lieard, flew to her door, unbolted it, and ru'ahed into. her father's chamber, where she "told the mysterious visit she had received, but from prudential reasons concealed the secret of the letter. At daybreak they entered Serina's room, and discqvered a door concealed behind some tapestry, but no one was there7 nor could Serina see the letter,, which she had left on the table. The.hostess, next morning, was questioned, who knew nothing more than that a traveller had stopped there during the night, after she was in bed, and before day-break had proceeded on his way.
Dorville observed the gloom on Serina's countenance, and anxiously waited for a proper opportunity to converse with her on the subject of the visit. The party now continued their journey, and safely arrived at.Bologna, at which place they retired to an inn.—The serenity of the evening inviting them to take a walk before supper-) they went to ihe Palazzo Publico, opposite to which is a. superb fountain: in returning from their promenade, the Marquis observed a young woman in an agony of tears, sitting on the steps of of the fountain.: he loitered behind to observe, and saw her fill a large flask at. the reservoir.—As he advanced towards her, the mourner, delicately clad, and unveiled, regarded him with sympathetic solicitude, and at last .exclaimed, " Merciful.heaven, it is hi?!" She then hastened away from the spot, hurried through the Piazzas, and, after various windings, stopped at a small poite cffcherc, De Mont-fort followed close, and intercepted Lei: from entering at theTHE. BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
frroment the door opened,—r" Alas !." said the Incognita; (i why do you follow nie ?—You have already shared those tears which now fall for the afflictions, of another; but \vhat will yon feel, when you l'earn that, the anguish in my
B'osoifn' proceeds from-A voice mow calling Juliana,
She ran to. the foot of some stairs in a small court-yard, Montfprt following her. Stopping on' a sudden, she addressed'him: " I perceive you are interested in'my fate ; yoU shall knbw my misfortunes, though it will only wound ybur sympathising heart, and not recompense you for youi* pains,"—" This is all I. require," said the Marquis. Jii-' liana tHeii introduced him into a back inner apartment, poorly1 furnished, iti a recess of which stood a wretched ii'arrow'bedstead ; beside it was a lamp on a chair. JuJian.a fheri advanced with a deep sigh, and,"drawing back the curtains; displayed a yOUng man, whose, breathing only'discovered signs of existencie. He seemed to sleep, for.whith Juliana gratefully raised her eyes to heaven • she theii quitted'the'gloomy chamber, promising to return in a few minutes. De Montfort had no knowledge of the yOun^ man* who slidrtly after awoke, and called for' Jtiliana. The M-arquife. advanced to him, and asked if he could render him atiy service'.—The young, man upon this regarded him with.
attention, u ttered an'ejaculation of horror, and. sunk senseless b'efqre him: The M&rquis held him in' Ipiis arjmi;, till he believed he grasped only a lifeless body,'r wlien laid the unknown, corpse down, and, placing his purse of'20 Lduis d'ort on the table, hastened in to the street. When he reached his hotel, he told the singular adventure' ttf'Dor-Ville, who pcTSUad.ed the Marquis to, proceed on his journ'fey without delay, lest, as at Milan, he' should be' accused ot murderl In consequence of this advice, they quitted Bologna at sun-rise. Till they arrived at the inn 'wterfe they inefcirt' to sletp, De'Montfort. could not forget tite person and the tearfe of Juliana, rior the $ying stranger.
The anberge being full .of tr&v.elleis, Dorville liy for.'that night at a neighbouring houjsfej. Mademoiselle de Morij-fdrt 'slept at the end of a long gallery, its whole length from th'e Marquis ; in her'chairjber was deposited th^. jyaluabte luggage of 'Dorville, a,s being af place of security.: ,, Serina sfearcely hadsunkto sleej), whether jestwas 'disturbed by footsteps in her cha'm,be|-.—ynfolijisng her curtains gently) ty thtj gliiraneringr 1 i'gliitrpf'ali^jE^kSpfcr^^^^THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER. 51
A few paces .from her bed. He wore a black mask, and in his hand he held a poniard. She counterfeited sleep, and heard & voice say, " Dorville, prepare for instant death I" The figure now fetched the lamp, and passed it before her eye-lids: he then replaced it behind the cabinet, and returned to the bed-side, uttering a deep groan. The ruffian, then grasping her hand, exclaimed, " Serina, counterfeit sleep no longer !—-On your prudence depends your life !— Keep your eyes shut, and answer faithfully to my questions. Relate what you know of the foreigner travelling with you ?" " He is an English gentleman, of the name of Dorville, and we are travelling to Florence," said Serina faintly.-— " He must die \" said the stranger. Serina trembled, and said he had saved the life of her father. " I came here," continued the villain, " thinking to find him with his baggage.—This visit was not meant for.you !—Mow mark me ! —The restless spirit of murdered innocence demands retribution, and haunts me continually. Progressive crimes have.rendered the name of De Montfort hateful tome, and both he and Dorville must die for the crimes of others.-r-4t Both perish!" exclaimed Serina. " rlhe name of De Montfort/1' proceeded the assassin, " is stained with innocent blood ! His name shall perish !—Now swear never to disclose to any one the visit of this night !—There is one event, indeed, which will depend on yourself, that may save your father —I shalj visit you again, and then you shall know the power of exercising it. You will find on your cabinet a small crucifix of ebony, on whi: h is impressed the word Re.member !—Now kiss it, and swear if you see a similar talisman, you will not notice it." He pressed the poniard on her bosom as she kissed the crucifix, and swore to be secret. On reviving, she lay terrified till the morning dawnjiwhen she arose to examine her chamber; on the cabinet lay the terrible crucifix, at the back of which was engraven the. word " Remember!"—The tears gushed, fioyti her eyes as she reflected on the dreadful secrecy she had bound herself to, and the disorder of her mien nextmorq-ing was yisible to her friends, who saw her bosom labouring with a despondency they could not penetrate.—A father's life depended on her being secret, but would not ensure that of, Dorville, whose destruction was to be hastened if she broke her oath.22 THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
This inn Where they stopped to sleep the next night was *was situated in a beautiful valley. Serina riiade her excuses early in the evening, retired to her chamber, where, throwing herself on the bed, she soon fell into a profound sleep. Dorville, missing Serina, stole from his friends, arid entered her charriber in search of her.—At the sight of Serina sleeping he drew back, but her agitated features arrested his attention.—Jn a faint voice she exclaimed, " Unhappy "Dorville ! —Wretched father ! Oh ! spare him, do not murder him !"—Dorville finding her begin to move, descended the stairs, "and with heavy heart wandered on the "high road, wrapped in thought, till he entered a wood, whose dark foliage suited his pensive state of mirid.—Th'fc wprds 44 Unhappy Dorville !" escaped forcibly from his lip's, Hs ne continued moving on, absorbed in reverie, till t'he object o( his contemplation advanced behind 'him, arid refftarlted, that "his absence having made her apprehensive forhik safety, she "had come to seek him. " Charming Serina/' 'saiti hte, what should molest me!"—"-If any danger should approach you," said Serina, " I \vould-
At this juncture a rode looking peasant Carrie up to them from behind the trees, and addressed D'otviVle. 44 Sign or feai'd 'he, " it is one of your description I am search pV. 1 ftni drivel by necessity to undertake this tasV- but follow •faae to the Skirts of the forest, and there 'my conduct will texplain itself." Sefeiug the man unattrfed,. DOrvili'e consented to go, nor would Serina forsake him. They proceeded together till they came to a cottage, under the brow of a steep jnountain. "Here," said the peasant, "lies apoOt sick man, broken hearted and dying :—rl have supported him till all hiy means are exhausted, and I should be loath to see him perish at last !"-r-The visitors each gave him their pursfe, feild agreed to defer seeing the sick man till the following morning, as the night had rapidly advanced :—they thefts-fore returned .to the auberge, conducted by the peasant's ison. Early the next morning the whole party Repaired to the cottage, and, previously to entering thfe sick room, the countryman said, that the object of his solicitude he had found oh the road side fainting, and that he \+as. ah qM French abb6. .Madame de Montfdrt instantly rushed ih the chamber, where, on a poor but clean bed, she recognized the good old Abbe Besant. Hife feeble eyes and extended hands soon shewed that he recollected them. TheTUB BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER. 23
ft|,arquis, determined to wait the event of< B&sant's illness, wpuld have had Dorville proceed in his journey, but he con • itantly protracted it till the morrow. Near the loot of,th,e, iHP.untain was a small cheap house, most roniantically situated, which the Marquis hired, and. removed his family to* Thither the Abbe was moved, and. soon recovered ; Dorr ville requested to reside with his friend tor a short tltne,— rJ heir habitation belonged to the Abbot of a neighbouring convent, who in his heart partook very little of the hojiyebs. requisite for that sanctified station.
As soon as the Abbe Besant was perfectly recovered, he gave the following account of his absence.—When," said he, " Mr. DorvilTe was wounded, knowing the Marquis, to be incapable of such an outrage I set off for Milan., At M. Dodier's I was informed, that he and thp Marquis had departed the day previous to fight a dpel.in. Montnoir forest. Knowing that I must have seen themjn parsing,, I made inquiries, without success, at the gafes of the, city, and was. on the point of returning to the chateau, when a courier., from Bologna informed me^ that a.few leagues off only he had met such, a person as I described, Anxious,, for the safety of the JVlarqnis, I hired a postchaise,, and arrived,at. Bologna with only two Louis, in my pocket. I now commenced ruy journey, on foot, still receiving at, every post an account of a person having passed with great caution and. se.cresy. I found myself one day. quite exhausted with far tigue^ajid hea(, and sat jdpwn up,pn a bank, near the skirls ot a wood : night overtook me V its cold dews struck to my linxbs, and rendered .n^e, iqeapable , of farther prpgress, in which state the humane peasant Jacinto found nie."
" I he' Miarquis then comforted the good	aj).d,in-
formed hirp. that he had ^een.pursuing M.. Dodjer to Tuscany, who had followed the Count Cuculli, to.obtain his, daughter's hand.—The Marquis having .perceived .the atten-r tiphs of Dorville to his daughter, his pride tppk the alarm, and h^ determined to demand a spee,dy explanation. It had been, an invariable rule of Serina to copifess once a month, and she now embraced the opportunity of, going to the Abbot of the convent, on the monthly, Friday, set aparf, for hearing confessions, unwilling to omit a^y longer what she ,con-r ceived to'be an indispensible ,duty .—She went early in the day ; but so many had assemble^ before Jier, that the Abbot appointed her to come in. the evening.. It wqs .near sun-set24 THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
when Mademoiselle deMontfort reached the convent, where the Marquis accompanied her, and was to wait without the gates till she returned.—One of the fathers led her to the chapel, where she was requested to remain, till Pinetta, the Abbot, was at leisure. While she waited in the chapel, a Gothic door opened to an inner apartment: it stood ajar, and Serina was tempted to approach the threshold. On the table stood a luxuriant collection of fruits and wines, and the furniture of the room little accorded with an abode of penance and humility. The Abbot appeared somewhat confused at finding her in his apartment; recovering himself, however, he led her to an elegant sopha, and, seating himself beside her, seemed inclined to converse upon a,ny other subject than- that she came upon. The Abbot's person, •which was hale and lusty, ill accorded with the lessons of mortification he said he underwent for the love of holiness. Expressing a wish to depart, the Abbot conducted her to the chapel, where he desired her to remain a few minutes till he returned.
While she impatiently waited, a venerable monk, his head covered with his cowl, and nearly bent double with age, moved along the chapel, and, opening a small door, instantly vanished.—Serina followed through where the Monk had passed, and taking a lamp, descended a flight of steps to a narrow passage, where another door conducted her to along vault, on the sides of which were stone coffins, and at the farther end a figure of the Holy Virgin, before */hich two dim tapers were burning.— Seeing the aged Monk reclining in a pensive attitude on one of the coffins, she ran to him, but he instantly disappeared in the gloom. Tn a moment after, something with a ringing sound dropped 011 the stone floor : by the light of her lamp she beheld it was the same blood-stained dagger she had first discovered in Montnoir chateau !—Horror and surprise rendering her desperate, she resolved to arm herself with it, and stooped to pick it up : in doing this, her eye catight the figure of the Virgin, the head of which bowed, and a deep groan ran along the vault. The mind of Serina, naturally superstitious,interpreted this as a favourable omen; and she a second time stretched forth her hand towards the poniard.— The Virgin again bowed her head, and Mademoiselle de Montfort immediately grasped the handle ; but no sooner had she raised it from the ground, than the image seemedTHE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
convulsed, the tapers and her lamp fell extinguished, and a thundering voice exclaimed "Remember!" The poniard now dropped from her hand at this tokfcn of the Virgin's displeasure, and she was just sinking to the earth, when a glimmering light moved on the right hand side slowly towards her ; as she advanced, the visionary flame feceded : at length she touched a thin woollen curtain, through which the light appeared to float, and perceived, on drawing it aside, a meagre venerable father, who expressed much surprise at finding her there.—He was kindly conducting her out of the convent, when the Abbot appeared, dismissed the Monk, and led Serina to the altar of his cell, to confess.— Serina drew the crucifix of «bony from her bosom, and was tremblingly beginning to make her confession, when the altar shook, and "Remember!" was again repeated.— " Your only hope," said the priest, in a low solemn voice, " depends on a full confession.—'■This awful warning implies some deep crime." Serina hesitated, divided between her sacred oath and her confessionalduty.—Upon a second rebuke, she placed her quivering lips to flie grating, and made a full confession to the attentive Abbot, who charged her to keep the secret as she valued her soul's health ; and as she had committed some heinous offences in the eye of the church, he should appoint her in a few days a certain penance.—He then conducted her, with many tenderglanc.es, to one of the monks, into whose charge he delivered her, and she returned safely to Chateau-neuf, where she found her mother in the deepest distress at her absence.
The Marquis having waited till twilight, enquired at the convent for his daughter, and being told she was gone, explored every place in searching for her. On his return, he found Dorville was absent, aud immediately concluded, that, either from treachery or his persuasion, she had deserttd her home. The Marquis was not within when Dorville returned, to clear himself from every suspicion. Equally distracted with De Moiitfort, he rushed out of the house, and wandering till midnight, calling repeatedly on Serina.— Sometime after her re-appearance he entered, and she joyfully'welcomed his return.—Dorville seemed extremely agitated, and to ihe'question if he had seen the Marquis, he returned a sullen answer in the affirmative. During this state of consternation, the Marquis's voice was hoard, de-
L 1£6" THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER;
imnding etttmooe* Serina flew to open the door, and Dor-viM^ after-viewing him-with an incensed eye, abruptly retired. to his chamber. The Marchioness conjuied the Marquis to explain the cause of his emotions, and after repeated solicitations, she extorted a promise, that on the following day every circumstance should be fully elucidated.
The d-awn was just beginning to brighten when the restless, and distressed Dorville tapped at the door of Mademoiselle xte MontfctetVroomj and requested the interview of a few moments* Having arisen, she unlocked the door, and he entered her apartment. He was completely dressed for travellings Taking Serin a's hand, he pressed it to his heart, while his lips quivered, as he told her that the dreadful moment had arrived1 in which he must quit her for ever !— " Your father's safety," continued he,. " depends on my departure. There are wrongs, nay crimes, which demand .tile hand of justice V* " Crimes !—Whose crimes r" eagerly. demanded Serina. " Your father's !" rejoined Dor-villei " I meant to have departed without revealing my injuries, of wounding your sympathising bosom: let me be gone, and hide the rest !"—" No," added Mademoiselle de. Montfort; " not till you recal your accusation.—These inhuman calumnies are uttered against a friend that loves you, and only seeks—<—-" £< To destroy me," added Dorville.^—
Yes., like a cowardly assassin, seeks my life !—Last night I went in search of you; I did not expect that he, for whose jiflisf€>vtu«es 1 have felt the sharpest sorrow, would cross my path to murder me !—Returning through yonder vineyard, be seized hold of me; we struggled; I was the strongest, and he fled.—A?"I hastened towards home I met a, goatherd, who said that he had -seen. the Marquis running along the winding path.—You saw how he regarded me when he came in : it was your beloved self that arrested my indig-. nation, and who now gives me the keenest p&ng in leaving this ojtice friendly mansion." " Ah ! Dorville," said Serina, ^ his faculties are impaired ;. he must have heen insensible of what he did. Pity him, therefore, and det -tfliat generous feeling stay your resolution to depart." It is irrevocably fixed !" replied Dorville.
The lovers had occupied ah hour in separation^ when a stirring in the Marquis's -chamber at length decided the struggle* and Dorville '-.rushed to the door.—" Adieu, _dear youth !" said Serina.—With an impassioned kiss he toxeTlfE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
himself from her. From the casement of her chamber she watched him along the valley, till he wAs visible no longer. The sudden; departure of Dorville excited no surprise in Dc sMontfort's manner,and after breakfest he quitted the room, ■mattering the flame of Dorville. During thfe remainder of the autumn, De Mont-fort's mental inquietude increased everyday. Wild starts, unconnected expressions, and paroxysms of melancholy, formed his general habits. Part of his time he employed in incdherent writings, and wandering in the surrounding scenery.
The pleasure which hope had presented in the solitude of •the mountains was entirely banished by the Marquis's derangement. Serina was no less grieved than her mother.; the ambiguous expressions of the midnight visitor, and the mysteries daily augmenting, worked powerfully on Serbia's mind, already strongly tinctured witli superstition. She possessed the only clue which darkened the fate of hftr family, and her grief was rendered more acute by^the injunction Pinetta had laid on her. In this deranged State De Montfort continued, till winter-began to deform the face of nature. One moonlight frbsty night, as the Marquis and -Besant were walking from the convent, when they came tt>-■that part of the wood which was near Chat£au-nei.it', De Montfort abruptly stopped. " Here," saidhe, "is the very Spot on which 1 was eternally disgraced.-—1 am fallen, degraded, despicable !—My trial before the tribunal in Milan &as made me -a coward,'and thus subjected me to insult!— "Know, fiesant, there are men vtfho would take advantage Of •past events, in order to commit new outrages, \Vhich, through -the peculiar circumstances of time and place, wotdd turli ^against the person injured."-—" Can there be Such a villain ?" said Besant. " Yps !" replied De Montfort, " if Dorville be in existence!"
The Abbe expressed his astonishment, and, as they proceeded home, theMarquis related the several private conversations he had detected Dorville in with Serina.—" I consulted," continued lie, " m/ wife on his behaviour, and «he had remarked a peculiarity of manner, and an evasion <ef her questions, that seemed to cherish some unhafidsome ■design.—"Kits alarmed my -pitternal fondness; for the daugh-<ter of De Montfort, though humbled in adversity, is infinitely superior to the richest dishonour.—On the night I
L 1228 THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
accompanied Serina to the convent, you \vitnessed my- solicitude for her return. Having been told there that she had quilled it some time, I wandered about in despair, and •was returning hopeless to Chateau-neuf, when a ruffian darted from the path-side and struck me !—I could not distinguish him accurately in the dark, but suspicion suggested that the coward was Dorville. I called him by.his name, but he made no answer ;. he ran from me, and I followed as fast as I was able, "till I came within a few yards of Chateau-neuf, where I saw him enter:—What followed after is known to you already."
By the time the story was concluded, they had reached home. On the following day the whole adventure was unfolded to the Marchioness and Serina, by De Montfort, who seemed surprised that his daughter expressed so little indignation at the turpitude of Dorville. She suddenly ran to her father, ana demanded the exact spot \vhere he bad been assaulted.—t4 It was," replied the Marquis, " at the cross, which is visible from the front gate of the convent." " Heaven be praised !" exclaimed Serina, " then is the worthy Dorville innocent, and my beloved father equally guiltless !"—The conflict in her bosom overpowered her, and she fell into his arms. As soon as Serina recovered, she- explained her interview with Dorville on the morning of his departure, and his statement of the rencontre; hence all parlies werg satisfied there existed a mistake.—■ The Marquis, however, purposed in the evening taking the Abbot's opinion on the business. The latter was decidedly of opinion that Dorville was guilty, and that Serina's excuse was but a tale o'f the most subtle, hypocrisy, to shield the misconduct of-her lover, and deceive her indigent father.— His daughter's behaviour, could it be true, was a deep wound, aimed at his peace.
As he walked home, ruminating on this new load of anguish, he saw Serina running to meet him.—As she smiled, he caught her to his bosom.—" I cannot believe you guilty, my child,"'said he ; "thou art deceived!" He then led her by the arm till they came opposite to the cross, where he had received the blow. Looking sternly at her, he said, "•Is there no interposing angel that whispers to you the undisguised frankness which a child owes to a parent ? not a father's security of more consequeuce than a promise of isecresy made to a villain ?" The extreme agitation of Se-TME «LQOD*STArNED
-confirmed the Mrfwjuis'-S Suspicion, and lie continued : Tetl me fotthfulfy, lives there ntit tl "wretch who-seeks my destruction T*
q^sftirtn was -of the 'most distressing kittd.—Serhra gazed earnestly on the Cross, recollected the stern injunction of PirwttH, and above all the -sacred 'Oath she had taken, which she religiously resolved not to disclose. The Marquis, "whose questions merely related to Dorvrlle, finding Serina returned no answer, broke from tier, Vowing that fte would Wash-away hrsiirfamy in the blood of Borvilie.— 44 By the "holy host of heaven," exclaimed Serbia, following Iwb, " he is riot guilty of the blow !"—" Why-thenare you Ihus agitated 1" rejoined heriather. " ff you know auglrt against my 'honoffr or my life, you are bound to disclose it.w Serina's In-art was full; sihe would have told him all, but superstitious fear barred her tongue. Equally agitated, they were returning home, when at the corner of the wood they were overtaken by the Padre Paulo, who cafne from the Abbot, to request mi interview tire next morning with Serina.
JLarly the following day Mademoiselle de Mtftitfort repaired to the convent, and was introduced to the lordfy Abbot. " Lovely fugitive," said he, " your persecution^ aid your errors demand my pity.—-Mine- are the pirre dictates of holy fervour for your eterhal happiness.—Beheld that cross I—and tremble while I untold the crime you havfe impiously committed, -and dared to conceal from me in aft act of confession.-1—1This foul deed has been revealed to mfe from h-eaven, ih repeated and awful dreams!—In thfe chateau of Mcrntnoir is a chnpel, consecrated to holy rites:'— tfeflt sanctuary was plundered by sacrilegious hands at the solemn hour of midnight 1 The crime is punishable with death!"—-Serina fell at his feet in an agony of 'terror.- " All that remains of my duty," continued the Abbot, " ft to inflict the penance!" 14' Nsfme it!" cried Serina faintly.
¥o« are to return 10 the sacred chapel of JMontntuiy' plied tihe Abbot; and on the Spot where your unhailoweft bands violated the holy dtar, pass six months in darkness, prayer, -und penitence I" " Hot to Montnoir!" -erxdaifrfed Serina.—" To that place will I never return f The Abbdt Was startled-at her firmness, and telling her to be secret, he	her tiii tht jAorrow, ptotaisifi^- ifci the trteaiv
11© ~ ;30 THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
time to pray for a mitigation of her punishment. Serina then proceeded to Chateau-neuf; and all the remainder of the day, and the following night, meditated on the correct information conveyed to the Abbot through his miraculous dreams.
On the following morning the Marquis conducted Serina to the convent. The philosophy of nature occupied their minds as they went along;—they reasoned backwards to the great First Cause; and were almost persuaded that the Maker of the vast universe could not be a dealer in partial little systems of faith ; or that the benevolent Jacinto was not as much an object of his care as the pampered Abbot. While Serina was absorbed in reflexion, they reached the Convent; and the Marquis left her, promising to return in a short time* —On being conducted to the Abbot's apartment, she found him seated before a blazing fire, with a luxuriant breakfast of fruit and wines, of which he drank profusely.—-The Abbot invited Serina to partake of his repast, but 6he declined the offer; he then complimented her personal beauty, and hinted at the happiness of Dorville in such a possession, whom he considered as unworthy of her, and the base assaulter of her father.—" He must be abandoned," continued the Abbot; " and it is easy to discern the object who in justice ought to supply his place.—Your concessions are due to M. Dodier, whose hospitable mansion you made the scene of sacrilegious violation.— He not only consents to bury yonr transgression in oblivion, but offers you his son Argand in marriage." " Did you dream," said Serina firmly, " that the Divinity wished me to perform this as an act of penance i—Never shall Serina be the wife, of such a being as Argand." " Impious wretch!" exclaimed Pinetta, prepare to meet conviction.—Come with me He then grasped her arm firmly, and led her through the chapel to the stone ^teps, descending which they came to a vault where the figure of the bending Virgin had worked on the credulity of Serina; thence they traversed a long passage, till they came to a small chamber, illuminated by a dull lamp. The Abbot, having introduced her, and recommended prayer and contrition, locked the door on the outside, and left her overcome with horror.
In this dreary seclusion she remained till near, midnight, when a monk entered : his cowl entirely concealed his features and age, but, as be passed in the circular rays of theTHE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
31
lamp, Serina thought his exterior resembled that of the Monk whom she had seen gliding along the chapel,, and sib-ting on one of the stone coffins, on a previous night.. Taking the hand of Mademoiselle de Montfort, he conducted her through various intricate windings till they came to a Gothic door, that admitted her into a- spacious garden belonging to the Convent. Her guide continued to lead her to a root-house in a wilderness at the extremity of the garden; not far from which she knew a narrow gate opened to the vineyard. The Monk desiring her to wait a few minuies -till he returned, she entered the root-house.—The intense coldness of the night, and the darkness, augmented her uneasiness when she found the Monk did not return.—In a few minutes after the voice of the good Padre Paulo asking if any one was within, she rushed to him, and was led into the impenetrable gloom of a grove of firs.—" liere conceal yourself," said he, " till I return with the key of the gate-. When you are.safe out of the garden, 1 will explain ibis base mystery, which I have by chance detected." Hearings a footstep hurrying through the wilderness, Serina darted from her concealment, and was instantly conducted through the gate, over which a lamp hung before the image of a saint, and shewed the figures of two men waiting beneath the walls.. They rushed forward, and seized'her.—" O father Paulo," exclaimed Serina, " protect me—save me!" In the next moment her conductor received a mortal stab, and fell dead before her! The murderer endeavoured to seize her in his arms, but the piercing shrieks she uttered alarmed the fathers, who rang the Convent bell, lo raise the peasantry. The villains had escaped before the Monks came to the gate, who now bore the body into the chapel, whither Serina followed, and saw the Abbot Pinetta waiting in extreme perturbation.
Scarcely had the dead Monk been deposited on the pavement, when the Padre Paulo entered. Astonished at seeing Paulo alive* Serina snatched the cowl from the face of the assassinated, and beheld the visage of the younger Dodier! " O horror!" exclaimed the Abbot: u This is the work of De Montfort!" Scarcely had he uttered the words, when the ill-fated Marquis rushed into the chapel, and reeled against the wall, while a stream of blood gushed from his bosom. Serina and the Padre Paulo,, fl^vy to support the sinking m^B, who was feinting from loss of blood.—Them Tffiffi ^QOD-STATWED ©AK3GESI.
good "Monk then ran to Fetch a Styptic, the application rift which stopped the sanguinary torrent, and the Marquis began to shew signs- of returning life.. The Abbot led "Serbia' aside, and told her that all these dreadful evils'had arisen^ from her rejection of young Dodier, "w'luree only object was> to convey her to her. lather's house, and in his presence make another offer of-his hand in holy wedlock. w llie villains," continued the Abbot, " v.lio seized you-at the gate of our-Convent-are tire confederates of T)orville, that monster who seeks-your father'slife and your dishonour!" " Dorville a:murderer!" exclaimed "Serimi.. At these words the Marquis started from the couch be was laid upon:—" Let 110 man bear my guilt!" exclaimed he: met the villain in a dark labyrinth, near the convent ; we encountered—we struggled together.: in the contest, after he had wounded Vne, I wrenched the stiletto from him, and .stabbed Argand !" " Your victim," said the A-bbot,. " was not Argand; it was Dorville!" Serina now sunk at her father's feet; at which moment the Marchioness and Besant entered.^—Pinetta counselled the family to make their escape, while De Mont-fort's confession of murder was stilJ a secret. Serina assured the Abbot that the villain who murdered Argand was not Dorville; hence Pinetta drew the conclusion that they were ruffians hired by Dorville, who, while watching against any interruption, encountered the Marquis, by whom he was stabbed, and had since flown.
'One of the Monks, who had been dispatched to the post-house, brought word that a carriage had passed soois after midnight, with two travellers, nne of whom seemed desperately wounded, and almost expiring. The little family now took theiT leave of the Abbot, and, when they reached home, once/more prepared for an expeditious flight, compelled by the imperious call of self-preservation. They entered the okl atfbricvlet, and after a rude journey arrived at Masc'here, where they entered an inn, and a surgeon was Sent for to dress the Marquis's wounds,—He pronoiihced it impossible to proceed on the journey without endangering his patient's life; in consequence of which thje Marchieues* hired Borne apartments at a ftirm-house, on the road to Cftffagio'lo, -coDtiwuous to his surgeon. De Montfort had meritd as -well «s tjodfly rounds to struggle with: he considered ihdmsdf as tJie murderer of Dorvate—he who bad jsneserred bhs Wfe, tnrd ilttumiiiafuTl tit glOOTtt of exite wit&THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER, 33
the balm of friendship.—His daughter also felt a perpetual-pang in the reflection that Dorville, whom she esteemed more than any man living, had been slain by her father's hand!
It was at the close of day that De Montfort's family took possession of their new. asylum, wfcich, being situated on an upland, commanded a mountainous and romantic view.— Hither he was conveyed, and most tenderly nursed by his wife and daughter, while the good Besant unceasingly prayed for his recovery. One morning Serina arose at dawn, to walk to the surgeon's with the pleasing intelligence of her father's convalescence, when- she saw, by the pale glimpse of-day, four Monks bearing a coffin on their shoulders, while a fifth marched before with a crucifix. She followed at a distance, and observed them enter a burying-ground. In returning from the surgeon's, the Monks were performing the performing the last sad offices; Serina gave a benign sigh to the departed spirit, and then returned home. The Mar-, quis haying had a refreshing sleep on the following night, his fever began to abate, and his wound to exhibit the most favourable appearance. At the close of the day, which at dawn had presented so solemn a spectacle, Serina, absorbed in reflection, wandered to the burial-ground, where her attention was soon attracted by an aged Monk, who knelt beside tjie new-made grave, and strewed it with branches of evergreens. As he was retiring, his eyes met those-of Serina.—" Bless you, lady," said he, in a meek voice; " the air of these winter evenings is cold." " You did not seem to regard it, good father," remarked Serina, " while your piety was employed in decorating yonder humble grave."— " He was a straugnr/' said the Monk; " and perished by the hand of an assassin!—Travelling through a wood near Monte Carelli, only three nigbts since, he was barbarously murdered I" Serina fell senseless into the arms of the Monk, who, at a loss how to recover her, alternately wept and prayed. When she" came to, the good father continued: " He was brought to the auberge at Mascere at midnight, wounded and covered with blood; he "was then speechless, and soon after died. The stranger who was with him left a purse of gold for his burial, and said he was agat-lant gentleman; but I neither know his name nor his person." Serina then rose, and, taking the arm of her reverend conductor, suffered him to lead her home in silence,34 THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
She had often heard her father express his hopes that Dor-"ville was alive; and it became now an object of her greatest anxiety to keep this certainty of his death from him, in his weak, and perilous condition. A succession of events had lately tended to reason down the pernicious tenets which her zealous gouvernattte had instilled into her early years.— The more she reflected, the more did the absurdity of judging by the code of.interested priests appear unnatural. The remorse she ldng had felt on her mind for the oath she had taken was removed by the death of Argand, to whom she attributed her compulsion, and the letter which Dorville had picked up at Montnoir. To him she also laid the attack her father had received in the wood near Chateau n£uf, and the supposed miracle which had abused her reason in the Convent.
Supposing that with him all danger was at an end, shenow thought it unnecessary to incur any reproof on the subject, by mentioning the oath tohrr father. In little more than a month he was so much amended, that he joined his daughter in her evening walks, and was introduced to the good Monk Jerome, whom Serina had cautioned not to say any thing of the murdered and. interred, stranger. It was in. tfofc twilight of a cleai and serene winter's day, as they were passing the burial-ground, that his grave attracted I)e Mont-fort's notice. " Come," said Serinav " let. us return home; •the clouds look threatening, and the evening is cold." Hfe took her hand lo de;;art just as Jerome entered the cime-tiere.—" Father," said De Montfort, " I have been inspecting this beautiful simple grave.—Whose is it?" "A traveller's," replied Jerome;. " a -stranger to him adorned it thus: but I never sought t© know farther.—It is an idle •curiosity which probes the-wound it has not skill to heal\"
A stranger's grave,, and so-honoured by a stranger !" rejoined the Marquis;: " it is singular! To-morrow I will; speak with yoiu further on the subject;- so till then farewell, ■good father."
Serkia, after they had; returned "home, watched all op* ^GFtnnity to steal away to the convent, which was situated •at fire foot of a mountain,, and had its wicket ever open to the weary or indigent traveller. Wheji she entered the ttfoapel, the brotherhood, consisting of ten men, were performing mass for the soul of the murdered stranger!—At •ocuoitisiofi Sermae ^asteaed -to %er,.ead €adtag -he*THE BLOOD-STAINED BAGGER.
bathed in tears, " Lady," said he, " no doubt,the soul of the deceased is, with the blest,; why do you then grieve thus?" "Ob! he is happy!" exclaimed Serina; " he deserved to be so."—-be was—" Your lover!" continued the Monk. She shrieked; and,, after her sorrojv had a little subsided, she said, "Be secret, I conjuie you!•—Jn a few days I shall depart—-hut I shall not. long survive his ashes; and then nay last wish will be to sleep in the same srave, and to have its turf decorated by your pious, hand 1* The weeping maid then refused his ofjei- to attend her home^ as it was late, and departed.
Scarcely-, bad Mademoiselle-de Montfort quitted Father Jerome, when the night proved stormy ; the winds howled •in the mountains, and the impetuous torrents rushed with fury into the valieys. At midnight no tiding.? had arrived o.f her, and a general consternation prevailed in the family. Be Montfortr wild with affliction, fancied that in the elementary strife she had lost her way, and perished, faint and exhausted, in the overwhelming waters. Against the rer monstrance of his wife and the Abbe, De Montfort deterr-jnin'ed to seek after Serina; -and, having obtained a lantern, he rushed forth to brave the fury of- the- wiatry elements.—* The firs* place he flew to was the Coai vent, where Jerome informed him that he had parted from her an hour after 4ark, The Marquis turned from him in despair, and the gp£>d father followed as fast as he could by the light of his lantern*—Calling continually upon die name of his child, knocked* at every cottage door, without success. The iS&QBt had begun to glimmer faintly over the scene as they returned through the gate of the cknitiere, when, at a little distance, ai>obj#ctin white attracted) their notice; they advanced ta it, a«d beheld the wretched Series, by the side of the stranger's graves her arm resting on the cross at its head, and her, ey«& raised,to-heaven. Her clokie was laid upon the mound, as if to shelter it frbin the fury of the storna, to which herself seemed wholly insensible. Witk the assistance of Jerome, they raised -her from the ground, and supported her home» uuKronseioue of who were her coi>-■ductors. Madame de Montfort fainted at the- piteous sight, ■and wae for some time unable to; perform the. necessary offices to her child, who was p<u£ to, bed* and soon Ml.into a tranquil sleep.£<j THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
\
The Marquis hastened next morning to Father Jerome,, to interrogate him; and his questions were so pointed to the Monk, that it required the greatest address to avoid breaking his promise to Serina. " Your secret," said Jerome, " shall never pass these lips!—The tears which your daughter has shed will wash away your stains, as the blood
of yon buried victim has appeased your resentment."--
" What crime!—what victim!" cried De Montfort, grasping Jerome's arm. The Monk was silent.—" Tell me," said the Marquis impetuously, " whose corpse lies beneath that turf which a stranger, you told me, had decorated ?" " Be calm!" replied the Monk. " My fidelity is impervious to threats or adulation.—I have no right to condemn or to punish you.—I lament alike for your sorrows and yotir errors.—Seek therefore no farther, for I have made a solemn promise of secresy to your daughter, which I cannot violate." " It is as I suspected," exclaimed the Marquis with a deep sigh: " Serina's love for Dorville has overcome her filial affection, and thus are a father's hopes sacrificed to the memory of a lover!—Keep but your promise however, and I shall still be satisfied." The Monk laid his hand upon his heart in token of acquiescence, and the Marquis1-returned home, assured that the stranger's grave must be that of Dorville.
- On his arrival, he informed his wife that circumstances made their immediate flight necessary, and they must recommence their pilgrimage in a few hdurs. The shattered cabriolet was again brought forth, and in the evening the little family once more set forward over rugged and almost impassable roads, their minds as desponding as the dreariness of the surrounding scenery. They proceeded on their journey till at midnight they came to a thick forest in the vicinity of Fonte Buona, between Caffagiolo and Florence.— The night being hazy and dark, they quitted the main road to avoid a deep and rapid stream which rushed from an adjacent mountain, pursuing the track of carriage wheels along a path that wound through the forest.—On a sudden the guide stopped, and declared that he had lost his way, and would proceed no farther, among quarries, precipices, and banditti. The threats of the Marquis were unavailing: the Marquis proposed to walk on foot in search of some cottage, but this was rejected by his friends. An hour had elapsed in this state of exposure and uncertainty, when theTHE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER. 37
sound of horses boofs and mingled voices were heard approaching.—They seemed to advance but slowly from the darkness and impediments the recent storm had scattered every where.—The postilion, alarmed, quitted the carriage to hide in the adjacent wood, -while De Montfort and Be-sant resolved to defend the women and their property to the last extremity.
As the horsemen advanced, a smothered groan struck new terrors into their bosoms. The Marquis now challenged the strangers, told them he was benighted, and claimed their assistance. " What are you ?" said one of the horsemen. "Travellers!" said De Montfort.. " Then pass!" returned one of the men, turning out of the narrow road among the underwood. "Oh! rescueme!—rescue me!" was now ejaculated by a female voice as one of the horsemen darted forward, to avoid any farther questions from De Montfort. The underwood entangling the feet of his horse, the Marquis advanced within a few paces of the stranger, and telling Besant to guard the cabriolet, he endeavoured to catch in the dark' at the bridle of the horse.—The man, guessing his intent, now addressed him by name. " Hasten not, De Montfort, thy fatal hour!" said he: " Advance but one step farther, and you die on the spot!" The horse continuing entangled in the wild brambles, the rider alighted, while De Montfort, secured behind a tree, watched the event. The villain then, supposing himself safe, took a lady that sat before him in his arms, and placed her at the foot of the tree; at the same tihie threatening to stab her if she uttered a single word, till he returned. He then stole out of the thicket, and left the fair captive alone with the Marquis; who, stooping forward, and stretching forth his1 hand, placed it on a cold and panting bosom.—" Who, and what are you ?" softly whispered the Marquis.-^" Alas, De Montfort! is it you!" exclaimed the lady, as she convulsively grasped his hand. " Speak quickly!" said the Marquis; " how came you here ?" " Alas! I know not," she replied; " the villain's features and his voice are both disguised! I would rise, but my feet are bound with cords, and three desperadoes guard me; hazard not, therefore, De Mqptfort, thy precious life in the vain hope of rescuing, me I" Two of the men now entering the thicket, the Marquis retreated behind the tree. " Do you think they are armed?" said one. " Mostlikek■," J	Mm38
THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
said the other; " but I should not fear of dispatching the •Marquis, if I can but get him within the reach of this good Stiletto.—But where did you leave the lady; she is the object now ?" " At the foot of a tree about ten paces oft"; my horse will never be able to clear the underwood, and therefore we must carry her off." At this moment a shriek Irani the cabriolet echoed through the forest. " Here," $aid the lady, " take this ring, hasten, and save yourself!—O De ■Montfort, death terrifies not me \" The Marquis took the ring, sprung from his concealment, and hastened to the carriage, which one of the mules had backed into the thicket and overset, without doing "any other damage than alarming the females.—The other mule had been detached, and vvas not to be found.
The villains took the opportunity of the confusion to Escape, and whenDe Montfort returned to the tree the lady was gone. He had no clue to discover this mystery but the ring, and of this in his vexation he was wholly forgetful.— The postilion now came from his lurking-place, finding the danger over, and De Montfort asked him if there was tyiy abode to which they might adjourn till day-light.—Finding pow "no alternative, they waited till the dawn, which presented them with a white frost on all the trees and bushes. The little circulation still left in their veins was now almost frozen up, by the direful intelligence of the Marquis, that the iron box, containing their treasure, was lost or taken from the. carriage!—He turned to his \vife, who was struck dumb with astonishment and grief; and hid his face in her bosom. " Think of it no more, my Albert!" exclaimed the Marchioness. " With a cons< icnce free from guilt you are yet rich !" " Where is DorviJle ?" crietf the Marquis, grasping her hand. " He did but deserve his fate," answered Madame de Montfort. " He gave the first assault, and you in your defence—r—" *■ Murdered hini!" interrupted the Marquis.
The Abbe, finding the conversation was distressing to the feelings of all, interrupted it by calling the Marquis'6 attention to the shattered state of the cabriolet, which required to be tied with rq^es before they could prpceed.— Understanding from the postilion that it was not* half a post to Florence, they consigned the care of the vehicle to him, and agreed to walk, the faithful Abbfc leading the way,— They had scarcely proceeded half a league, when they per-THB BLOOD-STAINS DAGGER;	39
teived* on eeiefifig the great rbad branching from the skirts o£ the forest, the absent mule t^ed to a tree; with two zeehina lying on the bank by its side. The postilion uttered a thousand ejaculations for finding his poor animal; and the Marquis waenot without hopes,that this might finally lead' to the restoration of his little fortune. Having procured some poor winfc and cdarse.bread at a cottage: door by which they passed* they found themselves sufficiently invigorated to proceed, and after a short rest approached towards the splendid metropolis of Tuscany. At noon they stopped at a small auberge in the suburbs of F-lorence, the hostess of which was inordinate in her charges, and coarsc in her manners. Here De Montfort changed his last louis-d'or to pay the postilion, whose charge diminished it one half. The Marquis now proposed joining the separate stocks till some plan for, their future support conld be established. Madame de Montfort produced two crown?, and a miniature of her mother set in gold.—Serina had only three paoli and the ebony cross.—The Abb& Besant a small quantity of silver, aud the gift of Durville at Chateau-neuf. The Marquis adjjed to the store the remainder of the Louis d'or, and the valuable ring presented to him by the lady in the forest.—With delight the tylarquis viewed a gem of such brilliancy in his possession.—He retm-ned the gold snuff box and the portrait; but when he came to the ebony crois be demanded of Serina how it came into her possession.— She was silent, looked confused, and trembled.—" This cross is the same on which I carved the word " Remember!" said the MurquisI shall never forget it!" The Marquis then quitted the roonj, and Serina confessed that she had received it from Argand. The Marchioness questioned her jio farther, suppOiing it bad been found in the chateau of Montnoir, and was presented by Argand as a token of esteem.—The Marchioness quieted her husband when he returned respecting the cross, and Serina retired well satisfied with the little deception to her bedchamber.
Deeply absorbed b\ meliu>choiy at the situation of her friends, and the death of Dorviile, she traversed her room till past midnight. As the weather was temperate she opened the window of a balqpny, which overhung a narrow walk on the banks of the beautiful Arno. The moon shone dapafi and, tempted by its refulgence on the silent plavlul
M m 2	•40
THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
stream, she leaned over the railing, full of Father-Jerome and Dorville's grave.—:The clock had just struck one, when she invokfed the name of the murdered youth, and wished that his form might appear before her-!—It did appear, and she shrieked!—Her father and mother rushed into her chamber, and without hesitation she told them what she had seen. They believed her terrors to be imaginary, and tried every persuasion to -render her tranquil. The dawn at length appeared, and a thousand times she repaired to the balcony during the day ; but the little path beneath her window was seldom frequented,, being rugged and retired. -
On the next night she mounted the balcony, determined to see if the similitude would re-appear ; and,, if it did not, to conclude that what she had seen was the effect of a hurried imagination.—The clock struck one, and the form slowly stalked under the window. Serina, now convinced, rushed into her chamber, and threw herself on the bed* subdued by the powers of terror. On the following morning she related the second account of the vision to her parents, and they determined at night to examine into its reality themselves ; but it came not, and they attributed the: whole to the despondency of Serina's mind.-^The insolence of the landlady now grew to such.a height, that it was insufferable, and as soon as the..dusk: of the evening came on, De Montfort and Besant quitted the auberge, to seek for a more comfortable habitation. Strolling homeward by the banks of'the Arno, he saw a beautiful little \illa, on the gate of which was a bill, that apartments were to be let.— With a treml. ling hand he knocked at the door, which was instantly opened with a smile by the owner of the dwelling. De Montfort explained the business of his visits andSignor Cattivo, who- was an attorney, led the Marquis through every apartment. The uncommon condescension of Signer Cattivo, who surfeited the Marquis with fulsome praises, had induced the latter to think that a sum too high for his wretched finances would be demanded for the rent; but, with the greatestcivility, Cattivo sunk the price to that of the Marquis. The business being concluded, they returned to their, ferocious hostess, and her demand exceeding the whole amount of their finances to discharge, a most-distressing dilemma ensued : from this, however, they were extricated by the Abb6 emptying a purse of.gold on ttfe table. " Are we discovered ?•' exclaimed the Marquis.—THE ELOOD-STAINED DAGGEB. 41
No,"—replied the Abbe : " the spirit of Dorv'ille will forgive me. this," as he took ou,t of his pocket a paper mach^e snuff-box !—The hostess was immediately satisfied, and the whole family set out for their new lodging. SdgnorCattivo received, them with an overacted civility, which the Marquis returned width. a coldness, almost amounting to disgust.
Adversity had taught them a lesson of 'economy, and it. hecame necessary before: they had eaten up the produce pf the Abbe's gold snuffbox, to fix on sowe .plan of increasing their little store. Private tuition, was fixed on as the most eligible pursuit, and Signer Cattiva promised to obtain a number of pupils for Madame Berthier, The Marquis, who could, aot divest himself of that vain pride which springs from an illustrious lineage, had assumed the name of Berth? er. The. assiduous Cattrv.Q did all he could to captivate, and amuse the mind the fascinating Mademoiselle Ber-thier, and the Marquis, found ia,-his library the wor^^i^ed, to a refined taste.	■. '
The renovating spring had now commenced its all-cheering course, ami seemed to give new- being to every thing, but, St:rinar whose sorrows were increased by the disgusting afe. Mentions of Signor Cattivo, whose character ajid practice wes^ as respectable as, the carrying on the dirtiest causes would jierniit. — In one of the splitary aud beautiful rambles which lay at the back of the lawyer's house, Serina was one, day followed by him; she. hastei^ away, but he toon overtook hear, and grasping her hand,. satd> " MadtmoisrlJ^. Berthier, youc person and qualifications were fornjed to grace a higher sphete than they do at present.—Assert this influence, and make me the iiistrumqijt of raising you to prosperity.—1 ana. authorised, to -u>a,ls«- proposals to, you by one who know you well !" D^-hatioiuable wretch !'' cried Serina, " Lb is iippQssible, !''■—''>' SiJ-ly qauvera" exclaimed Cattivo, " this, is no Ujpe for thfc .daughter of the exiled irj^ digent Da jVioutfratr t:Q; play tke.l^pocrite;.—Your consent may snaAclxyour faiths totrti* destruction. Hjefus^, and you wiU see him	-fer tl^/e heinous crime of robbing a
ve»«rab]e pareatj^bis	" Merciful,hea.ven,"
exclaimed Serins* V- thjg iflfp^.us,-Qaluirjn.y is worthy, only of euek a wretch as	^ the daughter of ah as.-
sassin," aajoinedC?a<ttw% 4ft xqo	the world will
cwdit your	bicpd ke tfosd in- the
M m 342
THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGElt,
wood neat Monte Carel'li calls for retribution.—The person* in possession of the horrki secret revealed it to me ; to all others it is yet unknown ; it now depends on yourself to bury it for ever in oblivion. The terms of secresy i am not authorized to mention; but, if you will accompany me this night to Cortona, you will there find one devoted to- your service!"
The Marquis and his wife advancing up the plantation, Cattivo took his leave, and Serina related all that had passed. Their consternation was unutterable.—Suspicion for a moment alighted on Father Jerome; and whoever the informant was, it was certain that he must have been a party in carrying off the young lady in the wood near Fonte Buona. The Marquis waited anxiously the whole day for the return of Cattivo.—At night a letter came forthe Marquis,stating,, that, if he wished to rescue his honour from an implied stigma, he would instantly meet a friend who was waiting for him on the Ponte Vecehio. The Marquis, unobserved by his wife, immediately charged his pistols, and repaired thither. —Twilight came ; night succeeded ; and the little family were almost frantic at the Marquis's absence. The Abbe Besant then set out on. the search, enquiring every where, and describing the person of his friend. On the Ponte Vecchio a stern looking stranger accosted him:—" If you are a friepd of Monsieur Berthier's, and seek him, I will conduct you to his abode."—Besant accompanied the messenger, and, after traversing various avenues and streets, he was conducted to the walls of a dismal prison.—He learned from this man, Jeronyfrio, who was the gaoler, that Berthier was accused of robbery ; that the property was found upon him, and that he attempted the life of the person who apprehended him. The Abbe requested admission, but this being impracticable till day-light, he resolved to wait patiently for that "hour.—Before the dawn, however, the Abbe set out for the house of Signor Cattivo.^To ■withhold the cruel intelligence from Madame de Montfort. and Serina availed little, when the knowledge of it might be rendered more severe by delay. Accompanied, therefore, by the jailor, who would not leave him, as he was a principal witness, he proceeded to Signor Cattivo'Sj and en<~ tcred the lower apartment, , the door of which unfastened.-t-Proceeding up stairs, he found the lights burning, the curtains closed, and every thing awfully quiet. The MarchionessTHE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
43>-
and b&r daughter- were no where to be found!—and, on. opening the windows of the saloon, by'the dawning'light he beheld the floor sprinkled with blood. Horror seized every faculty, and, after having obtained a few minutes indulgence to fortify himself, he hastened to impart the dreadful elopement to the imprisoned De.Montfort. When they returned,, the jailor had orders to admit no one to the Marquis j the-good Abbe was therefore compelled to wait-till noon, at-which time the examination took place in the public hall.. " The only evidence that can convict you," said the Judge to the Marquis, " has not yet arrived: nevertheless, the couit can proceed as to its forms,, since you' resisted when-taken, and the property has been found upon yoti. What plea have you to urge?" " I reserve my defence till I am confronted with my accuser," said De Montfort.
At this instant the Count Cuculli entered.the court.—> " Can I believe my senses!." exclaimed the Count.— " Is this the Marquis de Montfort!"—The ring which had been presented by the unknown lady was now produced, and the principal evidence, Signor. Cattivo, was called into court,— De Montfort then related, in an unembarrassed manner, the adventure in the forest near Fonte ^uona, and his story struck conviction into every bosom. ..The wretch Cattivo now begged to be heard in his turn :—fee began by requesting the Court not to be biased by an artful tale; that, knowing the "ring well, and having seen it in Monsieur Ber-thier's possession, by a certain mod^of proceeding he had discovered from his own daughter, that he was the man that had forced the Signoia Sospira from her father's protection, ^ I demand that my daughter may be sent for," exclaimed De Montfort. A messenger was dispatched,- and soon returned with the intelligence that she and her mother had absconded.—The horror which thrilled through the bosom, of the Marquis was contrasted by the insulting smile of Signor Cattivo.^—'" Yes»" cried he, " she had not courage to.enter the court: she by-this time many posts from Florence !v
The Count'Cuculli, though he had twiae met the Marquis at M. Dodier's, had never , seen Madame de Montfort, or Serina. He did not entertain the slightest idea that thg beautiful Berthier was the daughter ofthe-Marquis, or he could have developed the tale whieh Cattivo had repeated;. Hhe>Count Cuculli now- requested to close tfee eviden^e-^AA. THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
declaring, that he did not believe the Marquis guilty of the robbery, and.that he should not appeal to a-public tribunal to redress his wrongs.— Inconsequence of this, De Montfort was released, and he adjourned with Cuculli to a neighbouring. tavern. The Count now addressed him : " My dear Sospira'g fatal passion for you, and the wsetched state to which she hks long been reduced on your account ■ " <£ On my account \" exclaimed the Marquis,—Yes, if insanity may be so called," added the Couut, " may well-make you shrink J—To the privation of reasom you have added the infamy of dishonour, and my sword shall give me vengeance I"—." I never professed to love your daughter; her loss of reason- cannot test with me," said De Montfort. " When- you were condemned to die at Milan," 'continued the Count* " she from that moment resigned herself to de-» spair.—-Dodier was her informant; he frequently corresponded with his son Argand, and thus every transaction at Milan was communicated."
The Marquis, after uttering an execration on the name of Podier, entered largely into a justification of his conduct, and the majesty of truth ccmvincea the Count of the Mar* quis's innocence.--—The Count then returned the ring to De Montfort, desiring he would keep it as a pledge of renewed friendship, and requested he would come to his house the following morning; after which they separated, the Count being still ignorant of De Montfort's assumed name and peal situation. The Abbe Besant joined De Montfort as soon as he quitted the tavern, and they repaired to the house of Cattivo, where the blood on the floor evidently shewed that some deed of horror had been perpetrated.-^- Distracted with a thousand conjectures, the Marquis's mind conceived the idea that, as his father's fortune devolved, cn gerina at the death of Dodier, it was highly probable thai that arch villain had forced her away foj the purpose aa-» sassination!—Again they set out on tlie search, and came koine at night, determined to wait the return Cattivo^ S*vd compel him to declare the truth.—the Abbe Besant ia vain inculcated the los&on ofsubmission ami hope.:—the last event hadmade the Marquis a. bankrupt,of every prospect and comfort.
Tfee< Attorney- ^-Otttarwwiiig his absence, the Abb& Biesstm &<fcise4 an a-p plication to the pfllitt, whose- Tigilance might Eoena^stifpiy	of the fugitives* The . Mais-THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER, 45
quia approved of the scheme, ' and they proceeded to the public office.—Nothing could be done without paying down fifty zechins, to defray the expence of' dispatching messengers ; they therefore returned home, to canvas over the means that were to. be pursued to provide for their accumulated wants. Divested of money, and too proud to solicit assistance, the gem presented by Count Cuculli was drawn forth, as the last resource. For this purpose, with an agonized heart, he quitted the house of Signor Cattivo, and passed several shops where he might have offered this pledge of friendship for sale. While he was traversing the street; indulging the retrospect of insulted honour and indigent banishment, he saw he was opposite the house of a 'lapidary. He looked attentively at the artisan, who was1 stahding at his door, and with ready zeal asked if he had any commands. " I have a gem which I wish to dispose of," said the Marquis, presenting it for inspection. ,On examination, the artisan said that he knew the ring, for he had set it; and handed it to a young man, who was at work with his back to the Marquis. " It is the same," said the workman, averting his face from the regard of De Montfort.— " This ring," said the lapidary, " is of great value, and I cannot be the purchaser, unless you consent to let me mention the circumstance to the Count Cuculli, who can be spor-ken with in the morning." " I should have no objection," replied the Marquis, " to your going to the Count, but I want a sum of money immediately.—Take my word for the present, and give me half its worxh."
White thf M-iHTjxits'spokc\ the young man abruptly rose, and quitted the shop ; the former, however, apprehensive that unpleasant consequences might follow, and plainly seeing that thelapidary becaihe more sceptical because of his embarrassment, took up the ring, and darted through the open door into the street. As he hastily retreated, to announce his ill success to the Abbe, on a sudden he found he was at the door of the Count Cuculli. After pausing a moment, he determined to combat'the haughty principles of his mind, and apply to his friendship for succour.- He had raised his hand to the knocktr,when a person called to him to stay and listen to what he had to say.—A young man then advanced, and with a respectful bow addressed-him: " Generous De Montfort," said he, " the time is arrived when gratitude and humanity call upon me to repay :what.-£4 6
THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
have received.—This-small packet will unravel the mystery. Take it, for I must be gone!" De Montfort took the packet, and in treated the ;stranger to stay ; but he disappeared in an instant. He was eagerly bending his footsteps towards home, when he rqet the Abbe Besant on the Ponte Nuovo, and impatiently enquired the success of his re-Searches. " Alas !" sakl the Abbe, " it is reported that your wife has eloped with a gallant, in a splendid carriage, and they were seen taking the road for Cor ton a. I have traced the rumour to Cattivo, who, not two hours since, quitted Florence for Pisa "
" Thank God they live exclaimed the Marquis. " For the rest I am satisfied. Now Besant, 1 have another mystery to <ievelope, so let us hasten home." This the Abbe said was impossible, as Signor Cattivo had barricadoed his house before leaving Florence ; they therefore entered the fjrst place of public resort which presented itself. Having obtained a private room, the Marquis unsealed the packet, and to his infinite astonishment beheld the very purse, with the twenty Louis, which he had left at Bologna, in the chamber of Juliana. The mystery was in an instant developed, and the Marquis blessed heaven for such a seasonable supply. " Now," said he, " will we seek my wife and, daughter !" Before day-break they had deposited half their treasure for the expences of the police, and departed from Florence, They travelled, with allv diligent inquiry, till they came lo Cortona; but rip one had seen an equipage on the • road at the time they mentioned; and they were about to quit the place, when, in ascending a mountain, which was to terminate their pursuit, a noble pile of Gothic architecture presented itself. They learned from their guide that it belonged to a wealthy French nobleman,, of the name of Beaulieu. " 0 heaven !" exclaimed the Marquis, " what destiny next awaits me!" then,grasping the Abbe's, hand, he said, "let us instantly return to Florence!" " You alarm me !" cried .the Abb6.—" Was not Beaulieu your friend, whose fortune you assisted in augmenting ?— Was he not your confident and-associate not three years since, when in your prosperity ?" The Marquis's agitation increased with every word the Abbe uttered, and, after some struggles, he exclaimed. " He.was the villainous confident who h;id not the honesty to save me from, a deed, that——" As the Marcjuii suddenly stopped, he drew from his besomTHE RLOQP-STAINED DAGGER. 47
the crucifix: of ebony ; every feature -was convulsed; ,the cokl drops glistened from ev«ry pore on his forehead-— " Besant," said he, 44 this -dear cross, tlie sight of which agonizes me beyond concealment, was cuce a pledge of faith !" At this interesting moment the postilion informed (hem, they werp arrived at Corlona: and the Mdrquis, alighting from the carriage., entered the auberge. Learn* ing nothing satisfactory of the Marchioness and Serina, they returned to Florence.
As they entered the city, the carriage was stopped, and the following note was delivered to the Marquis :—" Lose not a moment, but instantly repair to the house of Count CucuJU, where you will find the treasures you have been divested of. If you.possess a shadow of your former spirit, you will crush your enemy, and avenge your injuries. If not, remain despised and dishonoured \" The Marquis, Je,aving the Abb© to pay the postilion, snatched his pistol, And flew to the Count's, where, on Opening the door of the saloon, he beheld Madame de Montfort, Serina, and the Count Cuculli., In the first transport of rage* he pointed his pistol at Cuculli, and would have fired, if his wife had not placed /herself between them, exclaiming, " Rash man! would you destroy the friend who has rescued your child from infamy !" The Marquis, when he saw the error of his impetuous conduct, would have apologized, but .the Count withdrew, and Madame deMoivtfort related the events which bad driven her from the villain Cattivo's.
" On the morning,''-said she., 44 when you were conveyed to prison, the Count Cuculli received a visit from a friend, informing him that the beautiful Berthier would in a few hours be nnprotected, and be the easy victim of her misfortunes ; one thousand zechins was to be the price of her dishonour.—The Count heard the tale with abhorrence, and, though Mademoiselle Berthier was wholly unknown to him, . determined to watch the seducer. On meeting you, not knowing you-had assumed the name of Berthier, it was not mentioned ; but h^ had then frustrated the scheme! of the villain, by coming to Signor> Cattivo's, on the night of your arrest. We cautiously concealed your absence till daybreak, when four masked villains rushed into the room where wt; sat, and seized Serina. A-t this juncture the sword ©f the Count -pierced the idHain who had grasped your child*—A torrent of blood, gushed foenr hie \yound ; his4S THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
companions made their escape. The Count then conducted us to his mansion, and dispatched messengers to find out Monsieur Berthier, while I, not having your permission, did not venture to disclose our real name."
At this moment the Count entered the room, and De Montfort sprang to beg forgiveness. Their kindred souls were soon reconciled, and their mutual errors consigned .to oblivion. The Count requested that De Montlortwould not seek to know the villain whom his sword had punished. " You know him, then ?" eagerly asked the Marquis. " I do," replied the Count. " I am under particular obligations to him, which nothing but his attack on unprotected virtue should have made me violate." De Montfort afterwards, produced the letter delivered to him on his return to Florence, which Cuculli instantly recognized to be the hand-writing of the rascal Cattivo.
A messenger was now dispatched to the Abbe, who was waiting in the greatest anxiety for the return of the Marquis, and he was soon made a partaker of the general joy.— Early the next morning De Montfort and the Abbe repaired to the house of the artisan, and saw the young man, whom he had left at Bologna, in a dying state. De Montfort requested to know his name, that he might return thanks for his generous and benevolent assistance. The young man finding it impossible to shun an explanation, said, " I did but return that which was your own : you saved my life ; and that part of the riioney which necessity then compelled me to use, I have since replaced by industry!"—At this moment Juliana rushed in, and clasped the .Marquis's hand. " Accept," said she, " the grateful tears of joy, the overflowings of a full heart!"—The master of the house nest entered, and the young man, snatching Juliana's arm, hurried her out of the room.—The Marquis then addressed the lapir'ary, upon the history and name of his young^nian, and he replied in this manner:—" He is a French emigrant; his name is Guillaume Cosson ; he has engaged himself to learn my trade ; but his abilities and manners deserve a superior situation.—The young woman you saw is his wife ; she supports herself with honourable industry by teaching music. Her beauty is excelled only by her virtue, but, alas! that very excellence has subjected her to base proposals.— Hitherto she has not told her husband, fearful of rendering him unhappy; for what could he do against the power,THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER. 40
\yealth, and bravos of Monsieur Beaulieu ?"—" Beaulieu !" exclaimed De Montfort, " how that tiaiye haunts me !— Bathe shall not undermine her peace, or h,er husband's honour ; she shall residie with my family, and I will bp her protector!"
When the Marquis returned to the Count's, he learned from him that Madame Cosson was SospiiVs instructress in music, and that he. had saved .her from the snares of the miscreant Cattivo. ".I see in this Beaulieu," said Madame de Montfort, " the villain who insulted my daughter."— " I givs you my honour," replied Cuculli, " that it was not he.— \Vait patiently,., and you shall know your enemy."—■.. Madame de.Mo.ntfor.t and. Serlna-now hastened to the lodgings of Juliana, where they left a letter of invitation, as-she was not at home. On their return, they found the house and effects of the generous Cuculli seized for a large sum, and legal possession taken by the infamous aUorney Cattivo.—Besant waited at the gate to inform them where, the Count and Marquis bad retired, and the latter immediately took apartments in the house of a musician. Ma-, dame de Montfort had written several letters to England, requesting an asylum while the political storm continued in France. Lady Charlotte Finch was still living, but, never having acknowledged the Marquis since his clandestine, marriage, the pride of De Montfort had, till now, obstinately shrunk from the idea of receiving assistance. Thd Count Cuculli's affairs rendering a short absence from Florence necessary, he privatfely quitted it, previously taking lieave of the Marquis,- and giving him the sum pf three' hundred zechins as a token of his friendship.—Rich now in.comparison of what he had been, the Marquis hired a small cheap house for two months, in the Vairombrosaf, determining quietly to wait till letters arrived from England. Their little abode was enchantingly situated on the banks of the Arno; it was every thing that was romantic and picturesque ; and had been- selected for them by the musician whom De Montfort had quitted.— Madarhe de Montfort and Serina were delighted with the grounds and scenery of Vall'ombrosa, aind saw no 'mystery in the siiiajll rent to be paid for this elysium.
On the evening of their arrival, Mademoiselle de Montfort, weary with straying about the grounds, was returning
N n	c	.S-O "THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
to join the Marquis, when, through a thick grove of orange trees, she observed an elegant pavilion, formed in the Asiatic stile. On entering the building, she was charmed with the luxury of its furniture, and sat herself down on a supeib sofa, to contemplate the terrestrial beauties of this fairy palace. In this inviting situation, sleep visited her, and her mind, little influenced by the objects around her, reverted to past scenes.—In a vast cavern she dreamed she saw the bleeding body of Dorville and her father in chains. A beautiful form then descended, unfettered De Montfort, and breathed life into the mangled Dorville, who 'arose, and with his icy lips embraced her. His voice awoke her from .the dream, and she looked wildly round for the reality of her disturbed imagination. It was star-light when she rose to go out of the pavilion, at the entrance of which, to her profound consternation, stood the form of Dorville ! She recoiled with horror, and fell on the sofa.—The figure followed her, articulating, " Fly me not! At the break of day I must leave you for ever !—Therefore shun me not!" J^erina was softly stealing to the door, when something caught her hand, and forcibly detained her. " Maria, why do you shuji me ?" cried Dorville. " I have travelled from Pisa to take my leave of you: at day-break I leave Naples." Se^ina's joy at finding Dorville was in existence was quickly Changed to the most agonizing torture, when she heard by 'Jjis ,Qwn confession he was devoted to another.—She yet rem^iqed silent, and Dorville continued:—" Tell me, Maria, has Monsieur Beaulieu commanded you not to see me? Jie whose falsehood merits your detestation.-^It is he who has advised this chilling reception, while he revels in the charms'of Mademoiselle Berthier!" Serina started, and Dorville resumed his entreaties- "Well may you be surprised at his duplicity; but all Florence knows that Cattivo was the agent whose address won the beautiful emigree.— Returning from Pisa,, I met him on the road, and he told me she was the victim of Beaulieu." *i It is a falsehood!" qrjed Serina, in a tone of stern indignation " Ileayenly Powers !" exclaimed Dorville, " it is the voice of Serina de Montfort!" and he threw himself on his knees before her. " Leave	said Serina, " nor insult my sorrows with a
ijew effort of hypocrisybelieved you dee.d; the wound
you received from the Marquis-" " Whet wound,
where?" exclaimed Dorville, starting from the ground.—THE BLOOD-STAIN£D DAGGER- 51
" In the wood n^ar Monte Carelli," replied Serinla, " on the night when you encountered my father, and Argand wis murdered!—-Ah, Dorville, I have since that mourned you as dead !" " By all that is sacred," said Dorville, " I aai ignorant of what you mean. I have never quitted Florence since I left Chateau-neuf, except within this montfi to gp tio
Pisa, where-The voice of Dfc Montfort now Called
to Serina from the portico, and she requested Dorville to avoid him, till she could clear up the deception each sefcmed to lie under. The blow Dorville supposed he had received from the Marquis, and which he was inclined now to resent, ahmwed Serine, for Che consequences. of a rencontre, aaad she earnestly conjured him if a spark of his former adeetioh •yet remained*, to quit tine pavilion.—He fcoasented bu. her promise, of forgiveness, and the loverfe, hearing, the* footstep of D'e Montfort appnoachy agreed' to meet on the mm* spat th« following night,, when Dorviihs bad a ciTeanuflsncfc «f the utmost importance to disblose.
TheMarejuis, as h« led Serin* ih tb supper., btaemri tit1 smiling serenity of bis daughter's cormtvnance; tmdv tfrough k slight pat% of jcatousy now aaki then ofotruded itself dh Maria's account, she he^ertftfetess felt the delightful assii-itukee that shts stiil retained the affertwms of his tedk Hue llext d&y she visited the pavilion, and was pensively sitting on the fcofa* canvasing the passion of Derviile for ■wheft the Marquis and hra wife entered-, and observed fcfer in tears. They earnestly enquired, the caiase of htfr pftJltarfoa-tion, and Serina promised not U> withhdfd it longer th«ti the morrow* w&en her mind would be more calmv As the Hour advanced in which Serina was to meet Dbrviile, her fegita-tion increased. The name of Mariaexcited her jeakmsyy atod Domlle's acquaintance vrith the profligate Beauliea; ahma^d her for his honour.—1This nobleman shone as a rich and powerful aristocra.tein the court of Versailles, previous to the revolution. Foreseeing the 3tortn in France, he retired tvith all his \realth to Italy.—The Marquis, in the early part of his life, had been the favorite of Beaulieu, but he wAs too getteitni9 and independent long to enjoy his confidence. Moris. Beauliea at the age of sixty had married a young lady of seventeen her union was the choice bf her parents, while-feer heart confessd a more suitable attachment. The ©bj«et ctf her esteem was the young Cher&iier Tardietf,
N n 852
THE BLOOD-STAINED. DAGGER.
whose, father had fallen a martyr to the American cause.- -It was three years after this the young Chevalier became enamoured of the lady, and she returned his passion.—:He saw her led a victim to the altar, and henceforward determined to avoid the woman who never could be his. A little, before the revolution, the Chevalier Tardieu, hunting in the forest of Vincennes with the King, received a violent contusion by a fall, and was carried to a neighbouring chateau for succour.—It was the abode of the Count Beaulieu.—The sensations of Madame Beaulieu were no less acute than those of Mons. Tardieu. They conversed, and the Count, one day entering abruptly, caught the young man on his knee before her.
Before night M. Tardieu received a Iettre de cachet, imprisoning him fifty miles from Paris. De Montfort remonstrated warmly against this act of power, and through his interest a pension.was continued to young Tardieu which had been paid to his father. Madame Beaulieu was shortly after removed to-an old chateau in Gascony,. where the effect of.seclusion and severity soon terminated her existence.— The completion of the Revolution liberated Tardieu, and he them learnt the; untimely .death of Madame Beaulieu; after which, being .under same embarrassments, he went to Languedoc, and . married the beautiful Mademoiselle.de Monge,' who was the protegee of au old duchess: the union Madame Tardieu had formed gave an offence that was unpardonable, and she was, driven from her roof without any other friend than the object.of her affections..
:It. was close of= day when Mademoiselle de Montfort reached the pavilion; not finding Dorville come, she strolled •about the orange grove till every object was wrapped in darkness, and was proceeding towards the house, when she heard someone approachiug on horseback.—The horseman alighted, #nd led her towards the pavilion.—As soon as they entered, the door was closed, and Serina became alarmed. "Ah! Dorville," said §.erina, " what horror do yau meditate?" '•• Hash girl/' replied the stranger, " I am not Dorville !—Be silent, and you are safe.-^lt is not you I am in search of.—Revenge is my object? my delight!" The terror of-Serina no.w increased:, when she discovered the stranger to be the same who had extorted her oath when he threatened the .destruction of the Marquis and Dorville.— " isitiny father's life you still seek?" exclaimed Serina.THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
£3
" While he lives/' said the stranger, " I am not safe.'-1
have a dagger too for your preserver, Cuculli, when raf great act of vengeance is perfo .ned. Ha! I hear the approach of one of my victims!—Maria was honest when she apprised me of this night's visit/' The foot-steps now approached the pavilion, and, the villain throwing Serina from him, bid her " Remember!" and rushed to the door. " Fly^ my father," cried Serina, " from the dagger of an assassin!" The Marquis and Dorville rushed into the pavilion almost at the same instant, and the ruffian in the darkness escaped. " Villain!" cried Dorville, seizing the Marquis, " you are the monster who would destroy me!" " Dorville!" exclaimed the Marquis; "does Dorville live?" The Abbe and the Marchioness now entered with flambeaux, and beheld the Marquis and Dorville firmly grasping each other. Serina rushed between her father and her lover, and entreated they would return to the house, and hear her explanation.—Here she unfolded the manner in which her dreadful oath'had been imposed, and declared that the person who had escaped from the pavilion was the same from whom the CountCuculli had rescued her. The remainder s>i the evening passed in mutual reconciliation, and Dqr-ville, who talked of setting off for Florence, was. persuaded to.stay all night.
When Dorville left Serina at Chateau-neuf, he proceeded without stopping till he reached Florence, where, in a few days he was presented to Monsieur Beaulieu, at his house on the banks of'the Arno. It was here that Dorville found Maria d'Aleinbert, who had emigrated from the opera house at Paris with her profligate admirer. Maiia, informed that Dorville was a rich Englishman, resolved to rtiake a conquest of him, during the absence of Beaulieu, who was ordered for ten or twelve days to the baths at Pisa. In abort, she succeeded in captivating him for a Short titile, till he discovered that the sums he -lavished went oftly to enrich her millions, Among whom Cattivo was one of the most favoured.
When Beaulieu was at Cortoaa, the» : house at Florence tas the tentpie of aSsi^intion, and it .was in the way thither tfcat Seriii4 h&d twice 3een him irom the window of<the ftuberge. The rapacity aed iiieoiastancy of Maria very soon fcCeWtoiftg tftfimrieusj BerwUe detercoinBd to take a Aial
H a &54-
THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
leave of her. "With this intention he arrived at Vall'om-brosa on the night he had the liist interview with Serina.— The next day he called at M. Beaulieu's, to explore the mystery which had placed the Marquis's family at the villa "of Mademoiselle d'Alembert, By his curiosity he betrayed himself; Maria's vanity was piqued, and mutual recrimination ensued; he.-confessed his love for Serina, and his determination to let the Marquis know under whose roof he lived,—which intelligence Maria immediately conveyed to the assassin. Dorville having been absent from Florence till the night on which he met Serina in the pavilion, no opportunity had occurred of making any discovery; and when Cattivo informed him that Beaulieu had gotten Mademoiselle Berthier in his power, he did'not suspect it was Serina.
The concealed ruffian's declaration to Serina, that he was informed of Dorville's visit by Mademoiselle d'Alembert, determined him to compel her to reveal his name; and this object was the subject of their conversation the next morning. A visit to Mademoiselle d'Alembert appeared the best plan, and after breakfast Dorville and De Montfort set out for Florence. M. Beaulieu was not at home, and his- mistress was engaged till ten o'clock with company. Having dined with Dorville at his lodgings, and called on Mons. Cosson and Juliana, they repaired at the appointed hour to their rendezvous; but the porter had received an order to admit only Dorville, and on no account the Marquis.—No persuasion could arrest Dorville from seeing, heir, and he was introduced alone. She received him with contemptuous effrontery, and refused to answer his interrogatories.—After much time lost in intreaties, she rose, and went into the adjoining saloon. When she returned^ Dorville asked, why she refused to see De Montfort. " Because he is an assassin!" Maria replied. " I learned this-from Signor CattivO." " Who is your lover," rejoined Dorville; " that wretch who would have ensnared Mademoiselle de Montfort; but her injured father will not fail to punish.hiro. This agent in the mischiefs of Beaulieu bad contrived to introduce a rival to your interest with him, but the Count Cuculli saved the destined victim from ruin." " I see his Villany in every action!" exclaimed Maria.; ' Their conversation was interrupted by a - §ervant. e.ntaring Jo say that supper was s«rved in the saloon.—Thither theyBLOOD-STAIN ED. DA<3QER.	55
adjourned, but Dorville refused to; eat. Anxious tb effect the object of-his visit, he asked D'Alembert again if js'liq would reveal the author of the outrage at VaH*Qmbrosa^a;nd give up the scoundrel Cattivo. " I will give him up.," Said Maria, in .a malignant tone, " but not till my revenge is glutted. Dorville, in less than an hour, you shall behold anight of marvellous exploits;' but yqu may depart if you plea,se, and the secret shall remain inviolate." Determined not to relinquish the pursuit, he continued traversing the saloon, till, thirsty with.rage, he filled a glass from a flask which stood on the table, and, throwing himself on a sofa, in a short time sunk in a stupor to sleep. During this time De Montfort remained in the street anxiously waiting for the return of Dorville, and was ascending the portico when he saw two men cautiously stealing beneath the colonade. Placing himself in a dark niche, he observed them occasionally peeping from their hiding place, and was ruminating on the purpose of these bravos, when the door of Maria's abode was gently opened, .and a man came forth.—He was instantly attacked by the villains, upon one of whom De Montfort rushed, and wrested from him a poniard; the other fled; and the person, whom he thought he had saved, fell dead on the steps of the portico. As the assassins escaped they cried " Murder!" and De Montfort, being on the spot, was arrested by the guard. The dead body was carried, into the vestibule, and proved to be that of Mons. Beaulieu! As soon as Maria beheld the lifeless corpse, she exclaimed, "Ah! treacherous Cattivo !" Dorville, staggering into the vestibule, feebly cried out, " Support me— I am poisoned !" and he fell: at this moment Maria whispered to him, "Spare me! and I will save De Montfort/' The parties were then taken to prison, and confronted the next morning, when the Marquis was liberated on the confession of Mademoiselle d'Alembert that .the murder was done by Cattivo; and orders were instantly issued out to .arrest him.
The police officer returned from his house with an account that he had flown to Cortona, and thither the Marquis and Dorville, (who by timely medical assistance had ejected the poison,) set off, accompanied by four officers,, while Mons. Cosson hastened to communicate these events to Madame de Montfort and her daughter, who repaired to Florence, .and there ^waited the' Marquis's return. .When the party36 THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER,
arrived at Cortoha, CattivG wa,9 not to be found. The news bf Beaulieu's death had not reached Cortona, and the officers were dispersed in the vicinity of the chateau, while De Montfort and Dorville remained to guard'the outer gates. The domestics provided a splendid supper for their guests, as DorVille was well known to the family since his residence in Tuscany, ancf the Marquis before he quitted Paris. Among the domestics who waited at Supper, De Montfort remarked one who was very old and feeble, and\Vhi> looked at them with a peculiar eye of interest and sorrow. " Do you know ine?" said the Marquis. " I remember you a boy," replied old Antoine. " It is just nineteen years since'I entered the service of M. Beaulieu. I have always resided at the chateau in Gascony." " Then you knew Madame de Beaulieu?" said the Marquis. " I did," rejoined Antoine. " She was a persecuted angel;—and, if I
dared tell all I know, I c6uld discover such-but mine
has been a life of sorrow and secrecy, and 1 could not now fehcounter the revenue of my master/' " Reveal what you know," said De Montfort, " and we will defend you."——-" Then know," Said Antoine, " that Madame Beaulieu
Jives! and-" Here he was interrupted by the entrance
fcf the steward, whose look frightened old Antoine, and made the friends suspect him as an agent of Beaulieu. They de^ ftianded more wine, and sat at table till past midnight. The ■ttarnith of the evening induced them to walk round the Court yard before they retired to rest: all was still in the fcastle; the clock had just tolled 6nwhen a deep and itte* l&ncholv groan vibrated towards theft).—While they listened, the Words 0 de Mcrntfoit!" Were pronouhced, and no dotibt existed but the sotmdfc proceeded from some agonised Sufferer. They waited a considerable timfe to hear if any fcther token was exhibited; during whieH the dawn had rabidly advahced, and thfcy were surprised by the presence of Antbihe, whci had jusi tiirtfc to feaj? before the steward joined him> that he was ordered with letters immediately td Flfei*-feiifce. This fcitddett retrtotalof Anteitjeeoiivlntfed Dorville that there was rhuct to <bt ejtplotfed; ahef, aftet fereakfa&t, they proceeded to	thfc a^at-lmeiits ih that wing
wfeente tire sotitids had. JjrGfeefed^d. Thc^ frdvefked ft t&nk gaiter?, atid entered a &itiall fori toi.rfi, the dobT ef Irfeicfi <tppeared ofify like & paWftfel m the frffiflscet;—f« it «£* * fafeti, wtifefc sefctfretl ttf htt* fcteflTIIE BLOOD-STAINEI> DAGGER. 57
ceding night, and was still humid with tears. -Suspecting that, it'it were Madame Beaulieu's prispn, she was removed from it during the day, least she might be discovered, they determined to re-commence their search- at night. At dinner the Marquis questioned the morose steward, and gathered from liiim that Antoine had the care of her when alive ; and, as they had every reason to suspect she"was not dead, they determined the following night to force this surly domestic to confession. In the mean time the Marquis re-lated'to Dorville the history of Tardieu's love for Madame Beaulieu, aud his surprise at never having htard from liitn since, his liberation from imprisonment, and subsequent marriage. " This night therefore," said the Marquis, " will we dedicate to the cause of Madame Beaulieu, and if I survive it, 1 will deposit the fatal secret which has long agitated me ia your bosom."
At the silent hour of midnight, De Montfortand Dorville began to ti*averse the court, in hopes that the sound of their footstepis would rouze the concealed sufferer. The wary steward was that night on his guard, and watched them from his chamber window. They continued to walk more than an hour, and in their circle round approached the guard, who kept watch at the outer gate. u What a solitary mansion this is!" said De Montfort to the guards "Has it always been thus?" " When it belonged to the Count Cuculli," replied the mgn, " it was the abode of feasting and merriment.—Great'rewards have been offered for the recovery of his-daughter, who has been forced away from him, and nobody can tell what is become of her." " How came Mons. Beaulieu possessed of this chateau ?'■ said the Marquis. " lie won it at the gaming table," replied the guard. " It was the great failing of the good old Count: it is from the same cause that Dodier has lately seized on all his property at Florence.—After his son, the Abbot of. the Convent near Monte Carelli is the next liein—His sister was the wife of Dodier, and at the time they \vt;i emarried, he was poor enough. He was the eleve of the Cardinal Botosi, who, as the report says, died suddenly !—You understand .me. After, which he got rich, and from a; poor nionk became an Abbot." " For what sum," said the Marquis, " did Dodier seize the effects of Count? '— ",,F.or 20,000 zechins!" and De Montfort recollected that it was the precise suiu wlik h was to have been cancelled byS3 THE BLOOD-STAINED. DAGGER.
Dtfdief's marriage \vith Sospira. At this moment a piercing shriek issued from the chateau.—They immediately repaired to the small roQrii in the. gallery* and forced open the door. No person -was there, but on the table lay a small stiletto; a chain was on the bed, and the pillow was again moist witfi tears. While they stood contemplating these objects, the morose steward entered, whom they seized, and, putting a pistol to his head, ordered him on pain of death to disclose the secret resident of the chamber. He then conducted them through a grated window in the room to the balcony, and thence they entered, a whiding staircase till they came to the attic story, where a rOoiii was placed in the loft. Oft approaching ihe dot>r, they heard a tioise lik6 two persons Struggling; the Mirquis burst open the door, and with hw-> tot befe&ld the Frantie daughter of Cuculli forcibly confined in the arms of Aqualina Cormazzo. The Marquis sprang towards her, and, snatching Sospira to his bostim, exclaimed, " d heaven, it for Me that you suffer this afflicting derangement \" The beautiful tnahiac then took A garland from her own head, and* placing it on his, said, " There fe & ettwu for you!—it will never fade where I have placed it!*' On a small couch of woven cane lay several pieces of tord, one of w,hieft Dofville happening to touch, Sospira Shuddered. " I will talk ao more/* said she, " of De Monffort,-^but make my garland quietly, if you will not bind me/' As Sospira stretched f^fth her hand, the Marquis observed a wedding-ring oii her finger, and learned from the steward, that she was married to Dodier, and that, Since the ceremony , which had beeh performed some time, he had never seen her. " Who toujd sanction the base ftct?" asked De Montforl. <l The Abbot Pinetta, at his convent/" replied the steward; "soon after Dodier stole her from her father's house near Fonte Buotia,—since which she has been a prisoner here. Beauiieu hated the Count, and Dodier wanted to get rid of his wife, sO they swore to assist each other. Beauiieu, resolved to possess your daughter, employed Dodier to 9eize her* when she was rescued by' Cuculli. I was one of those who assisted M. Dodier and Cattivo on that dreadful night when the latter was wounded, since which time he has been confined to his chamber Jill within these few days."
They now led Signora Sospira from the melancholy apartment to the grated chamber, where she seated herself onTHE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
the bed, and began to adjust the flowers in.her garland ; till De Monitort led her forth, preparatory to conveying her to Florence. Just as they were departing in Dorville's carriage, a horseman bro'ught a note from Dodier, directed for Aqualina. The Marquis seiztnl it, and it ran thus: "Be vigilant, as I suspect some treachery. When Sospira is dead, you know the reward that is to repay your labours.—■ I have a safe retreat both for my wife and you in the mountains of Sicily, whence you shall shortly hear from me again." Having left the police officers to guard the domestics at the chateau, before noon the Marquis and Dorville left Cortona for Florence, whither they arrived, and immediately repaired to the lodgings of CoSson, who had just hired a convenient and handsome, house, which the same day became their abode. Part of the story of Sospira having been detailed, the Abbe was dispatched to make enquiries concerning the Count Cuculli. When the Marquis and Cosson were alone, the latter announced that he had experienced an amendment in his fortune which, he thanked heaven, would enable him iu some measure to repay the Marquis for his former generous assistance. The Marquis' disclaimed having done any thing more than his duty, and the young man proceeded:—" Xou attracted my attention as I saw you enter the prison yard at Milan; I heard your story, and I deteimined to save you.—One of the jailors by chance lodged in the same house with me.—We had con-, certed a plan for your escape, in the execution of which, as I mounted the prison wall, the centinel shot me. in the breast, and Maillet was severely wounded. We both fled,. I to Bologna, where Juliana met you at the fountain, and my companion to France." The story of Cosson was interrupted by the entrance of the Abbe, who learned that Mademoiselle d'Alembert h?.d escaped from prison, and that the Count Cuculli resided at the house of his brother, the Marquis Tivoli, on the borders of the lake of Perugia.^-Before noon on the following day the Marquis, with Serina, Sospira, and Dorville, departed for the lake, leaving the Marchioness at Cosson's, expecting letters from England.— At evening they reached the asylum of the Count, the villa del Marmo, and the venerable old nobleman once more felt the joy of beholding his daughter, which was much abated when he was informed of the marriage with Dodier. Taking leave of the beautiful maniac, Dorville and Montfort re-60
THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
turned to Florence, where'he found letters from Lady Charlotte Finch, the mother, of Madame de Montfort, who by order of her physicians was on her route to Italy. The wretched state of the suffering Sospija had determined De Montfort, as a duty, to take every means of pursuing the villain Dodier. Without delay, therefore* at the c^d of three days, he bid his wife and daughter prepare to accompany him and -Dorville to Naples. No news in the mean time had arrived respecting Maria or Cattivo; and, on sending to Cortona, they found the steward and Aqualina had escaped.
The friends took their leave ofGosson, with the liveliest gratitude for his civilities. Their route lav through a luxuriant country, and they continued with rapidity till they stopped at an auberge in the beautiful valley of San Monte-roiH. At. evening they proceeded on their journey, and Serina, observed, as Dorville handed her into the carriage, that his hand trembled Are you hot well?" said she; " You seem.fatigued and overpowered." Dorville thanked her for her solicitude, and Madame de Montfort added, " Thank .heaven we shfdl soon reach Naples."' " Too soon !" replied Dorville. " Have you ever' been there before r" asked the Marchioness.-''Never!" replied Dorville; "yet I had ratherssufter a thousand deaths than visit that vortex of pleasure aud dissipation !". Without penetrating farther into the cause of his antipathy to that city, they rallied hini on his opinions, and proceeded on their route. At night they stopped at Torrihieri, where the inquietude of Dorvillc's mind seemed every moment to augment. Nothing material Occurred till they reached Rome", where the travellers rested a couple of days, to view the ruins of that mistress of the Western world. A despondency seemed extending itself over the heart of Dorville, which alarmed Serina for his health and intellects. Twice he had been on the point of disclosing the secret cause < f his inquietude, when the unexpected presence of the Marquis arrested the explanation. Serina saw his struggles, and gave him her pity—her esteenj: her goodness drew from him the uniforrn;acknowledgment of his own unworthiness, and an assurance that the recollection of one former event rendered him for ever unworthy of a place "in lier bosom.
Early in the morning the travellers'proceeded on their journey, and stopped to dine near the lake Albano.- At-THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER- 6l
tracted by the beauties of the place, they proposed staying here a night, and wandering about its vicinity.—In the evening the Marquis and Dorville strolled towards the Take, while Madame de Montfort and Serina visited a neighbouring convent of Grey Sisters. The convent lay in the bosom of a forest, and when night approached, the Abbess counselled them to depart, as the night had commenced. They accordingly took leave, and hurried along the winding path which conducts from the convent. They had nearly reached the outskirts of the forest, when two men pursued, and seized them.—Each of the robbers laid hold of one, declaring they only wanted to secure Mademoiselle de Montfort. The shrieks of Serina were heard by the driver of a carriage on the road, then at the edge of the forest, the traveller iu which ran to their assistance, and discharged .bis pistol into the breast of one of the villains, who immediately escaped.—Their deliverer was M. Cosson, who was going to Naples to assist a friend, and now joined their party.—They stopped at an hotel facing the Bay, and, as it was late before they arrived, they did not propose retiring to rest till after midnight. Cosson then went to his chamber, and Dorville proposed to take a turn by .the sea-side, to which the Marquis, invited by the moonlight scenery, consented. As they proceeded, the Marquis said, " Dorville, the stillness and solemnity of the hour invites me to unfold to you the fatal secret of mv boson!—In the early part of my life I conceived a passion for a beautiful girl, young and unacquainted with the world, like myself; we lived but for each other. Her father was an honest tradesman, and my Coli-nette became the protegee of her distant relation, the Viscountess Barraud, who was a rigid bigot, and averse to our marriage. Every day continued to augment our affection, till Colinette was recalled to Paris, and the Viscountess. put into my hand a letter from mv father, commanding me to renounce her. On the day when we parted-, she gave me a cross of ebony, as a pledge of faith between us. I snatched it. eagerly, with a trembling hand engraved the word, " Remember," on it, and then, replacing it on her bosom, bid her keep it for my sake. When Colinette set out for Paris, I departed for Versailles. On my arrival I flew to my father, and only waited till a banquet he had given was over/* to teH him of my despair. Before his friends retired, I re-
Q62
THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
ceived a letter from the object of my idolatry, statins, that her father would immure her in a convent the following day. 1 was raving like one deprived of rc-eson, when Beaulieu, the friend in whom I placed implicit confidence, entered the room ; and, having heard my distress, bid me rely entirely ou his exertions to.render us both happy. At daybreak my father paid me a visit in bed, and sternly told me, " that, if I wished to retain the. name of son, I must, without hesitation, set out on my travels, and the Abbe Besant might accompany' me." There was no appeal; the next day we departed for Flanders, and had scarcely got three posts from Paris, when a letter from my inhuman friend reached me, stating, that Colinette's father was shut up for ever in the Bastile.—We proceeded on our route till I was taken alarmingly ill, and my father was sent for, as I was reduced to extreme danger. He planted a fresh dagger in my heart, by the information that Colinette was just married, and her father dead! When I had somewhat amended, 1 flew to Paris, but neither Colinette nor her Husband could Ve found. I cursed the villain Beaulieu, whose lettre-de-cachet had imprisoned and murdered my Colinette's father, and flew to the Viscountess Barraud, who drove me from her door. Again I set out on my travels, and then saw Henrietta Finch.—She was amiable, and I married her. On my leturn to Paris, a short time before my father's death, £ found myself censured as the seducer of Colinette, and the destroyer of her father, and I traced the calumny to Beau-lieu; bm when 1 taxed him with it, he denied it. From this period I became a favourite at court, and the rival of the Count Beaulieu, whose secret rancour continued to increase. Six years after .my marriage, the Viscountess Barraud sent for me. She was on her death bed, and I arrived.in time to learn from her lips that my Colinette had never been married, and that her father was still the iuhabitantof a dungeon. She expired before I could ask where Colinette was to be found, and all I could do was to exert myself for the liberation of her father, which the villain Beaulieu again prevented; and thus have my wrongs rested since his flight to Italy, to avoid the revolutionary fury."
As Lhe Marquis finished his narrative, the. morning had dawned, atud they observed at a little distance a group of lazzaroni.-enter a boat, and row towards the opposite.shore of Sicily, a circumstance that excited' the notice of theTflE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.	63
Marquis, wljo resolved to pursue them, if his enquiries respecting Dodier should prove unsuccessful.—The following day was devoted to this purpbse, and not being able to trace that ar< h fiend, the Marquis, Dorville, arid Cosson, hired a vessel to carry them in pursuit of the lazzaroni. Mademoiselle d.u Montfort rose early in the morning to write letters, and entered th^ saloon for that purpose, where Dorville soon joined her. His despondency alarmed Serina, who, taking his hand tenderly, while her eyes were suffused with tears, asked him the cause of his affliction. " Alas!" said Dorville, " the fatal secret can no longer be concealed!—I am married!" Serina shuddered. O Serina,'' returned Dorville, " ray wife was the object of my father's choice.—It was her wealth that won him, and my title was -the charm that attracted her. Since the first year we have never seen each other, and our dislike is mutual."—Serina then retired to her chamber, and sought relief in tears and vain regrets.
In the evening, every thing being, ready, the three friends set sail with a prosperous breeze; but, towards midnight, a fresh gale sprung up, which in an hour augmented'to a tern-|>est. The storm continued till the dawn began to breaks when it was found that the vessel had been driven back to the east side of the island of Caprea, and it was judged proper by the pilot to run into a creek near the Promontory. This being effected, they instantly repaired to the house of a fisherman, near the beach;,and as they could not repair their damage before the following morning, while the women endeavoured to sleep, the Marquis and his friends proceeded to examine the island. At the close of day, De Montfort, in strolling along the shore, observed the same group of lazz.ironi, who had on the preceding morning departed from Naples, get into their boat, and row back with the utmost expedition.—The Marquis then returned to the islander's hut, where a supper was provided. They were just retiring to rest, when one of the sailors belonging to their vessel rushed in; and called their attention to some torches which seemed to move about the side of the Promontory next them, and then disappeared in the earth.— The fisherman said such lights were seen there every night, and that he supposed the place-was haunted, as many had gone there, but none eyer returned.—From this account
0 264
THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
the Marquis arid his friends, with four sailors, well armed, proceeded with flambeaux to the spot, and entered the lofty arch of a stupendous ruin : passing into a spacious hall, €hey ascended to a broad staircase, -which conducted to a large apartment, in which two men were sleeping, with several flasks of wine, and two poniards before them.—One of them had his right'hand covered with blood, and seemed much wounded.—Having secured these ruffians, they continued wandering through underground recesses, till they came to a cavern on the sea shore. They observed the track of human steps leading to a niche in the farther corner of the recess, which terminated in a point, before which a large stone was placed, as if by the hand of nature; by their united efforts this barrier was removed, and in an inner cave were discovered wfapons and chests of various descriptions ; and, ampng the rest, the little iron box of the Marquis* containing his property entire.—Unable to form any conjecture how this precious treasure became the property of these unknown banditti, they replaced the chests and the stone, and retired with that of !Qe Montfort.— Having secured their prisoners, the whole'party soon after set sail from Caprea; and had not proceeded far from land-, when one of the banditti requested permission to make his defence. His impressive manner struck the Marquis, and he requested him to go on.
" Life," said he, " is of no value to "the wretched ; and if you wish to do me a kindness, suffer me to die. The blood which stains my arm is the first I ever shed illegally, and it shall be the last.—I am one of a chosen band of exiled no* bles, whose souls are lofty, and whose wrongs are infinite.—* I am a Frenchrnan, your countryman, fourteen years exiled from France for having challenged a court parasite, who had seduced my sister. Had I not obeyed, I should have been condemned to perish in a dungeon with my father !—When the energies of nature are checked by the tyranny of des* potic rulers, the mind, goaded by wrongs, pants for revenge. For my services under the gallant La layette, what was my recompence ? I found my sister robbed of innocence, and' a father condemned to the Bastile :" " Who condemned him ?" cried the Marquis eagerly. " Albertde Montfort!" • replied the prisoner.-—The reducer of my sister was the villainous Count Beaulien V " Thy father and sislei/s name enquired .the Marquis, pale and trembling. " Antoinc !"THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
65
replied the man. " My sister was the beautiful Colinetto de Rigaud !" Lives .she still ?" cried the Marquis. " She does!" whispered Cosson. " When wc reach Naples I will elucidate this mystery." De Rigaud continued : " Now* Frenchmen, think ye not I deserve praise for taking the villain's life!" "Whose life?" enquired Dorville. " De Montfort's !" replied De Rigaud.—" Last night he hired a boat to carry him across to Sicily ; and, seeing we were to appearance lazzaroni, he engaged us. He was a valuable passenger, for he had a small iron chcst with him, on which was the name of Albert de Montfort —All my soul was up in arms, at beholding the murderer of my peace and honour.—I asked if he were the Marquis, and he confessed he was.—The proof was sufficient: I seized my dagger in tftemoinent when hewas unguarded, plunged it intohis breast, and gave him to the deep!" " No plea can sanction this assassination!" said Cosson. " I grant it," said De • Rigaud ; " but were mine common feelings ? torn from my native soil, my kindred scattered, and my father imprisoned at the will of a tyrannical noble!—Ask your hearts,-and if they pronounce me guilty, give the wheel to your countryman, who was the murderer of his father!'1 " Unbind lum !" said the Marquis ; the sailors loosed the cords :— " Thou shalt be free." " Come then, blessed Freedom !" cried De Rigaud, and he instantly plunged into the waves, which parted to receive him, and then closed for'ever. .
Madame de Montfort escaped this dreadful scene, being in the cabin ; nor did the tejrified De-Montfort withdraw his eyes from the fatal spot till they were landed on the quay at Naples. With the sincerest grief he regretted the fate of De Rigaud, and heaped imprecations on the head of Beau-lieu. The moment this Marquis arrived at the auberge, he requested to speak with Cosson in private. 4< Now, my friend," said-De Montfort, " elucidate what remains obscure in this-eventful history.—If Colinette still lives— "She lives!" replied Cosson, "and has long bui'ied her sorrows in the gloom of a cloister. To snatch, a parent from the Bastile, she sacrificed her honout to Beaulieu.— la two months after he was released, but on-condition that he should, pass the remainder of his days in solitude, to, avoid the vengeance which would follow your knowledge of his emancipation." " Heaven can witness," cried De Mont-.
O o 3TIIE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
fort, " I abhorred the deed." " Your neglect of Colinette," continued Cosson, " authorized her resentment,-And your marriage confirmed her affliction. She was also sworn to secresy, so that no one, not even the Viscouiuess Barraud, knew Antoine de Rigaud was liberated.—The unfortunate victim of Beaulieu gave to the world a daughter-, and retired soon arfter to a convent, while her father, ignorant of the sacrifice his child had made, was sent to a chateau of Beaulieu's, it) -Gascony." "He lives!" exclaimed De Monifort, " and I have seen him \" Cosson proceeded :—" The melancholy story of Colinette I have lately receiver, written by her own hand.—Previous to her eternal seclusion, she sent yoa a little ebony cross to Mont-fioir; you were then in England. Her daughter was adopted by the Duchess Barraud, (the mother of the Vis-Count,) and she has lately, by her death, received considerable property. She was educated at Paris, and thenco removed to Languedoc, where 1 married her."
Juliana now entered the room, and the Marquis pressed the likeness of the unfortunate Colinette to his bosom.— Having hired some new apartments at an hotel in Naples, Madflme de Montfort, before supper was finished, made ari excuse to retire, and left the party in earnest conversation; Passing along the second gallery, she observed a glimmering light in aside room, and, hearing nothing stir, she gently opened the door, and sa^v a superb velvet coffin ill the middle of the chamber. On reading the plate, it proved to be the corpse of her mother, Lady Charlotte Finch, who had expired on her journey near Naples. The Abbe Besant, who had been sent out to meet her, had made Madame (Je Montfort's peace with her mother, who had bequeathed fcer a splendid fortune.
While Madame de Montfort was thus engaged, a monk had entered to the party at supper, and asked for the Marquis.—" My business," -said the Monk, " is to console the dying. If you would see the last of one tvho owns he has basely injured you, follow me." Nothing could deter the Marquis. The Morfk conducted him to the inner chamber of a convent, where, on a narrow pallet, lay the expiring Dodier The Marquis shuddered ; " I come not to re1* proach yon," said De Montfort; your peaefe is made witk nie ; feiay heavfm grant the same!"HIE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER. 6f
u Hear my confession!" said the dying man ; it will ease my last moments.—My father was the faithful servant of your's, and for some trifling offence the Marquis shot him basely through the heart, in the forest of Montnoir.—-The deed was - attributed to accident.—At the supposed point of death he confessed the deed, and, as a recom-pence, promised, to l^ave me all his fortune.—But when he recovered, a reconciliation took place between you, and his friendship cooled towards me. We quitted Paris for Mont-hoir, and there, disputing on some subject, he reproached me with ingratitude.—We parted •> he retired to his chapel ;—the spirit of revenge was my guide.—With own
dagger the horrid deed was effected!--
" I had dearly forgotten my hatred to" the name of De Montfort, when from your hand I received ,a blow; this, 4,dded to the rejection of my son in marriage, determined me to deBtroy you. Meeting Dorvrlle in the forest, I mistook him for you, and stabbed him; and afterwards learning, that he should know the assassin from a million, I engaged an associate, Orsano Cormazzo.tokillhijm, who, till the moment of his death, never ceased with me. to follow you.—He was wounded near Monte Carelli. We were
escaping, after I had stabbed the good father Paulo."-
The p.'ing of annihilation now seized Dodier, and he rolled lifeless from the pallet 011 the pavement. He was ignorant of his son,s having died by his own hands; hence ihe t>ld Marquis's property reverted to Serina, and Do-dier's personal property, to his wife, Signora Sospira. The Monk informed!, De Montfort that Dodier was stabbed by Some lazzaroni, whom he had hired to carry hiiu to, the opposite shore ; after which he was thrown overboard ; but struggled till he was taken up by a boat faking to land, and tlius was deposited in his convent.
The Marquis hastened back to the hotel, where he found Besant had arrived with old Antoine de Rigaud ; tbe corpse of Lady Finch was gent, off to the family vault in Scotland, and De Montfort proceeded to ,Tuscany, to serve his friend Count Cuculli. Dorville remained at Nappies with his wife, who had been ordered there a short time previously to his arrival, and was in a deep decline. Stopping at the convent on the lake Albano, the Marquis's party recognized among the nuns the wife of Beauli^ty.—Opening Iter faint 'eyes, she exclaimed, on seeing Cosson, ^ Oh!68 THE BLOOD-STAINED DAGGER.
Tardieu !" and fell into his arms. " Restored to existence •when I thought you haa long ceased to Jive," said Tardieu, " may this" moment of m< cling terminate all your sorrows: your husband is no more!"—.Madame Beaulieu's countenance expressed the anticipation of that happiness she was not destined to expedience. " This habh," said sh< , " is merely probationary, and will not inipode.au union which our adverse fate has so long delayed.—1 he Abbtss knows all my story, and will with joy release me." Tardieu shrank-from ihe task of destroying her newly raised hopes by the disclosure of his marriage with Juliana. He had not power to speak, but, embracing hei for the last time, rushed out of the porch, and darted along the winding path; at the same time pointing to the Marquis to account for his inability to slay. The story of his marriage was explained to her, and she resigned herself 1o the ordination of heaven. The Marquis fell th-° highest and most unexpected pleasure in learning, that Cosson was the son of his friend, the gallant Tardu u. — Madame Beaulieir, not long after, claimed her husband's property at Florence, and joined their party. Signora Sospira's faculties, in a few weeks, by kind treatment, were entirely restored. At Florence they learned, .that Caltivo had fallen by the hands of Cosson, on the skirts of the forest near the lake Alba no, and that he had previously murdered Maria, who had been the compar nion of his flight, and whom he had destroyed in revenge for her having betrayed him.—De Montfort and his family, accompanied by the Abbe Besant, and the -venerable An-toine, who were ihe partners of their prosperity, not long aftpr, sailed ;for England, where Dorville joined them a tew months after their arrival. He returned a widower, and was united to the virtuous Seriria.
THE ENIX.
FREDERIC( eg )
FREDERIC STAUN;
OR, THE
REVENGE OF DISAPPOINTMENT.
The writer of this article, when abroad, in proceeding
towards S-was obliged to enter a large and deep forest.
About the middle of the route be observed eight crosses of wood, placed by the sides of each other, and which from time appeared to be much decayed. The number of these pious erections excited his curiosity, and he journeyed slowly on, in the expectation of meeting some one who might elucidate the object of his research.—At length an old wood-cutter appeared, who, sitting himself down on the stump of a tree, related the following history.
" An age has now elapsed since a young gentleman, of the name of Frederic Staun, lived in the village of D*——. Ilis character was good and pious, and several of his relatives still exist in the village^—He was the son of an unfortunate father; who, after having entirely, dissipated his fortune, was obliged to exist in poverty and miser}?.—Frederic was enamoured of Catherine Tourvflle, the daughter of a rich farmer in an adjacent village, by whom, asvlell as her parents, he was warmly beloved. While the lovers indulged in the mutual pleasures of reciprocal affection, a war broke out with a neighbouring Prince, and Frederic was constrained to become a soldier. Previously to his departure, he swore eternal fidelity to his Catherine, and promised to return in a twelvemonth, to espouse her. The charming girl, on her side, vowed a hundred times to know no other love; and, having shed a torrent of tears at their cruel separation, Frederic quitted the village to join a regiment of cavalry, then recruiting in his canton-. For a considerable time did Catherine continue to weep at his absence, and pray for his Raje.return: nor were her wishes indifferent to her family^ all'of Whom, 'except her mothers felt an interest in the lor-70
FREDERIC 8TAUN
tune of the young soldier. Madame Tourville was the fir§t who endeavoured to depreciate Frederic in the opinion of her daughter; her object was to detach her affection from its first choice, and to inspire her with a passion for another more wealthy. The fortunate person whom she had selected for the prosecution of her scheme v. as a rich widower of the same village ; and, as she very well knew the cupidity of her husband, who sought after wealth as the first good, but little doubt remained that he would present any obstacle to the execution of her prudential scheme for the interest of his family. When she consulted her husband, he instantly seconded her endeavours to overcome the resistance of Catherine.—They represented in the ablest manner to hei, the certain advantages to be enjoyed with Mr. F. (who did not then exceed his fiftieth year,) when compared with the property of her first lover. " Frederic," said they, " is a. young gentleman of small fortune, which he may extravagantly spend, as his father did before him; he will return from the army at once dissipated and extravagant.—Nay, while you are hopelessly expecting him, year after year, he may perhaps be among the wounded or slain." These and other arguments made little impression on the faithful Mfir demoiselle Tourville; and all the concession she made to the wishes and threats of her parents was, that, she would bestow her hand on Mr. F if, in the space of one year, Frederic did neither write to her nor return. " I have sworn," said she, " to wait during a year, and I will on no account give him an example of falsehood." " Right," said her father.—" A promise solemnly sworn to should be religiously observed ;but,after the time ot its limitation is passed, the obligation is no longer binding." At length the year glided away; no letters came, and Frederic had not returned. Shortly after, the names of the voting lady and Mr. F. were put up in bans, and published by the minister of the church: the day of the wedding was also fixed. After l6 months of service, the regiment was nrdered.into garrison, and Mr. Staun obtained leave of absence for a few weeks»
He arrived at the village of D-, on the previous evening
of the marriage day of his beloved Catherine.—Having alighted from his horse, and entered an inn, he enquired'the news of the village, and learned that Mademoiselle Tourville was to be married on the following morning.-When
he received the afflicting intelligence, he demonstrated theFREDERIC STAUN.
71
most perfect indifference; and, sealing himself at the tables he ordered supper to be provided, during which he entertained the company iu thfe room with the history of the events during the war, and the bailies in which he had been personally engaged.—At break of day he saddled his horse, and, without saying any thing, quitted the village.—In the mean time the parents of Catherine rose early in the morning to adorn themselves, and prepare' for the celebration of the marriage.—A general gaiety sat on the countenance of all who knew the lovely bride; and they considered the happiness of Mr. F. as complete.—The latter, however, seemed to be the only one, ^xcept Catherine, who ^id not rejoice on the occasion.—A melancholy hungupon his brow, which could be attributed to 110 other cause than the change of condition he was about to enter into.—The looks of the obedient Mademoiselle Tourville corresponded to his, but her unhappiness arose from giving her hand where her heart was adverse'; his from a presentiment of his approaching fate, 'and which was justly due to him from having made himself a party to a plan of retaining his rival's letters from reaching the hand of Catherine, during his absence. The horses were attached to two chariots, richly adorned with flowers and ribbons; and the nuptial party, consisting o£the bride and bridegroom, her father and mother, and four illations, commenced their procession to the parish church, which lay by the very spot in the forest that has so much excited your curiosity, preceded by music and trumpets.— Arrived at the middle and most gloomy part of the forest,v a cavalier rusht d from among the. trees,, placed himself in the road, and fired his carbine at the petrified Catherine.— Horror for a moment appalled all the party, during which the horseman drew two pistpls from his belt, and successively shot the bridegroom and the mother of his Catherine. Her father shared the same fate by a blow on the head from one of the pistols; and, upon a disposition being manifested by the relatives to secure the assassin, he attacked them, as they alighted from the carriage, with his sabre, and they all fell victims to his fury.—He then re-loaded one of his pistols, and in the mean time informed one of the attendants, who had been slightly wounde d, that his name was Frederic Staun, and that to himself only were the love and hand -of TVlademoiselle Tourville plighted in this world!—" Unwilling to die," said Frederic to Jthe \alet, " without ajustiE-FREDERIC ST A UN,
cation, you shall know my injuries!—After a hard campaign, in. which I had writteh several letters to Charlotte, I at length-received one in her own hand-writing, in which
she informed me that she was about to leave D-, and
settle at some distance with a husband whom her parents had selected.—My grief was unutterable.—We were ordered into garrison; and I, then wrote to my friend Mr. F. for a confirmation of the baseness of Mademoiselle Tourville; he corroborated the letter of my rejection.—I then obtainvd leave of absence, and set off to reproach the perjured Tourville. On my arrival near the village of D-, I learned
that it was my friend who was her lover, and who had interposed between my happiness and Charlotte." Tjjien, der-la-ring that as he had lived for her, so he would perish with her, he mounted the carriage; and., having saluted the dying Catherine, he blew out his brains, and fell into her arms.—The expiring bride recognized her lover, and her last words were, te O Frederic, I am 'the victim of my parents!—My heart was ever thine!—I die to join thy departed spirit!" As a memorial of this dreadful event, the eight bodies were deposited here, and as many grosses erected. The remains of the assassin were afterwards transported to 35—. His tongue was cut out at the place' of execution, his members were torn in pieces with red hot pincers, and his carcase placed on the wheel.—rEvery couple,
who1 proceed from the village of D-- to the parish
church, to be married, always stop at this spot in the forest, and pray for the souls of the eight unfortunate victims,"
Such was the tale which the wood-cutter recited.—Ha-, ving given him a trifling gratification for his intelligence, the Writer repaired to the fatal spot again, and with the most iivtly sensations contemplated the group of crosses.-^-They naturally inspired reflections on the destructive vengeance which violent love and disappointment inspire.— Were such the general practice of rash and indiscriminating passions; what a scene of anarchy and horror would human Society present!—Let every one therefore respect and promote the energy of good laws, which exist for the purpose «of rendering redress to the injured; and; in snatching the poniard from the hand of the assassin, place it in those of justice.
FINIS.
TPiummer, Printer, Seething-Lant.