University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.
MYSTERIES OF THE TOWER.

The apartment I had so unceremoniously
entered, without giving its fair
tenant any warning of my approach,
was small and circular, like the one below,
with its four long narrow windows
looking to the four points of the compass,
and was furnished, carpeted, and
decorated in the same style, with sofas,
ottomans, tables, mirrors and paintings.
The windows here were open, and
were withal so high above the ground,
that a goodly portion of the park could
be seen over the angular roofs of the
surrounding buildings; and the summit
of the tower, one story higher still,
commanded a view, not only of the
grounds of D'Estang Villé, but of the
adjacent country for miles around.

I glanced around the chamber; but
of all I saw, only one object arrested
my attention, and this enchained it. It
was a beautiful female, just in the bloom
of life, whose attitude was that of one
startled to her feet by the abrupt and
unexpected intrusion of a stranger. I
had only time to note that she was
robed in white, with golden ringlets
flowing carelessly down around her face
and neck, and over a portion of her
snowy garments—that her eyes were
bright and sparkling—that her features
were very pale, but radiant with no
common intellect—when, advancing a
step or two, with lady-like grace, she
said, in a clear, silvery voice, which,
though soft, had a peculiar ring of
courtly pride, if I may so express
myself:

“May I know why I am honored
with this unexpected visit of a stranger?”

“Have I the pleasure of addressing
Miss Viola St. Auburn?” I said, in
reply.

“That is my name, sir,” she answered,
with a courtly bow, and an air
of condescension.

“Then permit me to say, Miss St.
Auburn, I bring you good tidings.”

“They could never come in a time

more needed,” she rejoined, with something
like a sigh: “for good tidings
have of late been strangers to me. Am
I honored with the visit of an emissary
of Count D'Estang?” she inquired,
and I fancied there was a certain degree
of irony in her tone.

“No, Miss St. Auburn,” I replied,
“I come from one whom I have reason
to know is an enemy of his lordship,
and a true friend of the lady I address.”

A change like lightning came over her
countenance—a bright ray of hope animated
her features, making them beautiful
beyond description—and slightly
raising her hands, and taking a quick
step or two forward, with her eyes fixed
intently on mine, she exclaimed, in a
tone of the deepest anxiety:

“Speak! his name?”

“Morton Harley.”

“God be praised!—at last!” she
ejaculated; and dropping her head upon
her heaving bosom, and sinking upon a
seat near, she covered her face and
burst into tears.

If the mere mention of my having
come from one she so dearly loved,
could excite such deep emotions in the
breast of Viola, I felt that Harley had
acted with his usual wisdom in not disclosing
himself to her too suddenly. As
soon as she could in any degree regain
composure, she looked up quickly, fixed
her eyes piercingly upon me—with an
expression of hope, and fear, and doubt
—and exclaimed, eagerly:

“You are not deceiving me, sir?”

“Upon my honor, as a gentleman,
no, Miss St. Auburn,” I replied; and I
felt there was something convincing in
my look that my words were words
of truth. “Morton Harley and I are
friends,” I went on to say: “my name
is Henry Walton; we first met in Virginia,
my native place—afterward on
the Ohio; we have ever since been
companions; he has honored me with
his confidence; and we have come
hither expressly in search of yourself,
with a view to relieve you from captivity.”

“Thanks! sir—thanks! Oh, I could
bless you on my knees!” she cried,
hurriedly, coming forward and taking
my hand. “You must excuse my
weakness and doubt, Mr. Walton; but
oh, sir, could you know what I have
suffered! You said we, Mr. Walton:
Is he—is Morton—is Mr. Harley then
with you?”

“In the room below,” I answered.

“Oh, Heavens! so near?” she exclaimed.
“But how did you obtain
access to this prison? for I can call it
by no milder term.”

I hurriedly gave her the particulars,
alluded to her letter, mentioned the disguise
of my friend, and concluded by
saying:

“And for the rest, Miss St. Auburn,
you shall have it from the lips of Morton
Harley, himself, whom I will immediately
send to you.”

I then bowed myself out, leaving her
seated upon a sofa, pale and agitated.

“Well,” exclaimed Harley, as I entered
the chamber below, “have you
seen her?”

“I have, Morton, and have prepared
her to see you.”

He grasped my hand, pressed it hard,
and without a word, but with a look I
understood, disappeared up the narrow
winding stairs. A moment or two after,
I heard a joyful cry, and then all became
still. That the lovers might have
no listeners, other than themselves, I
now closed the secret door, and found
myself alone in the apartment with
Anne.

She was standing by a large painting,
a few feet distant; and as she turned
her face toward me, I saw that she was
more pale than usual, and very much
agitated.

“Oh, sir, I am terrified!” she said, in
a low, tremulous tone.

“Any new cause of alarm?” I inquired.

“I have reflected on what I have
done, and am doing,” she replied, “and
should my lord unexpectedly return,
what will become of us?”

“We will not borrow trouble,” I rejoined,
“but face the evil only when
there is no alternative.”

“Oh, sir, you do not know his lordship

so well as I,” she pursued, “or you
would tremble at the bare thought of
meeting him in an angry mood! He is
terrible in his anger! and he is all-powerful
to execute whatever he wills!”

“He is only a man,” I said; “and
though I would rather not meet, I do
not fear him.”

“But you know him not, sir—you
know him not, I see. He is only a
man himself—but he is at the head
of—”

“Of a band of outlaws,” I rejoined,
as Anne stopped, probably bethinking
herself that she was on the point of
betraying a secret. “I suspected as
much.”

“I did not say that—I did not
mean—”

“Never mind,” I interrupted; “at
present we will not discuss the matter.
But if his lordship is so powerful, and
so dreadful in his anger,” I continued,
“there is so much the more necessity
that we find a speedy way to get Ma'm'selle
Viola out of his clutches.”

“Ah, sir, I fear it cannot be done—in
fact, I am certain of it—and therefore I
think it best that you and your friend
depart ere an exposure takes place.”

“And do you think we have ventured
thus far, to be turned from our purpose
now?” I rejoined sternly. “You
must have a very poor opinion of our
courage and manly qualities, if, after
having found the lady we came to seek,
you can for a moment suppose we will
go quietly away, and leave her in the
hands of a villain, and a victim to your
jealousy?”

“But I will swear, most sacredly,
never to injure a hair of her head.”

“It is useless to talk, girl—we are
determined upon our course.”

“And what is that?” she asked, in an
excited tone.

“Not to quit D'Estang Villé, unless
Viola St. Auburn goes with us.”

“But if I convince you she cannot
escape?”

“Then we shall remain to brave the
anger of this terrible Count.”

“But in his rage he may kill you!”

“We take our chance, of course.”

“Heavens! I tremble at the conse
quences! Will nothing induce you to
depart without her?”

“No, nothing.”

“But suppose I summon my lord's
domestics, and have you forcibly ejected?”

“What! after the oath you have
taken to assist us?”

“But circumstances may compel me
to break that oath!”

“It shall be our care, then, you do
not have an opportunity. Since you
have hinted at treachery, therefore, I
feel justified in telling you, you are
yourself a prisoner in this tower.”

“Indeed!” returned the damsel, with
flashing eyes. “Since you talk thus,
I feel justified in testing your assertion;”
and she sprang away to the door.
“Locked!” she cried, in a tone of
alarm, recoiling in dismay.

“You see, girl, I have not made any
vain boast.”

“Oh! Heavens! Heavens! what shall
I do?” she cried.

“Find a way for us to escape with
Ma'm'selle Viola; and do not again
attempt it yourself,” I replied, severely,
“or we shall be compelled to adopt
harsh measures.”

“But I know of no way for you to
escape,” she rejoined, much alarmed.

“What of the secret passage?”

“I do not know where it is; your
friend and I have been searching for it;
and even if found, it may not lead out
of the mansion, and certainly not beyond
the enclosure.”

“Well,” I returned, a new idea striking
me, “with your approval, could
we not take the porter into our confidence,
and be let out through the mansion,
without being disturbed?”

“And how would you leave the
grounds?”

“Through one of the gates.”

“But suppose the porter should refuse
to let you pass?”

“Our demand to be allowed to pass,
might be backed by such authority as
this,” I replied, producing one of my
revolvers.

“But if I connive at your escape,
what will become of me, when his
lordship returns and learns all?”

“You are the best judge of that
yourself: you shall go with us if you
like: one thing is certain, however,
your fate cannot be worse than you had
planned for yourself, if he succeeded in
wedding this lady.”

Anne remained thoughtful for a few
moments; and then brightening at a
new idea, exclaimed:

“I have it! I have it! You can perhaps
effect an escape with the lady, and
at the same time save me from disgrace.
My plan is this: I will call in Pierre;
we will frighten him, for he is timid,
into compliance with our wishes; and
you shall leave us both gagged and
bound—so that if not liberated by the
other servants, (and if so, they can testify
to the fact,) we can, when his lordship
returns, give out that we were
overpowered, and our condition will be
proof of our assertion.”

“Not a bad plan,” I said, approvingly.

“Then let us hasten its execution,”
said the damsel, eagerly. “I can soon
summon Pierre, and we ought to lose
no time.”

“I must consult my friend,” I replied.

“Oh, hasten to him, then.”

“I would rather await his return,” I
answered; “doubtless he will soon rejoin
us.”

I did not like to disturb Harley, for I
knew that he and Viola had a thousand
things to say to each other, which could
only be said in the absence of a third
party. I seated myself, therefore, in no
very patient mood, for I felt that every
moment was precious. Minute followed
minute, but no Harley came. I grew
restless and uneasy, and listened to
every sound, hoping it would prove to
be his footsteps on the stairs. Had he
forgotten where he was, and the business
that brought him here? Perhaps
so—for when were lovers, alone together,
ever known to act rationally and
prudently, in an emergency like the
present? At length I got up, and paced
the room to and fro.

“Had you not better speak to your
friend?” suggested Anne.

“Not yet—he will soon be here.”

A half hour passed away, and my
patience became exhausted.

“This will never do,” I said.

I opened the secret door, and called
my friend loudly by name. No answer.
I called again. No answer.

“Come,” I said to my companion,
“we will go up to them—for I feel with
you that delay is dangerous.”

“I will remain here,” she replied,
“till you return.”

“No,” rejoined I, bluntly, “I cannot
trust you; remember you have
made one attempt at escape already.”

She colored deeply, made no further
objection, but reluctantly, I thought,
complied with my request. We ascended
to the third story chamber, the
secret door of which I found closed. I
knocked. No answer. Again I knocked.
No answer. I listened, but could hear
no sound. Half indignant that Harley
should so forget himself at such a time,
I pressed the spring and pushed the
door open.

“I am sorry to be obliged to disturb
you, but—”

I had got thus far in my speech, and
my body cleverly into the chamber,
when I arrested my tongue and my steps,
and looked around me with an astonished
and half bewildered air. The room
was apparently tenantless—no Morton
or Viola were visible.

“Harley,” I called, thinking he might
be hiding behind some of the furniture.
“Come! this is no time for practical
jokes—where are you?”

No answer. I looked at Anne, who
had entered the apartment behind me.
She was very pale, and seemed agitated
by a kind of superstitious fear—at least
I fancied so.

“What means this?” I demanded.

“I do not know,” she answered, in a
hushed tone, with quivering lips, looking
timidly around her.

“Come with me, and let us search
the apartment,” I said; and I took her
trembling hand, and retained it, for I
was fearful she might attempt another
escape and succeed.

We looked behind the sofas and ottomans,

and under every thing, but found
nothing. Some crimson curtains hung
before a small recess, which, drawn
aside, disclosed a bed, on which Viola
had reposed of nights during her imprisonment.
We looked under this,
but found no trace of those of whom
we were in search. Again I called Harley,
loudly, some two or three times—
but still received no answer.

“Girl!” I cried, grasping tightly the
hand of my frightened companion—
“what means this? where are they?”

“Upon my soul! I know no more
than yourself, sir,” she replied.

“There is a secret passage out of
this chamber, other than the one by
which we entered—show it to me!”

“If you were to kill me this minute,”
she replied, with ashy lips, and a
cold tremor running through her frame,
“I could not, for I know of none.
Perhaps—“ she hesitated, looked wildly
around, and then added, pressing closer
to me: “Oh! sir, this has been called
the haunted chamber.”

I saw she was really frightened, and
I withheld the angry rejoinder that was
upon my tongue. I was just beginning
to feel very strangely myself, when I
saw a painting, on the side we had entered,
swing back, and lo! there stood
Morton and Viola.

“This way, Harry! this way!” he
said: “I was just coming down for
you.”

“Have you found the secret passage?”
I exclaimed, springing forward.

“One leading up, but not down,” he
replied; “but I have found something
else you may as well look at.”

“What is it?”

“Viola will show you. Go with her,
Harry, and I will remain here with
Anne.”

“And I may as well inform you,” I
rejoined, “that Mistress Anne has made
one attempt at escape already.”

“Ha! indeed!” said Harley, fixing
his eyes keenly upon her—“I was
afraid of this. Well, so much the more
necessity for keeping close guard over
her. And I have heard other things,”
he added, still keeping his eyes upon
her, while hers sought the ground in
confusion, “that do not reflect any great
credit upon their author. However, a
reckoning day must come for all. Go,
Harry, and return soon, for we have no
time to lose. Viola, dear, you can
speak to him as if he were myself.”

Viola meantime was standing in a
small recess, disclosed by the swinging
back of the painting just mentioned;
and as she remained perfectly still,
looking out upon us, robed in white,
she resembled a beautiful statue in a
niche. On my joining her, she impul-sively
seized my hand, and with tears
in her eyes, exclaimed:

“Oh, Henry Walton, Heaven grant
the time may soon come when I can
show you my gratitude for all you have
done for me!”

I was quite taken by surprise, and in
some embarrassment replied, looking
alternately at her and my friend for explanation:

“Really, I am not aware what I
have done, to—”

“Generous natures seldom are,” interrupted
Harley. “There—go now.
I have merely been speaking of our
friendship, and the interest you have
taken in every thing that concerns me,
and you see its effect upon one who is
as grateful as she is true and affectionate.
But go! go! and return soon.”

Viola turned as Harley ceased speaking,
and saying, “This way, Mr. Walton,”
pointed to a spiral stairway, so
steep and narrow that it was with no
little difficulty we could ascend it. At
the top of this we emerged through a
trap door into a small, round apartment,
that seemed intended to be shut out
from observation, even by persons visiting
the summit of the tower—which
was still a few feet higher—for there
appeared to be no way to pass from one
to the other. There were no windows
to this secret retreat; but a large, heavy,
iron lamp, depending from the ceiling
by an iron chain, which Viola informed
me she had found lighted a few minutes
before, made sombrely visible the objects
in the apartment.

One hasty glance around, and I understood

why Harley had wished me to
come hither. In one corner stood a
small, but very solid press, for steel or
copper-plate printing—in another a machine
for die-sinking, or stamping coin,
while scattered about in a careless manner,
were tools of various kinds—dies
—plates—“bogus,” stamped and unstamped—bank
notes signed and unsigned—and
a hundred other things
unnecessary to be mentioned.

“Well,” exclaimed I, taking a rapid
survey of the apartment—“so monsieur
my lord is at the head of a gang of
counterfeiters, as Morton and I more
than suspected before we came here.”

“So it seems,” replied Viola.

“But how did you find this out?”

“The Count has more than once
visited me in the night, much to my
alarm,” she replied, in a low, quick,
excited tone; “but he always treated
me respectfully, with the exception
of telling me I could never go forth
again but as his bride—that he had
sworn this, and that he was one to keep
his oath. My reply, of course, has
always been a firm, decided negative—
though my very heart has shrunk
within me when I have so spoken.
Well, several times, for hours after he
had left me, I heard strange noises in
this direction—and once I questioned
him as to the cause. His answer,
doubtless intended to frighten me, was
that the room I occupied was termed
the haunted chamber, and he had no
other explanation for the sounds I heard.
I suspected more natural causes, however;
and the last time he was here I
determined, unknown to him, to watch
his exit. I succeeded, and discovered
that, instead of leaving the chamber by
the secret door through which you entered,
as had previously been my impression,
he, after going to that, cast a
hurried glance around, and glided to
another painting, which immediately
opened and closed behind him. In my
conversation with Morton, I mentioned
this to him; and approaching this painting,
and making a careful examination,
he soon discovered the spring which
commanded the door; and opening the
latter, we found our way hither.”

“And did the Count always return
through your chamber?” I inquired.

“Never, to my knowledge,” answered
Viola—“and from this Morton argues
that there is a secret passage from
here down through the tower. And
besides, I have heard these strange
noises at times when the Count had
not previously visited me.”

“He is a villain of the darkest die,
I fear,” I rejoined.

“I have from the first regarded him
as a bold, bad man,” returned Viola,
shuddering; “but I was not aware of
the extent of his criminality, till I came
hither—in fact, I knew not of this till
within the hour—though I cannot say I
am surprised at it.”

“I wonder you ever permitted yourself
to be brought here at all,” I said.

“My father insisted on it—and what
could I do?—though never would I
have suffered it, had I known what I
now know; but I was told that, after
visiting the Count's residence, if I would
not consent to wed him, I should have
a choice between him and a convent;
and in the hope that my father would
eventually relent from his stern determination,
should I in part comply with
his whim, I reluctantly assented to the
arrangement—though not, I must confess,
without some dark forebodings of
the troubles that have come upon me.”

“And could your father be so cruel
as to forfeit his word after you came
here, and no longer give you a choice,
save between becoming the wife of this
villainous Count and being a close prisoner
in this tower?”

“Alas! I know not how to answer
you,” replied Viola, in a dejected tone;
“for I have not seen my father since
the morning after my arrival; and then
he came and departed with Count D'Estang.
He seemed in a sadder mood
than usual; and ere they left the apartment,
some words passed between them,
that I fancied, for I could not distinguish
what was said, were not of the most
amicable nature. Morton is apprehensive
he has met with foul play; but, oh
Heaven! I hope not—for much as he
has wronged me, he is still my father,
and I would have no harm befall him.

Besides, the Count has always assured
me that he is well, and that on the day
I consent to become his wife, he shall
reappear to congratulate me. This positive
assurance—coupled with his absence,
and the fact that neither the porter
nor this girl, as Morton tells me,
have seen him since that morning—leads
me to think he may perhaps, like myself,
be a prisoner within this very
tower.”

“But why, Viola, (if you will permit
me as a friend to make use of the
name most familiar to me)—why, think
you, does this Count persist in wishing
to marry you against your inclination?”

“I really cannot say, unless it is because
he has said he would do it, sworn
he would do it, and is determined to
make his word good, let the consequences
be what they may. Oh, merciful
Heaven! that we were all safely out of
his clutches!”

“And, Heaven aid us! we soon
shall be,” I rejoined. “Cheer up, Viola—you
are now with friends, who will
only quit you with life, or when you
are again in safety.”

“Oh, how can I sufficiently thank
you!” she again exclaimed, her soft,
dark eyes filling with tears of gratitude.
“I can understand why dear Morton
has ventured so much—but you are,
comparatively speaking, a stranger.”

“Say no more, Viola—say no more
—but know that your safety shall henceforth
be as much my care as his who is
our mutual friend.” She would have
again replied, but I hastened to add:
“Come! with your permission, we will
rejoin Morton—for I have a plan to lay
before him, by which I hope to effect a
speedy escape.”

We found Harley busy with another
painting, nearly opposite our place of
entrance, with Mistress Anne seated
near, sobbing half hysterically.

“Well, Harry, you saw?” he exclaimed.

“What proves you right in your surmise,”
I rejoined.

“We may, if we get away in time,
make this discovery rather troublesome
to his lordship;” and there was a sarcastic
emphasis on the last word.

“And I have a plan which may give
us speedy release,” I replied; and I
hurriedly put Harley in possession of
the conversation held with Anne regarding
our escape.

“I like it,” he rejoined, “for it is
more likely to be successful than the
other, and will save us the trouble of
looking for this secret passage. You
consent to this, Anne?”

“So you will leave me gagged and
bound,” she answered.

“Oh, never fear but we will do that,”
said Harley, with a comical expression
that, serious as I felt, forced me to
smile.

“But my father!” now interposed
Viola: “he must not be left here a prisoner!”

“If your father is a prisoner here,
dear Viola,” replied Harley, a dark
frown settling on his brow, “he owes
it to himself—to the scheme of villainy
he attempted to practise against you
—and I have no sympathy with him
whatever.”

“But still, Morton, dear Morton, he
is my father,” said Viola, gently, approaching
him she addressed, resting her
soft white hand upon his shoulder, and
letting her bright dark eyes, all eloquent
with love, beam tenderly and pleadingly
upon his. “He is my father, dear Morton;
and were he to suffer even for his
own misdeeds, your Viola could not be
happy.”

“Pardon me, if I doubt he is your
father,” returned Harley; “for no father
could so misuse a child as he has
you, my own fair flower;” and throwing
an arm around her slender waist, he
drew her fondly to him.

“But you will forgive and forget all
for my sake, dear Morton, and try to
liberate him, will you not?” and again
the soft pleading eyes of Viola spoke
more than her lips.

“Were I certain of his being a prisoner
within this tower, as you seem to
think he is, dearest, I would do much
for your sake; but I tell you frankly,
I would neither risk my own life, nor
yours, to set him free. And why should
I? Do I owe him any gratitude for
the misery he has made you and I suffer?

Oh, Viola! Viola! you know not,
you can never know, the anguish, the
tortures, I have endured since the hour
we first met on the bank of that romantic
stream in old Virginia. When I
look back over the intervening time, it
seems as if I could number a thousand
years of grief and agony, with only
here and there a day of happiness. And
who caused me all this suffering?—who
but the man you term your father, whom
you would now have me peril my life
to rescue from a just punishment! But
come, dearest, we must talk of this elsewhere—for
now my only care is to get
you safely, if not secretly, away from
here, before the Count returns.”

“Oh, Heavens! we are lost! we are
lost!” now cried Anne, in a tone of
the utmost alarm, clasping her hands
wildly.

She was standing by the Southern
window, looking out upon the park,
over the front building.

“What is it?” cried Harley and I
in a breath, springing to her.

“The Count! the Count! See! he
has returned,” she almost shrieked.

It needed but a single glance toward the
left hand gate, to convince us she spoke
the truth—for there, sure enough, coming
leisurely up the avenue, was the
very same horseman we had seen ride
away an hour or two since. The next
moment he spurred his gallant animal;
and the roof of the building before us
soon shut him from our view, as he
drew near and nearer to the mansion.

Harley now turned to me, and I to
him, and we read in each other's looks,
the stern resolve of men who were
determined to face the worst with unflinching
firmness.