University of Virginia Library

1. PRECAUTION.

1. CHAPTER I.

Although the affections of Jane had sustained
a heavy blow, her pride had received
a greater, and no persuasions of her mother
or sister, could induce her to leave her room;
she talked but little, but once or twice she
yielded to the affectionate attentions of Emily,
and poured out her sorrows into the bosom
of her sister; at such moments, she
would declare her intention of never appearing
in the world again. One of these paroxysms
of sorrow was witnessed by her mother,
and, for the first time, self-reproach mingled
in the grief of the matron; had she
trusted less to appearances, and the opinions
of indifferent and ill-judging acquaintances,
her daughter might have been apprised in
season, of the character of the man who had
stolen her affections. To the direct exhibition
of misery, Lady Moseley was always
sympathetic, and for the moment, alive to its
causes and consequences; but a timely and
judicious safeguard against future moral evils,
was a forecast neither her inactivity of mind
or abilities were equal to.

We shall leave Jane to brood over her lover's
misconduct, while we regret she is without
the consolation, alone able to bear her up
against the misfortunes of life, and return to
the other personages of our history.

The visit to Mrs. Fitzgerald had been postponed
in consequence of Jane's indisposition;
but a week after the Colonel's departure,
Mrs. Wilson thought, as Jane had consented
to leave her room, and Emily really began to
look pale from her confinement by the side
of a sick bed, she would redeem the pledge
she had given the recluse, on the following
morning. They found the ladies at the cottage
happy to see them, and anxious to hear
of the health of Jane, of whose illness they
had been informed by note. After offering
her guests some refreshments, Mrs. Fitzgerald,
who appeared labouring under a greater
melancholy than usual, proceeded to make
them acquainted with the incidents of her
life.

The daughter of an English merchant at
Lisbon, had fled from the house of her father
to the protection of an Irish officer in the
service of his Catholic Majesty; they were
united, and the colonel immediately took his
bride to Madrid. The offspring of this union
were a son and daughter. The former, at an
early age, had entered into the service of his
king, and had, as usual, been bred in the
faith of his ancestors; but the Signora
M`Carthy had been educated, and yet remained,

a protestant, and, contrary to her faith
to her husband, secretly instructed her daughter
in the same belief. At the age of seventeen,
a principal grandee of the court of
Charles, sought the hand of the general's
child. The Conde D'Alzada was a match
not to be refused, and they were united in
that heartless and formal manner, marriages
are too often entered into, in countries where
the customs of society prevent an intercourse
between the sexes. The Conde never possessed
the affections of his wife; of a stern
and unyielding disposition his harshness repelled
her love; and as she naturally turned
her eyes to the home of her childhood, she
cherished all those peculiar sentiments she
had imbibed from her mother. Thus, although
she appeared to the world a catholic,
she lived in secret a protestant. Her
parents had always used the English language
in their family, and she spoke it as
fluently as the Spanish. To encourage her
recollections of this strongest feature, which
distinguished the house of her father from
the others she entered, she perused closely
and constantly those books which the death
of her mother placed at her disposal; these
were principally protestant works on religious
subjects, and the countess became a strong
sectarian, without becoming a christian. As
she was compelled to use the same books in
teaching her only child, the Donna Julia,
English, the consequences of the original
false step of her grandmother, were perpetuated
in the person of this young lady. In
learning English, she also learnt to secede
from the faith of her father, and entailed
upon herself a life, of either persecution or
hypocrisy. The countess was guilty of the
unpardonable error of complaining to their
child, of the treatment she received from her
husband; and as these conversations were held
in English, and were consecrated by the tears
of the mother, they made an indelible impression
on the youthful mind of Julia; who
grew up with the conviction, that next to
being a catholic herself, the greatest evil of
life, was to be the wife of one.

On her attaining her fifteenth year, she had
the misfortune (if it could be termed one) to
lose her mother, and within the year, her father
presented to her a nobleman of the vicinity
as her future husband; how long the religious
faith of Julia would have endured, unsupported
by example in others, and assailed
by the passions, soliciting in behalf of a young
and handsome cavalier, it might be difficult
to pronounce; but as her suitor was neither
very young, and the reverse of very handsome,
it is certain, the more he woo'd, the
more confirmed she became in her heresy,
until, in a moment of desperation, and as an
only refuge against his solicitations, she candidly
avowed her creed. The anger of her
father was violent and lasting; she was doomed
to a convent, as both a penance for her

sins, and a mean of reformation. Physical
resistance was not in her power, but mentally,
she determined never to yield. Her body
was immured, but her mind continued unshaken,
and rather more settled in her belief,
by the aid of those passions which had been
excited by injudicious harshness. For two
years she continued in her noviciate, obstinately
refusing to take the vows of the order,
and at the end of that period, the situation of
her country had called her father and uncle to
the field, as defenders of the rights of their lawful
prince; perhaps to this, it was owing that
harsher measures were not adopted in her case.

The war now raged around them in its
greatest horrors, until, at length, a general
battle was fought in the neighbourhood,
and the dormitories of the peaceful nuns
were crowded with wounded British officers.
Amongst others of his nation, was a Major
Fitzgerald, a young man of strikingly handsome
countenance, and pleasant manners;
chance threw him under the more immediate
charge of Julia; his recovery was slow, and
for a time doubtful, and as much owing to
good nursing, as science. The Major was
grateful, and Julia, unhappy as she was beautiful.
That love should be the offspring of
this association, will excite no surprise. A
brigade of British encamping in the vicinity
of the convent, the young couple sought its
protection from Spanish vengeance, and Romish
cruelty. They were married by the

chaplain of the brigade, and for a month they
were happy.

As Napoleon was daily expected in person
at the seat of war, his generals were alive
to their own interests, if not to that of their
master. The body of troops in which Fitzgerald
had sought a refuge, being an advanced
party of the main army, were surprised and
defeated with loss. After doing his duty as
a soldier at his post, the major in endeavouring
to secure the retreat of Julia, was intercepted,
and they both fell into the hands of
the enemy. They were kindly treated, and
allowed every indulgence their situation admitted
of, until a small escort of prisoners
were sent to the frontiers; in this they were
included, and had proceeded to the neighbourhood
of the Pyrenees, where, in their
turn, the French were assailed suddenly, and
entirely routed; and the captive Spaniards, of
which the party, with the exception of our
young couple, consisted, released. As the
French guard made a resistance until overpowered
by numbers, an unfortunate ball
struck Major Fitzgerald to the earth—he
survived but an hour, and died where he fell,
on the open field. An English officer, the
last of his retiring countrymen, was attracted
by the sight of a woman weeping over the
body of a fallen man, and approached them.
In a few words Fitzgerald explained his situation
to this gentleman, and exacted a

pledge from him to guard his Julia, in safety,
to his mother in England.

The stranger promised every thing the
dying husband required of him, and by the
time death had closed the eyes of Fitzgerald,
had procured from some peasants a rude conveyance,
into which the body, with its almost
equally lifeless widow, were placed. The
party which intercepted the convoy of prisoners,
had been out from the British camp
on other duty, but its commander hearing of
the escort, had pushed rapidly into a country
covered by the enemy to effect their rescue;
and his service done, was compelled to a
hasty retreat to insure his own security; to
this was owing the indifference, which left
the major to the care of the Spanish peasantry
who had gathered to the spot, and the retreating
troops had got several miles on their
return, before the widow and her protector
commenced their journey; it was impossible
to overtake them, and the inhabitants acquainting
the gentleman that a body of French
dragoons were already harassing their rear, he
was compelled to seek another route to the
camp; this, with some trouble, and no little
danger, he at last effected, and the day following
the skirmish, Julia found herself lodged
in a retired Spanish dwelling, several
miles within the advanced posts of the British
army. The body of her husband was
respectfully interred, and Julia left to mourn
her irretrievable loss, uninterrupted by any

but hasty visits of the officer in whose care
she had been left, which he stole from his
more important duties as a soldier.

A month glided by in this melancholy manner,
leaving to Mrs. Fitzgerald the only consolation
she would receive—her incessant visits
to the grave of her husband. The cells of her
protector, however, became more frequent;
and at length he announced to her his intended
departure for Lisbon, on his way to England.
A small covered vehicle, drawn by one horse,
was to convey them to the city, at which
place he promised to procure her a female
attendant, and necessaries for the voyage
home. It was no time or place for delicate
punctilio; and Julia quietly, but with a heart
nearly broken, prepared to submit to the
wishes of her late husband. After leaving
the dwelling, the manners of her guide sensibly
altered: he became complimentary and
assiduous to please, but in a way rather to
offend than conciliate; until his attentions became
so irksome, that Julia actually meditated
stopping at some of the villages through
which they passed, and abandoning the attempt
of visiting England entirely. But the
desire to comply with Fitzgerald's wish, she
would console his mother for the loss of an
only child, and the dread of the anger of her
relatives, determined her to persevere until
they reached Lisbon, where she was resolved
to separate forever from this disagreeable and
unknown guardian, chance had thrown her
into the keeping of.

The last day of their weary ride, in passing
a wood, the officer so far forgot his
own character and Julia's misfortunes, as
to offer personal indignities. Grown desperate
from her situation, Mrs. Fitzgerald
had sprung from the vehicle, and by her
cries, had attracted the notice of an officer,
who was riding express on the same
road with themselves. He advanced to her
assistance at speed, but as he arrived near
them, a pistol fired from the carriage brought
his horse down, and the treacherous friend
was enabled to escape undetected. Julia endeavoured
to explain her situation to her rescuer;
and by her distress and appearance,
satisfied him at once of its truth. Within a
short time, a strong escort of light dragoons
came up, and the officer despatched some
for a conveyance, and others in pursuit of that
disgrace to the army, the villanous guide;
the former was soon obtained, but no tidings
could be had of the latter. The carriage was
found at a short distance, without the horse
and with the baggage of Julia, but no vestige
of its owner. She never knew his name, and
either accident or art had so completely enveloped
him in mystery, that all efforts to unfold
it then, were fruitless, and had continued
so ever since.

On their arrival in Lisbon, every attention
was shown to the disconsolate widow
the most refined delicacy could dictate,
and every comfort and respect procured

for her, which the princely fortune,
high rank, and higher character, of the Earl
of Pendennyss, could command. It was this
nobleman, who, on his way from head quarters
with despatches for England, had been
the means of preserving Julia from a fate
worse than death. A packet was in waiting
for the earl, and they proceeded in her for
home. The Donna Lorenza was the widow
of a subaltern Spanish officer, who had fallen
under the orders and near Pendennyss, and
the interest he took in her brave husband,
had induced him to offer her, in the destruction
of her little fortune by the enemy, his
protection: for near two years he had maintained
her at Lisbon, and now judging her a
proper person, had persuaded her to accompany
Mrs. Fitzgerald to England for a time.

On the passage, which was very tedious, the
earl became more intimately acquainted with
the history and character of his young friend,
and by a course of gentle, yet powerful expedients,
had drawn her mind gradually from
its gloomy contemplation of futurity, to a
just sense of good and evil. The peculiarity
of her religious persuasion, being a Spaniard,
afforded an introduction to frequent discussions
of the real opinions of that church, to
which Julia had hitherto belonged, although
ignorant of all its essential and vital truths.
These conversations, which were renewed
repeatedly in their intercourse while under
the protection of his sister in London, laid

the foundations of a faith, which left her nothing
to hope for, but the happy termination
of her earthly probation.

The mother of Fitzgerald was dead, and
as he had no near relative left, Julia found
herself alone in the world; her husband
had taken the precaution to make a will
in season; it was properly authenticated,
and his widow, by the powerful assistance
og Pendennyss, was put in quiet possession
of a little independency. It was while
waiting the decision of this affair, that Mrs.
Fitzgerald resided for a short time near
Bath; as soon as it was terminated, the
earl and his sister had seen her settled in her
present abode, and once since had they visited
her; but delicacy had kept him away
from the cottage, although his attempts to
serve her had been constant, but not always
successful. He had, on his return to Spain,
seen her father, and interceded with him on
her behalf, but in vain; his anger remained
unappeased, and for a season she did not renew
her efforts; but having heard that her
father was indisposed, she had employed the
earl once more to make her peace with him,
without prevailing. The letter the ladies
had found her weeping over, was from Pendennyss,
informing her of his want of success
on that occasion.

The substance of the foregoing narrative
was related by Mrs. Fitzgerald to Mrs. Wilson,
who repeated it to Emily in their ride

home. The compassion of both ladies was
strongly moved in behalf of the young widow,
yet Mrs. Wilson did not fail to point out to
her niece the consequences of deception, and
chiefly the misery which had followed from
an abandonment of one of the primary duties
of life—disobedience and disrespect to her parent.
Emily, though keenly alive to all the
principles inculcated by her aunt, found so
much to be pitied in the fate of her friend,
that her failings lost their proper appearance
in her eyes; and for a while, she could think
of nothing but Julia and her misfortunes.
Previously to their leaving the cottage, Mrs.
Fitzgerald, with glowing cheeks, and some
hesitation, informed Mrs. Wilson she had yet
another important communication to make,
but would postpone it until her next visit,
which Mrs. Wilson promised should be on
the succeeding day.