 | CHAPTER XVI. The forsaken |  |
15. CHAPTER XVI.
Non est cantandum, res vera agitur.
—Juv. Sat. IV.
While the American forces encountered an unbroken
series of privation in their quarters at Valley
Forge, the British were enjoying every luxury within
the walls of a well built city. Their amusements were
better suited to times of peace than war, and frequently
the sun arose, and beheld the orgies yet unfinished,
that had commenced at his setting the preceding day.
Major M`Druid was almost a daily guest at 'squire
Morton's table, and belonging to that class who make
love from habit to every female that accident may
throw in their way, he said innumerable fine things to
Miss Rebecca, but without committing himself, or arriving
at any definite conclusion. The spinster manœuvred
to draw forth a formal declaration of his passion, but
the major was too old a bird to be taken with chaff,
and when she imagined that she had dexterously driven
him into a corner, he would dart off at a tangent, and
be perfectly free, before she could discover by what
means he had evaded the net. The major possessed
great volubility of tongue, and as his ideas flowed rapidly,
he would traverse the four quarters of the globe,
and pay a visit to the centre; commence with Adam
and Eve, take you through the flood, and be present at
the building of Babel, then dart off among the Greeks,
empires in safety, and shed the light of noonday upon
the darker ages, and all this while drinking a glass of
wine, and without leaving a solitary idea upon the mind
of the hearer. Volubility of tongue is a great blessing,
when a man wishes to evade an unpleasant question.
While affairs stood thus between the major and Miss
Buckley, Balcarras prosecuted his suit to Miss Morton
with zeal, though she constantly urged him to banish
it, as it was hopeless, but instead of following her advice,
he became more earnest to convince her of the
impossibility of living without her. How circumscribed
is the lover's world, and how thinly peopled! `Music
is the food of love,' says Shakspeare, and the colonel
cried, `play on.' Accordingly, the neighbourhood in
which Agatha resided was not permitted to be at peace
of nights for the drone of bagpipes, and other more
melodious instruments. “Plague take the fellow,” the
'squire would exclaim, “he is become a downright nuisance
with his serenades; and because he cannot sleep
himself, he imagines he is at liberty to keep the whole
town awake.” Music certainly has a more heavenly
influence at the dead of night than at any other hour,
but the 'squire did not relish being startled from his
first sleep, after a debauch, to listen to it, for not one
time in ten would the singing in his head accord with
the pitch-note of the bagpipe. Balcarras, however,
paid little regard to the comforts of the 'squire, and
most heroically devoted the whole winter in endeavouring
to fiddle himself into the affections of Agatha.
Sir William Howe, being dissatisfied at not receiving
such reinforcements as he deemed necessary for the
speedy termination of the war, and the ministers, on
their part, complaining of a want of energy in his military
career, tendered his resignation, which was accepted,
and sir Henry Clinton, who was appointed in
his place, arrived at Philadelphia on the 8th of May,
1778. To grace the departure of their late commander,
which they called the Mischianza, and which
was perhaps the most splendid triumph ever bestowed
upon a hero for victories never won.
The fete began at four in the afternoon of the 18th
of May, by a grand regatta on the Delaware, consisting
of three divisions, a galley and ten flat boats in each,
dressed out in a variety of colours and streamers. In
the front of the whole were three flat boats with bands
of music, and six barges rowed about each flank to
keep off the swarm of boats that covered the river from
side to side. In the stream, opposite the centre of the
city, the Fanny armed ship, magnificently decorated,
was placed at anchor, and at some distance lay the
Roebuck, with the admiral's flag hoisted at the foretopmast
head. The transport ships, extending in a line
the whole length of the town, appeared with colours
flying, and crowded with spectators, as were also the
wharves and houses on the shore. The signal being
given, the three divisions rowed slowly down, preserving
their proper intervals, and keeping time to the music
that led the fleet.
Agatha was of the party on board the Cornwallis
galley that brought up the rear, and a slight flush on
her pallid cheek indicated the exhilarating influence of
the scene. Many bright eyes grew brighter in the
group of beauty by which she was surrounded, and
`grim visag'd war had smooth'd his fearful front,' for
even the rugged features of old Knypthausen, who
was on board, were twisted into something that approached
the caricature of a smile. He felt that it was
the most poetic passage of his life, for even the dullest
life has its poetic passages, and though some are so
happily constituted, that a bright day, or a solitary sail
by moonlight, on the bosom of some sequestered lake,
will call forth thoughts that are not of this world, yet
there are others of so sluggish a temperament, that it
requires the bursting of a volcano, or the din of battle,
of earth. Still there was one on board that galley, who
witnessed the bright display with a cold eye and an
unchanged countenance. He looked inward for his
thoughts, and not upon external objects, if we except
the delicate form of Agatha. It was Jurian.
The procession having passed the Fanny, a signal
was made from one of the boats ahead, and the whole
lay upon their oars while the music played God save
the King, and three cheers given from the vessels,
were returned by the multitude on shore.
By this time the flood tide became too rapid for the
gallies to advance, they were therefore abandoned, and
the company disposed of in the several barges. While
this change was being made, the officer who presided
at the council board, on the night that Jurian was deluded
by Gordon, stood for a moment in front of him,
and their eyes met.
“Is it possible,” exclaimed the officer, “that I find
you among us at last?”
“Among you, but not of you.”
“Then why are you here? Mere curiosity could
not have induced you to take so rash a step?”
“I came in search of you, sir.”
“Make known your wishes.”
“Not now; it is neither time nor place. When this
parade is over, shall we meet?”
“Certainly, if you desire it. But pardon me, if I
doubt my being the sole object of your visit here,” replied
the officer, at the same time casting a look towards
Agatha, who had taken her seat in the barge.
“Well, then, perhaps I had an additional motive,”
replied Jurian, “for I would see her too.”
“Then why delay speaking to her, since she is at
hand?”
“I would not have the eyes of the world witness
our meeting, nor yet our parting. Nor would I, from
scene may afford her.”
“You are right; I have heard your story since our
last interview, and think it prudent not to interrupt her
present enjoyment. Will you descend to the barge?
There is still room.”
“I will follow in the next, lest she discover me.”
“Do so. You will see me again, when we reach
the place of landing.”
The respective barges having received their freight,
the procession proceeded to the landing place at the
old Fort, a little south of the city line. As soon as the
barge that contained general Howe was seen to push
for the shore, a salute of seventeen guns was fired from
the Roebuck, and after some interval, the same number
from the Vigilant.
The company, as they disembarked, arranged themselves
into a line of procession, and advanced through
an avenue formed by two files of grenadiers, and a line
of light hourse supporting each file. This avenue led
to a square lawn, railed in and prepared for a tournament,
according to the customs and ordinances of ancient
chivalry. Each side of the lawn was lined with
military. The procession moved through the centre of
the square, preceded by music, consisting of all the
bands of the army.
In front of the avenue appeared sir Harry Colder's
house, bounding the view, through a vista formed by
two triumphal arches, erected at proper intervals in a
line with the place of landing. Two pavilions, in the
form of amphitheatres, in which were rows of benches
rising one above another, and serving as the advanced
wings of the first arch, received the ladies, while the
gentlemen ranged themselves on each side. On the
front seat of each pavilion were placed seven young
ladies, dressed in Asiatic habits, and wearing in their
turbans the favours with which they meant to reward
the several knights who were to contend in their honour.
the sound of trumpets was heard at a distance, and a
band of knights, dressed in ancient habits of white and
red silk, and mounted on grey horses, richly caparisoned
in trappings of the same colours, entered the lists
attended by their esquires, on foot. They were accompanied
by four trumpeters, properly habited, and their
trumpets decorated with small pendant banners—a herald
in his robes of ceremony, and on his tunic was the
device of his band, two roses entwined with the motto,
`we droop when separated.' A low murmur throughout
the crowd signified their admiration. Lord Cathcart,
superbly mounted, appeared as the chief of these
knights, and two young slaves with sashes and drawers
of blue and white silk, wearing large silver clasps
around their necks and arms, their breasts and shoulders
bare, held his stirrups. Two esquires, one bearing
his lance, and the other his shield, walked on either
side of his horse. Then came in order the knights of
this band, each attended by his esquire, bearing his
lance and shield. They made the circuit of the square,
and saluted the ladies as they passed before the pavilion,
and then ranged themselves in a line with that in
which were the ladies of their device.
“A brilliant spectacle, indeed!” exclaimed the officer,
to whom we have several times referred, and who now
stood beside Jurian, near the pavilion in which Agatha
was seated. “Would not your heart swell with pride
to be in the lists, and have so many bright eyes looking
on in admiration?”
“If they were the lists of death, I should indeed
wish to be there,” replied Jurian, “but I am not ambitious
to add another unmeaning scene to the farce of
life.”
“Thou art a strange being, if such a display cannot
awaken a sense of pleasure.”
“I came not here for pleasure.”
They were interrupted by the herald advancing into
proclaiming the following challenge:
“The Knights of the Blended Rose, by me, their herald,
proclaim and assert that the ladies of the Blended
Rose, excel in wit, beauty, and every accomplishment,
those of the whole world; and should any knight or
knights be so hardy as to dispute or deny it, they are
ready to enter the lists, and maintain their assertions by
deeds of arms, according to the laws of ancient chivalry.”
“There is surely no one present rash enough to accept
the challenge,” said Balcarras to Miss Morton,
“since you are of the Blended Rose.”
“Rather of the White Rose, my lord,” she replied,
“or my mirror is treacherous.”
“Impossible! For even a Dutch looking-glass that
would operate as a paralytic stroke upon the face of
Venus fresh from the sea, could not fail to reflect perfect
beauty, if you were to smile upon it.”
“But if I did not smile, how then?”
“Then from the bottom of my heart do I pity the
poor mirror, for I know how painful a task it is to endure
your frowns.”
At the third repetition of the challenge, the sound of
trumpets was heard from the opposite side of the
square; and another herald, with four trumpeters dressed
in black and orange, galloped into the lists; he was
met by the herald of the Blended Rose, and after a short
parley, they both advanced in front of the pavilions,
when the black herald ordered his trumpets to sound,
and thus proclaimed defiance to the challenge:
“The Knights of the Burning Mountains present
themselves here, not to contest by words, but to disprove
by deeds, the vainglorious assertions of the
Knights of the Blended Rose; and enter the lists to
maintain that the ladies of the Burning Mountains are
not excelled in beauty, virtue, or accomplishments, by
any in the universe.”
He then returned to the post of the barrier through
which he had entered, and shortly after the Black
Knights, attended by their 'squires, rode into the lists,
preceded by four trumpeters and the herald, on whose
tunic was represented a mountain sending forth flames.
After they had rode round the lists and made their
obeisance to the ladies, they drew up fronting the
White Knights, and the chief of these having thrown
down his gauntlet, the chief of the Black Knights, who
was dressed in a magnificent suit of black and orange
silk, and mounted on a black managed horse, with trappings
of the same colours as his own dress, directed
his 'squire to take up the gauntlet.
The knights then received their lances from their
'squires, fixed their shields on their left arms, and making
a general salute to each other, by a graceful movement
of their lances, turned round to take their career,
and encountering in full gallop, shivered their spears.
In the second and third encounter they discharged their
pistols, in the fourth they fought with their swords, and
finally the two chiefs, spurring forward into the centre,
engaged furiously in single combat, till the marshal of
the field rushed in between them, and thus proclaimed
aloud:—
“The fair damsels of the Blended Rose and Burning
Mountains, are perfectly satisfied with the proofs of
love and the signal feats of valour given by their respective
knights, and command them, as they prize
the future favours of their mistresses, that they instantly
desist from further combat.”
The chiefs, like true knights, paid immediate obedience
to this order, and rejoined their respective bands.
The White Knights and their attendants filed off to
the left, the Black Knights to the right, and after passing
each other, at the lower side of the quadrangle,
moved up alternately, until they approached the pavilions
of the ladies, when they gave a general salute.
'Squire Morton, who was by no means among the
ceased, exclaimed to his sister-in-law, in whose bosom
the ashes of romance began to glow—
“What do you think of all that, Becky? Is there
any thing in the whole course of your reading to be
compared with it? Come, rummage your lumber-room,
and let us have your ideas on the subject.”
“Really, brother, I remember but one scene of the
kind, that with reason may be brought in comparison
with it.”
“And what is that, Becky; what is that?”
“The celebrated attack, sir, of the chivalrous Don
Quixote upon the wind-mill,” replied the spinster,
gravely.
“You were a born idiot, Becky, and what is very
remarkable, with all your learning you have not made
the discovery yet.”
“For shame, brother!”
A passage being made between the two pavilions,
the knights, preceded by their 'squires and bands of
music, rode through the first triumphal arch, and arranged
themselves to the right and left. This arch,
which was erected in honour of lord Howe, presented
two fronts in the Tuscan order, the pediment was
adorned with various naval trophies, and at the top was
the figure of Neptune, with a trident in his right hand;
in a nich on each side stood a sailor, with a drawn cutlass,
and three plumes of feathers were placed on the
summit of each wing.
A wide extended avenue, lined on each side with a
file of troops, and the colours of the different regiments
planted at proper distances, led to the second triumphal
arch. Between the colours the knights and their attendants
took their stations. The bands continued to
play, and the company moved forward in procession,
with the ladies in the Turkish habits in front; as these
passed they were saluted by their knights, who then
dismounted and joined them, and in this order they
through the second triumphal arch, of the Tuscan order,
and dedicated to the general. On the top of this
arch stood the figure of Fame; on the right hand pillar
was placed a bomb-shell, and on the left a flaming
heart.
From the garden they ascended a flight of steps, covered
with carpets, which led into a spacious saloon,
decorated in a style of splendour more befitting Asiatic
luxury than the simplicity of the new world. Here
the company partook of a variety of refreshments,
during which time the knights came in, and on their
bended knees received their favours from their respective
dames, and thus were rewarded for that prowess
in the mimic joust that fortune had denied them on
the field of battle.
While these fantastic ceremonies were going forward,
the officer already alluded to, approached Jurian, and
said—
“I have now a few moments leisure, sir, and feel
impatient to hear your commands. Let us retire to
another apartment, where we may be less liable to interruption.”
They withdrew, and as soon as they were alone, and
the door closed, Jurian addressed him—
“I have come, sir, to redeem a pledge that I once
placed in your hands, and though it has become somewhat
tarnished since I parted with it, and is now of
little value to its owner, still I will redeem it.”
“What pledge? You speak in riddles.”
“I mean my honour. When it was of value, I bartered
it away for dross, and now that it is worthless, I
return the price received, and cancel the obligation between
us. Here, sir, is your due.” Saying which, he
handed a purse to the officer, who looked at him in
amazement. “I promised, when we last parted, that
the money should be returned, and I have kept my
word.”
“Thou singular being,” exclaimed the officer, “and
was it for this that you have come among us?”
“It was, but not for this alone. Here, take the
purse.”
“Nay, keep it; it is of little moment to me, and I
cannot think of receiving it again, knowing the deceit
that was practised on you.”
“True, it may be of little moment to you, but it is
of less to me, and as you were instrumental in my degradation,
I demand it as an act of justice that you
receive it again.”
“I readily enter into your feelings, and respect them
too highly, to wound them longer by opposing your
wishes.”
“Thank God,” exclaimed Jurian, as he handed him
the purse, “that black account is closed. It has been
as the spot of leprosy on my soul, and though there is
no cure, still there is some relief, in feeling that I am
no longer a bartered slave.”
“Why suffer your morbid feelings to picture your
condition in such gloomy colours?”
Is there a mantle too inky for me to wear! But
no matter. I am about to ask a favour, and as you
conferred one that destroyed me, you will not deny
another, which, under different circumstances, would
prove a curse also. I wish to leave the country, and
as sir William Howe will sail in a day or two, I would
obtain a passage on board his ship, if possible.”
“You would leave the country? Then you have
changed your opinion, and now consider the present
struggle hopeless?”
“My opinion is still the same; the war cannot end
until the country is free; and when the spirit of order
shall move through the chaos that now prevails, and
reduce it to a shape, posterity will look back to our
present struggles with the enthusiasm of the Greeks to
the Persian war; will date the era of their greatness
from the American revolution, and mark out the Marathon
was purchased with the price of blood.”
“The ardour of your enthusiasm, I perceive, has
not abated. But if such be the destiny of the colonies,
why do you abandon them at a time when, as you imagine,
they are about to take their place among the nations
of the earth?”
“Because I should here feel as a slave among the
free. I would go where my name and my shame are
unknown.”
“Reflect, before you adopt a course so rash. There
are still ties to bind you to your native land, that may
not be idly broken.”
“There is one, and one only. Still that must be
broken.”
“What, though her heart be broken in the effort? I
have already said that I am acquainted with your story,
and her's even a less observant eye than mine may
plainly read. The winter has been one uninterrupted
scene of gaicty, and she mingled in it, yet partook not
of it. Her ears have been hourly greeted with adulation
from the lips of the most courtly, and she heeded it
not. Fortune and distinction have combined to wean
her thoughts from you, and she has turned from them
to endeavour to discover a star of hope in the gloomy
future. Then how can you talk of abandoning a being
so devoted?”
“That I may not imitate the tyrant of old,” replied
Jurian, “and chain the living body to the dead. Think
you that would be a proof of the holy love I bear her,
and a just return for her matchless constancy? No;
rather let me go where my name may never again
reach her ears, and she may cease to think of me as
among the living until other thoughts shall have effaced
the remembrance of her present sorrows.”
“Why this is absolute despair. I thought you possessed
of a mind that would rise superior to any human
affliction. For shame! Even the card by which you
Look at it again.”
“A gay card,” said Jurian, taking the ticket. “Here
is a view of the sea, with the setting sun, and in the
wreath a motto:—`Luces decedens aucto splendore
resurgam.' True, the mighty and mysterious movements
of the planetary systems are calculated to elevate the
mind from the grovelling thoughts of this world, but my
sun is set, never to rise again.”
“This is womanish.”
“The stoutest bow may be bent until its elasticity
is destroyed. You have not yet said whether you will
comply with my wishes?”
“If to-morrow you continue in the same mind, I will
endeavour to procure you a passage. But, hark! the
company move towards the ball-room. Shall we join
them?”
Jurian bowed assent, and they entered a spacious
apartment decorated for the ball, which was begun by
the knights and their ladies, and such was the exciting
influence of the scene, that even 'squire Morton, in
spite of the gout, attempted to lead his antiquated
sister-in-law through the mazes of the dance. Agatha
moved like a sylph, and though all eyes followed her
in admiration, yet the sad expression of her countenance
denoted that her mind partook not of the enlivening
spirit that prevailed. Jurian stood in the crowd,
and the only object that his eye rested upon in that vast
assemblage, was the light and delicate form of Agatha.
He heard not the enlivening notes that set the puppets
in motion. The taste and skill that had decorated the
scene was lost on him, and the gay knights, whose
presence carried back the imagination to the days of
romance and chivalry, moved before him unseen. His
mind was chained to one thought, that operated as the
spell of his evil genius that defied the influence of all
others to weaken. Agatha's eye caught his figure as
his position.
The windows were now suddenly thrown open, and
a display of fireworks was exhibited, equally various
and beautiful, towards the conclusion of which, the interior
part of the triumphal arch, dedicated to general
Howe, was illuminated amidst an uninterrupted flight
of rockets and bursting of baloons. The military trophies
on each side assumed a variety of transparent
colours; the shell and flaming heart on the wings sent
forth Chinese fountains, and Fame appeared at top,
spangled with stars, and from her trumpet blowing in
letters of light—`Thy laurels shall never fade.' It is
remarkable that, notwithstanding this flattering promise,
that trumpet has been mute on the subject ever since.
A sauteur of rockets bursting from the pediment, concluded
the feu d'artifice.
The magical illusion that had prevailed throughout
the entertainment, was kept up to the last. As the
clock struck
twelve, large folding doors, hitherto artfully
concealed, were suddenly thrown open, and discovered
a magnificent and extended saloon, from which
came an overpowering stream of light, from countless
tapers, lustres, and mirrors. Tables were spread profusely
with the various luxuries of the old and new
world, and that nothing might be wanting to assist in
deluding the imagination into the belief that it was but
a dream of oriental splendour, upwards of forty black
slaves in eastern costumes, with collars and bracelets,
were ranged in two lines, and they bent their bodies to
the ground as the company descended from the hallroom
to the saloon. This assemblage of gay objects
combined, and bursting thus unexpectedly into view,
formed a scene magnificent beyond description, and thus
they put a brilliant close to the unsuccessful campaign
of sir William Howe. This was a piece of dramatic
art that they acquired while enacting at the South street
Theatre—it is a good rule, and should be strictly observed,
exit amidst three rounds of applause.
As the company descended, Balcarras approached
Agatha, with the view of escorting her to the saloon.
“I can undergo no more,” she faintly said. “Will
this fantastic display never have an end! My spirits
are overpowered; my brain reels, and the atmosphere
is so close that I can scarcely breathe.”
“Allow me to conduct you to the fresh air; the
night breeze will revive you.”
“Call my brother.”
“He is at the further extremity of the saloon, and
the crowd is so great that some time may elapse before
I can reach him. Why not allow me to wait upon
you?”
“I would not take you from this scene of pleasure.”
“It ceases to be such to me when you are absent.”
“This is folly, my lord, or worse, as you know my
thoughts. Pray, call my brother, and I will here await
his coming.”
Balcarras withdrew to attend to her commands, and
as the crowd dispersed, Jurian was seen standing at a
short distance from Agatha, with his eyes fixed intently
upon her. She turned and beheld him.
“That figure there again!” she exclaimed. “It has
haunted me throughout the day, and has so bewildered
me, that I doubt whether I am in my senses, or dream.
What can it mean!”
“I have sought this moment for hours,” said Jurian,
approaching, “and there is no time to lose. Agatha,
we meet again.”
“That voice! Jurian! can it be!”
“Well may you doubt the evidence of your own
senses, when you behold a wretch so changed.”
“Changed, indeed, since even I questioned your
identity. More than once have my eyes caught a
glimpse of you in the crowd, but not dreaming of meeting
you here, or seeing you thus, I knew not what to
that the excitement of the day had bewildered my
brain.”
“Heaven grant that no greater excitement ever bewilder
you! I would speak to you alone, Agatha, but
one word; yet, I would have no other hear that word.”
“Lead me to the open air, where I may breathe
more freely, and you speak without fear.”
“Ay, in the open air, where the countless eyes of
heaven may look down upon us—that is well—but no
other eye.”
“What means this! Are you mad!”
“Not now, Agatha, not now. True, my life has
been little better than a madman's dream, but whips
and scourges have at length awakened me to reason.
Come to the open air, where we may breathe more
freely, with the bright face of heaven before us.”
She leaned on his arm and they left the hall, then
crossed the garden, and proceeded in silence until they
reached the triumphal arch nearest the mansion, which
was now deserted.
“Here let us pause,” said Agatha. “How brightly
the stars shine, and how refreshing the breeze as it
comes from the water.”
“We have before us the placid splendour of heaven,
the inviting beauties of earth in spring, and the ostentatious
display that man puts forth to magnify his insignificance.
Nature and art have combined to awaken
the most grateful feelings, and yet in the midst of all
this fascination, the darkest moment of my life has
come.”
“Wherefore the darkest?”
“Because I am now about to tear out the last human
tie from my bosom—the last and deepest rooted.
There is no tie so sacred but that it may be broken.
If it survive the changes that all hearts are prone to,
still death will come in at last and sever it. Parents
pass to their graves, are mourned for a season, and no
without pain. Kindred who were nourished
at the same breast, slept in each others' arms from infancy,
and whose joys and griefs were the same, are
frequently doomed to separate as widely as this globe
can part them. The conjugal tie, the purest and
strongest that the heart can conceive, often becomes
as a spider's web, when death has removed the object
beloved. The grave soon drinks up the tears of the
mourner, and grief gives place to thoughts and feelings
better suited to the living.”
“Whither does this tend?”
“When I am gone, Agatha, I would have you think
of me as of one that's dead.”
“When thou art gone!”
“I have said that our grief for the departed soon
subsides, and if you needs must grieve when we are
separated, let the next smile you meet dry the tear.”
“But our grief for the living knows no cure.”
“They may be unworthy of your sorrow. I came
to breathe but one word, and my heart clings to it, and
my tongue refuses to utter it. Still it must be spoken,
though it tear asunder all connexion with this world.
Agatha—thou earliest and last beloved!—farewell!”
“Jurian!”
“And forever!”
“Thou wilt not leave me! Thou canst not! There
is now no bar between us.”
“One that we may not pass. I would not doom you
to a life of blighted hope with a wretch proscribed.
No, Agatha, a bright world is before you, enjoy its
sunshine, and leave the shade to me.”
Young Morton was heard calling the name of Agatha.
“Your brother's voice. I must be brief. Throw
me from your thoughts, Agatha, as a thing unworthy
to be remembered. Look upon what has past as a
dream that could never be realized, and thank heaven
that it was nothing but a dream.”
“Agatha! Agatha!” again shouted young Morton.
“They come. Let no mortal eye witness this parting.
One kiss, as cold and holy as that which an anchorite
bestows upon the skull that reminds him of his
doom. 'Tis done. Again, farewell!”
The voice of young Morton was again heard, and
Jurian shouted, “Agatha is here.”
“Do not leave me yet,” she feebly said, as she
threw herself on his neck.
“We meet no more in this world.”
He pressed her yielding form in an agony to his bosom,
and then placed it on the pedestal of the arch.
He imprinted another kiss on her pale forehead, and
cried—
“Ho! there, Agatha is here.” He theu hurried
from the spot, and immediately after young Morton
and Balcarras approached, and discovered where she
lay.
| CHAPTER XVI. The forsaken | |