University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

A comfortable chamber supplied profusely with all the luxuries and appliances which
an auberge of that day, and in that country, could be expected to supply, the chief
of which was a convenient and well-curtained bed, soon brought forgetfulness of her
terrors and fatigues to Isabella Oswald; yet, ere she sunk into absolute sleep, she
could not but think much and deeply on the occurrences of the past day—of the great
perils she had seen—of the enthusiastic daring valor of her young countryman, exerted,
almost in despite of hope, for her protection. Nor is it strange she should have thought
of it deeply; for at all times and in all countries, there is perhaps no quality of man which
strikes at first so strongly the imagination of the weeker sex, as gallant and fiery courage.
At that day, too, when the sword was the surest—almost indeed the only instrument
whereby to clear the path of honor; when the spirit of chivalry was yet alive and burning
in every noble breast of man or woman, a high and perilous emprize was sure to
win the admiration and regard of all for the successful gallant. To this, in Isabella's
case, was added a romantic sense of gratitude; a feeling that this bold deed had been
wrought for her sake alone, and that, as the existing cause of a chivalric exploit, she
too must be a sharer in the glories of the actor. It must not be forgotten, either, that
Wyvil, both in form and feature, might be esteemed a model of masculine and vigorous
beauty; that his attire was rich and splendid, and bore sure witness to the exquisite
taste of the wearer; that his air and demeanor were unusually high and noble—easy, at
the same time, and dignified—graceful and polished as the bearing of the most courtly
Frenchman, yet tinctured with a strain of frankness, and largely fraught with a sort of
proud humility that she had never observed in any of her lighter and more volatile
adorers. What wonder, then, that she should ponder long and thoughtfully before she
sank to rest, and that the thought of her defender should have been blended, after her
eyes were closed in slumber, with the disturbed and whirling visions which, rising naturally
from the occurrence of the past day, floated a wild phantasmagoria through her brain.

Isabella Oswald was not, indeed, a girl of ordinary qualities or every-day character;
but born with the perilous dower of uncommon genius, coupled, as it almost invariably
is, with a quick sensitive temperament, with powerful affections and strong passions:
she had, unfortunately for herself, been educated so—if that can be called education,
which, in no respect, ever aimed at correcting the defects of nature—as to exaggerate
rather than diminish the extravagances of her native character. Her mother, a Spanish
lady of great wealth and the highest rank, whom Sir Henry had married at the time
when an alliance with the infanta had been contemplated by the unhappy prince who
had since expiated his faults and follies on the seaffold, died in her daughter's early
childhood; and from that period, the young Isabella had scarce a guide beyond her own
wild inclinations. Her father, who in his youth had been one of the chosen councillors
and courtiers of the First Charles, with a prescience of events which it had been well
for his hapless master to possess, leaned early to the moderate councils of Hyde and
Falleland, and those wiser spirits, whose prudence, had it been listened to by the misguided
monarch, would have spared England years of bloodshed; and soon foreseeing
that the neglect of these would lead to fatal consequences, had remitted the whole fortune
of his lost bride, and not that only, but the price of all such portions of his own
patrimony as he could alienate, to France, where he concluded a safe asylum would at
any time be open to the servants of the crown. It so fell out, however, that long before he
contemplated any instant peril, he was qualified by circumstances to judge of the wisdom
of the measures; for, whereas he had looked forward to exile, as to the consequence of
adhering to the fortunes of his royal master in opposition to the rebellious and fanatical will
of the people, he was doomed to experience first coldness and neglect, then persecution—
from which he was but too happy to escape by flight—at the hands of that very king
whom he was ready to support through right and wrong with undiscriminating loyalty.
Restless and active both in mind and body, he had scarce entered France, before he

plunged deeply into the intrigues which were harassing the vitals of that kingdom;
and adopting the court party, from the natural bias of his mind, had risen speedily to
eminence; had distinguished himself greatly, both in the council and in the field; had
been advanced to a high station in the army, and occupied a situation as prominent as
could be held by any foreigner in the great nation. This, and the circumstances, no
less than the character of the man—his want of domestic ties or attractions—his fury
and headlong appetite for all and every kind of wild excitement—his constant absence
from home, in the field or at the court—contributed to deprive his child of the advantages
of any solid supervision or home-government; living as it were alone, and mistress,
when she was yet but a child, of her father's grand hotel in the fauxbourgs, with
carriages and horses and attendants at her command, and the old governante who
nominally ruled her, in truth the most obsequious of her servants—it was not wonderful
that Isabella Oswald should have grown up a wild, untamed, high-spirited girl, with no
guide for her actions but her own eager impulses and active sensibilities, with little powers
of self government and still less mental discipline; but it was somewhat to be admired
that she did not become a more wilful and capricious beauty, reckless and violent and
headstrong, the slave of her own passions, and the tormentor of all who should be thrown
into the sphere of her attractions. From this her natural genius, and a certain resolute
strength of mind which she inherited from her mother, had happily preserved her.

An eager passionate ambition, which was perhaps not the least striking feature of
her mind, coupled to an insatiable thirst of knowledge, had saved her from frivolity;
and, while she would not hear the least dictation in matters that related to demeanor,
to all the masters from whom she could derive instruction she yielded an implicit and
unquestioning obedience, that in itself assured advancement and success. Thus, at an
early age, she had not only mastered all the accomplishments which were esteemed in
that day requisite to ladies, but many which were rare even among men, except those
who were destined to the learned professions. An enthusiastic and complete musician,
a dancer second to none in that land which then, as now, was the great theatre and
school of that gay science; she was moreover a linguist of no mean capacity, speaking
and writing the French and Spanish and Italian tongues as fluently as her own native
English. Nor was this all; for she had dipped somewhat deeply into the wells of
ancient lore, so that she was far better qualified than most men of that day, to converse
with the great and learned on high and interesting topics.

This course of reading, it is true, had strengthened the powers of a mind naturally
strong; had filled the storehouses of her brain with manifold and valuable knowledge;
had perfected her taste, matured her judgment, and developed all her natural gifts in an
unusual degree. But in effecting this, it had produced other and far less favorable consequences:
if it had strengthened the powers of her mind, it had also in no less degree
strengthened her confidence in them; if it had perfected her tastes, it had increased
her desire of consulting them alone; if it had amplified her judgment, so it had led her
to respect no opinions that tallied not with her own sense of what was right and proper.
It had, in short, contributed to foster in no small degree the independence of a spirit,
already perhaps too independent; so that even in her fifteenth year, Isabella Oswald,
with more than all a woman's talents and accomplishments, possessed a degree of energy
and decision, that was sure to make her a singular and distinguished—though it was
highly questionable whether it was like to make her a happy or contented—woman. It
seemed, indeed, that there was something not far removed from a direct destiny—if
such a thing could be—in the events which had formed the character of the young
beauty; for just at that critical age when she was budding into womanhood, and when
from her increasing years she was becoming a companion to her father—who, had he
fallen into more domestic habits, as he was indeed gradually doing, would not have
failed to notice, or noticing to counteract, the undue tendency of her young mind to
form decided judgments, to act upon the impulse of the moment, to consult its own
opinions only, and to do many things which could not be deemed other than unfemininely
and unduly independent—just at that critical period, the war broke out in England

between the king and his parliament; and true to his chivalric sense of loyalty,
Sir Henry overlooked the many wrongs done to him by the man, in sympathy with the
misfortunes of the sovereign; left his asylum, took up arms for the crown, and trusting
his child to the doubtful guardianship of an old marquise of the vielle noblesse—who,
to complete the mischief, was something of an esprit fort herself—fought to the very
last, even to Astley's fatal overthrow at Stow-on-the-Wold, with a determined valor that,
had the cause for which he bled succeeded, would have placed him among the first men
of the nation.

As it was, he who had been at the first banished by the king, was now proscribed
by the parliament; and once again escaping to his old asylum, found the daughter
whom he had left a bright precocious child, grown up into a dazzling woman, captivating
all around her by her rare gifts and striking qualities; but formed completely and matured
in character, already almost beyond the possibility of changing, whether for good
or evil. Such had been the early history, and such were the habits, of the beautiful
girl for whom Wyvil had, unhappily for all parties, performed the brilliant and successful
exploit, which had at once so powerfully wrought upon a fancy, the natural tendency
of which was strongly sensible to anything romantic or poetical, that it had paved the
way for warmer and more passionate sentiments, should any circumstance occur in
future to call them into action. That she was deeply interested in the handsome young
cavalier, who had so daringly encountered peril in her cause, cannot be doubted; and
as she fell asleep on that eventful morning, it is quite certain that the last tangible
thought of her mind was upon Marmaduke. Quite overcome by exertion and fatigue
and terror, she slept long and soundly; and although many a strange and stratling noise
rose from the street below her window, and that too before she had been long asleep—
though squadron after squadron of the king's cavalry passed at a rapid trot, clanging
and clattering with their iron harness over the rough stone pavements—though the
loud shouts of the people, awed into loyalty by their imposing numbers, greeted the
royal troops with stunning acclamations, and were responded to by kettledrum and
trumpt—though a field battery of ponderous guns, with their caissons and tumbrils,
groaned, creaked, and lumbered through the street; she did not stir from her heavy
sleep until the sun was already high in heaven, and all the vanguard of the army had
well-nigh reached the village, where she had supped on the preceding evening.

Just as she woke, however, and had so far collected her ideas as to be aware where
she was, a prolonged flourish from a distant band of music called her attention; and
conjecturing at once that the sound must announce the army of Turenne, she dressed
herself in haste, and hurried to the window, just as a column of arquebusiers, marching
extremely fast, shoulder to shoulder, in the closest order, began to fill the street from
side to side. In a few minutes these had passed, and were succeeded by six fine Scotch
and Irish regiments, under the royal standard of King Charles of England, clad in the
uniform, and officered by cavaliers of their own country—Monsieur de Navailles, whom
Isabella well knew, followed with a detachment of the French horseguards, whose
trumpets she had heard from a distance; and then, surrounded each by his proper staff
and many a mounted officer besides, the Marechals Turenne and d'Harquincourt rode
by, in deep and earnest conversation. But it was not to these great men, nor to the
gallants who swept by, glittering in gorgeous arms and fluttering with scarfs and favors—
though many of them were acquaintances, nay, friends and suitors—that the eyes of
the fair Isabella were directed; though with an earnest and inquiring glance, she ran
her eyes over the splendid concourse, as if in search of something which she found not.
After the leaders of the army had passed out of sight, there was a little break, as it
were, or interval in the line of march; and then a squadron of well-mounted cavaliers
led by a tall and noble-looking man, whom she recognized as the Earl of Bristol, came
up at a hand-gallop, as if endeavoring to make up the ground which they had lost.
While these were yet beneath her windows, the drums and fifes of another Irish regiment,
playing one of their wild heart-stirring melodies, swept cheerily down the wind;
and, almost keeping up with the gallop of the English horse, the splendid files of the

Duke of York's own regiment came dashing through the dust, trailing their pikes, at
the long swinging trot peculiar to the natives of green Erin. What was there in the
sight of that wild regiment, that so excited the bright girl who gazed upon them? Her
color came and went, her heart beat almost andibly, her small hands trembled so tha
they scarcely could support her, as she leaned far out the casement to survey them.
They did afford, indeed, a gay and spirit-stirring sight—those loyal islanders! The
lithe and stalwort limbs, bearing them, free as the deer on their own pathless mountains,
at a pace no less different from the trained march of the more drilled mercenary, than
is the gallop of the desert steed from the procession-amble of my lady's palfrey—the
merry hawklike glance of their blue laughing eyes—the hair that floated in loose tresses
on the wind—the reckless jest, the soul-fraught merriment which rang in every tone,
which breathed from every feature—the wild clear shout of faugh a ballah, which every
now and then rose shrilly from the heads of the column, as they pressed on the track of
the cavalry—combining to make up and picture the very opposite in all respects of
the stiff rigid martialists of that age of stern and iron discipline. It was not this, however,
that stirred the heart of Isabella, with a strange sense, she knew not what, of
mingled hope and apprehension. She had not failed to note, in the few words that
Bellechassaigne let fall, that there was some reason for dreading evil consequences from
the slight breach of orders—slight in her opinion and venial if not praiseworthy—of
which both had been guilty in attacking the Lorrainers; and having heard, from Marmaduke's
own lips, that he held an appointment on the staff of the English duke, her
whole soul was in terrible suspense to see if he was in his place, beside his princely
master.

The last rank of the royal Irish passed; and immediately behind them, mounted
upon a Polish carriage-horse, dew-colored, with a long white mane and tail, a young
man, richly dressed in a suit of dark-brown velvet, cut in the fashion which has derived
its modern name from the great Flemish painter, with russet leather buskins and a
superb cravat of Valienciennes lace, cantered lightly on. He wore no armor, not even
weapons, except an ordinary rapier hanging from an embroidered scarf; but in his hand
he held a leading staff or truncheon, and round his neck he bore a glittering chain with
the effigy of St. George, and on the left breast of his mantle the diamond star of the
Garter. He was above the middle height, graceful and slender in his person; and he
rode easily and well with a firm scat and a delicate light hand—but although very young
at that time, the darkness of his complexion, his heavy eyebrows, and the hard deeplycut
hues of his rigid and inflexible lineaments caused him to appear many years advanced
beyond his real age; an impression which was in no degree diminished by the harsh
periwig of coarse black hair, which he wore under his low-crowned feathered hat, falling
quite down upon his shoulders. Yet, though he was decidedly ill-favored and harsh-featured,
no person at that time could have failed to see that he was a man of consequence,
and character to match his dignity—there was a quickness in his clear dark
eye that spoke intelligence, and spirit, and high-daring; there was a firm and resolute
curve in the muscles of the close-set mouth, that promised an unblenching steadiness of
purpose. Such was the Duke of York, as he was in the days of adversity; the steady
and right councillor of his more vacillating brother. Such was the Duke of York, when
he fought side by side with Turenne—such, when he gave the promise, afterwards well
fulfilled by skill, and conduct, and unquestioned valor, displayed as lord high admiral
against de Ruyter and the Dutch; ere power and priestcraft had debased his every
quality of mind—until the conquerer of Opdam sank into the weak driveller and coward
of the Boyne.

A pace or two behind the duke, but still so near that they could easily converse with
him, were three or four English gentlemen, among whom Isabella recognized the Earl
of Berkely and Colonel Warden, his gentlemen of the bedchamber; but there was not
one in his suite whose post or air in anywise resembled the gallant Wyvil: two or three
grooms and equerries followed, one leading the duke's battle-horse, and the others bearing
dispersed among their number the various pieces of his armor. The fair girl's heart

sank as they vanished from her sight, and were succeeded by the rear-guard of the
army—composed of the regiments of Picardy, Richelieu, Uxelles, Carignan, Burgundy,
and a strong detachment of the French guard—closing the long line of the march.
Heart-sick and faint, she drooped into a seat, and letting fall her head upon the window-sill,
buried it in her hands in sad and anxious meditation, until, after a long and silent
pause, the groaning crash of heavy wagons again excited her attention. It was the baggage
of the host artillery carts, and huge wains piled up with chests of arms and clothing,
and mules laden with tents, and foragers, and sutlers, and abandoned women, and all
the base and worthless rabble that ever follow in the train of camps and armies. A
dozen light pieces of artillery, and a small body of musketeers, accompanied or rather
brought up the rear of this disorderly multitude; and she began to reassure herself in
the idea, that now indeed all had passed by, and that to the country—as was in fact quite
true—had proceeded the main body of the troops. As soon as this idea took hold of her
mind, her sanguine fearless temperament caused her at once to assume it for a truth;
and having, scarcely a minute before, been quite depressed by the imagination that her
deliverers were suffering disgrace and perhaps danger, she now amused her mind with
many a gay visonary dream how they might have been promoted for their gallantry, and
sent on with the foremost, filling the perilous post of honor.

Already satisfied, and for the moment happy, she had turned to the mirror which
graced the antique toilette table, and was arranging her magnificent tresses, humming
a gay provençal ballad as she did so, when she was once more summoned from her
employment to the window by the trampling of horses. She turned, it is true, to look
at what was passing, but it was with a listless air of unconcern, that was as different as
possible from the excited, restless agitation with which she had watched every separate
company as it swept onward, before she hit upon the thought which now possessed
her. A single glance, however, sufficed to change her air of unconcern for one of the
deepest and most agonizing interest. Every drop of blood rushed back from her
cheeks, and left her pale as ashes; she clasped her hands, and wrung them bitterly, and
one faint shriek burst from her lips, and even reached the ears of those whose situation
caused it. The horsemen whose march had attracted her, were a small party, fully
armed and led by an officer, who rode at a foot's pace with his sword drawn at their
head; six troopers, three and three, came after him, all with their carbines ready, the
butts resting on their thighs, and their matches lighted; two more with drawn swords
followed, and between them—his horse's reins linked to the bits of their chargers, and
the sheath of his rapier empty—Marmaduke Wyvil! Six troopers more succeeded, like
the first, with their matchlocks in their hands; and then, guarded like Wyvil by two
soldiers, but with a gay and scornful smile on his dark features, the brave Bellechassaigne!
A dozen dragoons more, and another sabaltern, completed the sad escort.
The face of Marmaduke was perfectly composed and calm, though somewhat paler
than its wont; until the shriek of Isabella falling upon his ear, he raised his eyes and
met the wild and careworn glance, and noted the strange paleness that had supplanted
her rich warm complexion—then a quick burning flush covered his face with crimson,
as answering her passionate look of inquiry with a deep meaning glance, and a bright
half-triumphant smile, he doffed his plumed hat and bowed low, laying his hand upon
his heart as he did so. Bellechassaigne caught likewise the faint accents of the lady's
cry, and he too smiled and bowed; but there was nothing but high daring, mixed
with a touch of scorn in the expression of his face; and as he bowed he raised his
voice, and called aloud:

“Fear not, dear lady—fear not at all for us; this is a matter of mere form—believe
me, we are in no danger!” She heard, it is true, what he said, and waved her hands
mechanically in reply, but her mind scarcely comprehended the sense of the words;
and even if it had done so, the grave involuntary shake of the head with which the
officer, who had them in charge, received the speech, would have entirely counteracted
their effect. She watched them for a moment or two, and observed that they took not
the route of the army, but turned off toward the castle, which she had seen on the right

hand as she drove into the town that morning; and then, as they passed round the corner
of the street, rushed out into the antechamber, calling in tones that were almost a
shriek, upon her father.