characterize the benevolence of his heart. The Earl was so much pleased with his guest, that he pressed him to remain at his castle till another vessel could be procured; his guest, equally pleased with the Earl, and a stranger to the country, accepted the invitation. New distress now broke upon the peace of Athlin; several days had expired, and the messenger who had been sent to Malcolm, did not appear. It was almost evident that the Baron, disappointed and enraged at the escape of his prisoner, and eager for a sacrifice, had seized this man as the subject of a paltry revenge. The Earl, however, resolved to wait a few days, and watch the event. The struggles of latent tenderness and assumed indifference, banished tranquillity from the bosom of Mary, and pierced it with many sorrows. The friendship and honours bestowed by the Earl on Alleyn, who now resided solely at the castle, touched her heart with a sweet pride; but, alas! these distinctions served only to confirm her admiration of that worth which had already attached her affections, and afforded him opportunities of exhibiting in brighter colours the various excellencies of a heart noble and expansive, and of a mind whose native elegance meliorated and adorned the bold vigour of its flights. The languor of melancholy, notwithstanding the efforts of Mary, would at intervals steal from beneath the disguise of cheerfulness, and diffuse over her beautiful features an expression extremely interesting. The stranger was not insensible to its charms, and it served to heighten the admiration with which he had first beheld her into something more tender and more powerful. The modest dignity with which she delivered her sentiments, which breathed the purest delicacy and benevolence, touched his heart, and he felt an interest concerning her which he had never before experienced. Alleyn, whose heart, amid the anxieties and tumults of the past scenes, had still sighed to the image of Mary-that image which fancy had pictured in all the charms of the original, and whose glowing tints were yet softened and rendered more interesting by the shade of melancholy, with which absence and a hopeless passion had surrounded them-found amid the leisure of peace, and the frequent opportunities which were afforded him of beholding the object of his attachment, his sighs redouble, and the glooms of sorrow thicken. In the presence of Mary, a soft sadness clouded his brow; he endeavoured to assume a cheerfulness foreign to his heart; but endeavoured in vain. Mary perceived the change in his manners; and the observation did not contribute to enliven her own. The Earl, too, observed that Alleyn had lost much of his wonted spirits, and bantered him on the change, but thought not of his sister. Alleyn wished to quit a place so destructive to his peace as the castle of Athlin; he formed repeated resolutions of withdrawing himselfin those walls which held him in a sort of fas tion, and rendered ineffectual every half-forms wish, and every weak endeavour. When he omi no longer behold Mary, he would frequently tire to the terrace, which was overlooked by de windows of her apartment, and spent half night in traversing, with silent, mournful ste that spot which afforded him the melancho pleasure of being near the object of his love. Matilda wished to question Alleyn concerning some circumstances of the late events, and for this purpose ordered him one day to attend he in her closet. As he passed the outer apart of the Countess, he perceived something lying near the door through which she had before gone, and examining it, discovered a bracelet, to which was attached a miniature of Mary. His her beat quick at the sight; the temptation was to powerful to be resisted; he concealed it in his bosom, and passed on. On quitting the closet, he sought, with breathless impatience, a spot where he might contemplate at leisure that precious portrait which chance had so kindly throw in his way. He drew it trembling from his be som, and beheld again that countenance, whose sweet expression had touched his heart with all the delightful agonies of love. As he pressed it with impassioned tenderness to his lips, the tear of rapture trembled in his eye, and the romantic ardour of the moment was scarcely heightened by the actual presence of the beloved object, whose light step now stole upon his ear; and half turning, he beheld, not the picture, but the reality!-Surprised!-confused!-the picture i fell from his hand. Mary, who had accidentally strolled to that spot, on observing the agitation of Alleyn, was retiring, when he, in whose heart had been awakened every tender sensation, losing in the temptation of the moment the fear of disdain, and forgetting the resolution which he had formed of eternal silence, threw himself at her feet, and pressed her hand to his trembling lips. His tongue would have told her that he loved; but his emotion, and the repulsive look of Mary, prevented him. She instantly disengaged herself with an air of offended dignity, and, casting on him a look of mingled anger and concern, withdrew in silence. Alleyn remained fixed to the spot; his eyes pursuing her retiring steps, insensible to every feeling but love and despair. So absorbed was he in the transition of the moment, that he almost doubted whether a visionary illusion had not crossed his sight to blast his only remaining comfortthe consciousness of deserving, and of possess ing the esteem of her he loved. He left the place with anguish in his heart, and in the perturbation of his mind forgot the picture. Mary had observed her mother's bracelet fall from his hand, and was no longer in perplexity concerning her miniature; but in the confusion which his behaviour occasioned her, she forgot o demand it of him. The Countess had missed t almost immediately after his departure from he closet, and had caused a search to be made, which proving fruitless, her suspicions wavered upon him. The Earl, who soon after passed the spot whence Alleyn had just departed, found the miniature. It was not long ere Alleyn recollected the treasure he had dropped, and returned in search of it. Instead of the picture, he found the Earl. A conscious blush crossed his cheek; the confusion of his countenance informed Osbert of a part of the truth; who, anxious to know by what means he had obtained it, presented him the picture, and demanded if he knew it. The soul of Alleyn knew not to dissemble; he acknowledged that he had found and concealed it; prompted by that passion, the confession of which no other circumstance than the present could have wrung from his heart. The Earl listened to him with a mixture of concern and pity; but hereditary pride chilled the warm feelings of friendship and of gratitude, and extinguished the faint spark of hope which the discovery had kindled in the bosom of Alleyn. -Fear not, my lord, said he, the degradation of your house from one who would sacrifice his life in its defence; never more shall the passion which glows in my heart escape from my lips. I will retire from the spot where I have buried my tranquillity.-No, replied the Earl, you shall remain here; I can confide in your honour. O! that the only reward which is adequate to your worth and to your services, should be impossible for me to bestow !-His voice faltered, and he turned away to conceal his emotion with a suffering little inferior to that of Alleyn. The discovery which Mary had made did not contribute to restore peace to her mind. Every circumstance conspired to assure her of that ardent passion which filled the bosom of him whom all her endeavours could not teach her to forget; and this conviction served only to heighten her malady, and consequently her wretchedness. The interest which the stranger discovered, and the attention he paid to Mary, had not passed unobserved by Alleyn. Love pointed to him the passion which was rising in his heart, and whispered, that the vows of his rival would be propitious. The words of Osbert confirmed him in the torturing apprehension; for though his humble birth had never suffered him to hope, yet he thought he discovered in the speech of the Earl, something more than mere hereditary pride. The stranger had contemplated the lovely form of Mary with increasing admiration since the first hour he beheld her: this admiration was now confirmed into love: and he resolved to acquaint the Earl with his birth and with his passion. For this purpose, he one morning drew him aside to the terrace of the castle, where they could converse without interruption; and, point ing to the ocean, over which he had so lately been borne, thanked the Earl, who had thus softened the horrors of shipwreck and the desolation of a foreign land, by the kindness of his hospitality. He informed him, that he was a native of Switzerland, where he possessed considerable estates, from which he bore the title of Count de Santmorin; that inquiry of much moment to his interests had brought him to Scotland, to a neighbouring port of which he was bound, when the disaster from which he had been so happily rescued, arrested the progress of his designs. He then related to the Earl, that his voyage was undertaken upon a report of the death of some relations, at whose demise considerable estates in Switzerland became his inheritance that the income of these estates had been hitherto received upon the authority of powers which, if the report was true, were become invalid. The Earl listened to this narrative in silent astonishment, and inquired, with much emotion, the name of the Count's relations.-The Baroness Malcolm, returned he. The Earl clasped his hands in ecstasy. The Count, surprised at his agitation, began to fear that the Earl was disagreeably interested in the welfare of his adversaries, and regretted that he had disclosed the affair, till he observed the pleasure which was diffused through his features. Osbert explained the cause of his emotion, by relating his knowledge of the Baroness; in the progress of whose story the character of Malcolm was sufficiently elucidated. He discovered the cause of his hatred towards the Baron, and the history of his imprisonment; and also confided to his honour the secret of his challenge. The indignation, of the Count was strongly excited; he was, however, prevailed on by Ösbert to forego any immediate effort of revenge, awaiting for a while the movements of Malcolm. The Count was so absorbed in wonder and in new sensations, that he had almost forgot the chief object of the interview. Recollecting himself, he discovered his passion, and requested permission of the Earl to throw himself at the feet of Mary. The Earl listened to the declaration with a mixture of pleasure and concern; the remembrance of Alleyn saddened his mind; but the wish of an equal connexion made him welcome the offers of the Count, whose alliance, he told him, would do honour to the first nobility of his nation. If he found the sentiments of his sister in sympathy with his own on this point, he would welcome him to his family with the affection of a brother; but he wished to discover the situation of her heart ere his noble friend disclosed to her his prepossession. The Earl, on his return to the castle, inquired for Mary, whom he found in the apartment of her mother. He opened to them the history of the Count; his relationship with the Baroness Malcolm, with the object of his expedition; and closed the narrative with discovering the attachment of his friend to Mary, and his offers of alliance with his family. Mary grew pale at this declaration: there was a pang in her heart which would not suffer her to speak; she threw her eyes on the ground, and burst into tears. The Earl took her hand tenderly in his :-My beloved sister, said he, knows me too well to doubt my affection, or to suppose I can wish to influence her upon a subject so material to her future happiness, and where her heart ought to be the principal directress. Do me the justice to believe that I make known to you the offers of the Count as a friend, not as a director. He is a man, whom, from the short period of our acquaintance, I have judged to be deserving of particular esteem. His mind appears to be noble, his heart expansive; his rank is equal with your own; and he loves you with an attachment warm and sincere. But with all these advantages, I would not have my sister give herself to the man who does not meet an interest in her heart to plead his cause. The gentle soul of Mary swelled with gratitude towards her brother; she would have thanked him for the tenderness of these sentiments, but a variety of emotions were struggling at her heart, and stopped her utterance; tears, and a smile softly clouded with sorrow, were all she could give him in reply. He could not but perceive that some secret cause of grief preyed upon her mind, and he solicited to know and to remove it. My dear brother will believe the gratitude which his kindness-She would have finished the sentence, but the words died away upon her lips, and she threw herself on the bosom of her mother, concealing her distress, and wept in silence. The Countess too well understood the grief of her daughter; she had witnessed the secret struggles of her heart, which all her endeavours were not able to erase, and which rendered the offers of the Count disgusting, and dreadful to her imagination. Matilda knew how to feel for her sufferings; but the affection of the mother extended her views beyond the present temporary evil, to the future welfare of her child; and in the long perspective of succeeding years she beheld her united to the Count, whose character diffused happiness and the mild dignity of virtue to all around him: she received the thanks of Mary for her gentle guidance to the good she possessed; the artless looks of the little ones around her smiled their thanks, and the luxury of that scene recalled the memory of times for ever past, and mingled with the tear of rapture the sigh of fond regret. The surest method of erasing that affection which threatened serious evil to the peace of her child, if suffered to continue, and to secure her permanent felicity, was to unite her to the Count, whose amiable dispositions would soon win her affections, and obliterate from her heart every improper remembrance of Alleyn. She det mined, therefore, to employ argument and g tle persuasion, to guide her to her purpose. knew the mind of Mary to be delicate and did; easy of conviction, and firm to pursue wh her judgment approved; and she did not depair of succeeding. The Earl still pressed to know the caused that emotion which afflicted her: I am unwr. thy of your solicitude, said Mary; I cannot tear my heart to submit.-To submit! Can you su pose your friends can wish your heart to su on a point so material to its happiness to auch that is repugnant to its feelings? If the offer of the Count are displeasing to you, tell me s and I will return him his answer. Believe the my first wish is to see you happy.-Generous Osbert! How can I repay the goodness of sud a brother! I would accept in gratitude the hand of the Count, did not my feelings assure me i should be miserable. I admire his character m esteem his goodness; but, alas !-why should! conceal it from you?-my heart is another's, whose noble deeds have won its involuntary re gards; one who is yet unconscious of my distin tion, and who shall for ever remain in ignorance of it. The idea of Alleyn flashed into the mind of the Earl, and he no longer doubted to who her heart was engaged.-My own sentiments, said he, sufficiently inform me of the object of your admiration. You do well to remember the dignity of your sex and of your rank; though I must lament with you that worth like Alleyn's is not empowered by fortune to take its stand. ard with nobility.-At Alleyn's name, the blushes of Mary.confirmed Osbert in his discovery.-My child, said the Countess, will not resign het tranquillity to a vain and ignoble attachment. She may esteem merit wherever it is found, but she will remember the duty which she owes to her family and to herself, in contracting an alliance which is to support or diminish the an cient consequence of her house. The offers of a man, endowed with so much apparent excel lence as the Count, and whose birth is equal to your own, affords a prospect too promising of felicity to be hastily rejected. We will hereafter converse more largely on this subject.-Never shall you have reason to blush for your daugh ter, said Mary, with a modest pride; but par don me, madam, if I entreat that we no more renew a subject so painful to my feelings, and which cannot be productive of good; for never will I give my hand where my heart does no accompany it. This was not a time to press the topic; the Countess for the present desisted, and the Earl left the apartment with a heart divided between pity and disappointment. Hope, however, whispered to his wishes, that Mary might in time be induced to admit the addresses of the Count, and he determined not wholly to destroy his hopes. CHAP. X. THE Count was walking on the ramparts of e castle, involved in thought, when Osbert proached, whose lingering step and disapinted air spoke to his heart the rejection of is suit. He told the Count, that Mary did not present feel for him those sentiments of afction which would justify her in accepting his roposals. This information, though it shocked he hopes of the Count, did not entirely destroy hem; for he yet believed that time and assiduy might befriend his wishes. While these nolemen were leaning on the walls of the castle, ngaged in earnest conversation, they observed, in a distant hill, a cloud emerging from the erge of the horizon, whose dusky hue glittered ith sudden light. In an instant they descried he glance of arms, and a troop of armed men oured in long succession over the hill, and huried down its sides to the plains below. The Carl thought he recognized the clan of the Baon. It was the Baron himself who now adanced at the head of his people, in search of hat revenge which had been hitherto denied him, and who, determined on conquest, had rought with him an host which he thought more than sufficient to overwhelm the castle of his enemy. The messenger who had been sent with the challenge, had been detained a prisoner by Malcolm, who, in the meantime, had hastened his preparations to surprise the castle of Athlin. The detention of his servant had awakened the suspicions of the Earl, and he had taken precautions to guard against the designs of his enemy. He had summoned his clan to hold themselves in readiness for a sudden attack, and had prepared his castle for the worst emergency. He now sent a messenger to the clan with such orders as he judged expedient, arranged his plans within the walls, and took his station on the ramparts, to observe the movements of his enemy.-The Count, clad in arms, stood by his side. Alleyn was posted with a party within the great gate of the castle. The Baron advanced with his people, and quickly surrounded the walls. Within all was silent: the castle seemed to repose in security; and the Baron, certain of victory, congratulated himself on the success of the enterprize, when, observing the Earl, whose person was concealed in armour, he called to him to surrender himself and his castle to the arms of Malcolm. The Earl answered the summons with an arrow from his bow, which, missing the Baron, pierced one of his attendants. The archers who had been planted behind the walls, now discovered themselves, and discharged a shower of arrows; at the same time every part of the castle appeared thronged VOL. X. with the soldiers of the Earl, who hurled on the heads of the astonished besiegers lances and other missile weapons with unceasing rapidity. The alarum-bell now rung out the signal to that part of the clan without the walls, and they immediately poured upon the enemy, who, confounded by this unexpected attack, had scarcely time to defend themselves. The clang of arms resounded through the air, with the shouts of the victors and the groans of the dying. The fear of the Baron, which had principally operated on the minds of his people, was now overcome by surprise and the fear of death; and on the first repulse, they deserted from the ranks in great numbers, and fled to the distant hills. In vain the Baron endeavoured to rally his soldiers, and keep them to the charge: they yielded to a stronger impulse than the menaces of their chief, who was now left with less than half his numbers at the foot of the walls. The Baron, to whom cowardice was unknown, disdaining to retreat, continued the attack. At length the gates of the castle were thrown open, and a party issued upon the assailants, headed by the Earl and the Count, who divided in quest of Malcolm. The Count sought in vain, and the search of Osbert was equally fruitless; their adversary was nowhere to be found. Osbert, apprehensive of his gaining admittance to the castle by stratagem, was returning in haste to the gates, when he received the stroke of a sword upon his shoulder: his armour had broke the force of the blow, and the wound it had given was slight. He turned his sword, and, facing his enemy, discovered a soldier of Malcolm's who attacked him with a desperate courage. The encounter was furious and long ; dexterity and equal valour seemed to animate both the combatants. Alleyn, who observed from his post the danger of the Earl, flew instantly to his assistance; but the crisis of the scene was past ere he arrived; the weapon of Osbert had pierced the side of his adversary, and he fell to the ground. The Earl disarmed him, and holding over him his sword, bade him ask his life,-I have no life to ask, said Malcolm, whose fainting voice the Earl now discovered; if I had, 'tis death only I would accept from you. O! cursed! He would have finished the sentence, but his wound flowed apace, and he fainted with loss of blood. The Earl threw down his sword, and calling a party of his people, he committed to them the care of the Baron, and ordered them to proceed and seize the castle of Dunbayne. Understanding their chief was mortally wounded, the remains of Malcolm's army had fled from the walls. The people of the Earl proceeded without interruption, and took possession of the castle without opposition. The wounds of the Baron were examined when he reached Dunbayne, and a dubious sentence of the event was pronounced. His countenance marked the powerful workings of his mind, 3 B which seemed labouring with an unknown evil; he threw his eyes eagerly round the apartment, as if in search of some object which was not present. After several attempts to speak, Flatter me not, said he, with hopes of life; it is flitting fast away; but while I have breath to speak, let me see the Baroness. She came, and, hanging over his couch in silent horror, received his words. I have injured you, madam, I fear beyond reparation. In these last few moments let me endeavour to relieve my conscience, by discovering to you my guilt and my remorse. The Baroness started, fearful of the coming sentence. You had a son.-What of my son ?-You had a son, whom my boundless ambition doomed to exile from his parents and his heritage, and who I caused you to believe had died in your absence. Where is my child? exclaimed the Baroness.-I know not, resumed Malcolm ; I committed him to the care of a man and woman who then lived on a remote part of my lands; but a few years after they disappeared, and I have never heard of them since. The boy passed for a foundling whom I had saved from perishing. One servant only I intrusted with the secret; the rest were imposed upon. Thus far I tell you, madam, to prompt you to inquiry, and to assuage the agonies of a bleeding conscience. I have other deeds- The Baroness could hear no more; she was carried insensible from the apartment. Laura, shocked at her condition, was informed of its cause, and with filial tenderness watched over her with unwearied attention. In the meantime the Earl, on quitting Malcolm, had returned immediately to the castle, and was the first messenger of that event which would probably avenge the memory of his father, and terminate the distresses of his family. The sight of Osbert, and the news he brought, revived the Countess and Mary, who had retired during the assault into an inner apartment of the castle for greater security, and who had suffered during that period all the terrors which their situation could inspire. They were soon after joined by the Count and by Alleyn, whose conduct did not pass unnoticed by the Earl. The cheek of Mary glowed at the relation of this new instance of his worth; and it was Alleyn's sweet reward to observe her emotion. There was a sentiment in the heart of Osbert which struggled against the pride of birth; he wished to reward the services and the noble spirit of the youth with the virtues of Mary; but the authority of early prejudice silenced the grateful impulse, and swept from his heart the characters of truth. The Earl, accompanied by the Count, now hastened to the castle of Dunbayne, to cheer the Baroness and her daughter with their presence. As they approached the castle, the stillness and desolation of the scene bespoke the situation of its lord; his people were entirely dispersed: a few only of his sentinels wandered before On inquiring for the Baroness, they were tal she was in the apartment of Malcolm, whose me ment of dissolution was now approaching. T name of the Count was delivered to the Bareness, and overheard by the Baron, who desira to see him. Louisa went out to receive her ne ble relation with all the joy which a meetings desirable and so unlooked-for could inspire. seeing Osbert, her tears flowed fast, and thanked him for his generous care, in a manne that declared a deep sense of his services. Le ving him, she conducted the Count to Malcol who lay on his couch surrounded with the stat ness and horrors of death. He raised his languid head, and discovered a countenance wil and terrific, whose ghastly aspect was overspread with the paleness of death. The beauteous Laura overcome by the scene, hung like a drooping over his couch, dropping fast her tears.-My lord said Malcolm, in a low tone, you see before you a wretch anxious to relieve the agony of a guilty mind. My vices have destroyed the peace of this lady-have robbed her of a son;-but she will disclose to you the secret guilt which I have now no time to tell. I have for some years received, as you now well know, the income of those foreign lands which are her due: as a small repe ration for the injuries she has sustained, I be queath to her all the possessions which I lawfully inherit, and resign her into your prote tion. To ask oblivion of the past of you, ma dam, and of you, my lord, is what I dare not do; yet it would be some consolation to my de parting spirit, to be assured of your forgiveness. The Baroness was too much affected to reply but by a look of assent; the Count assured him of forgiveness, and besought him to compose mind for his approaching fate.-Composure, my his |