UNIV. OF CALIFORNIA THE MYSTERIES OF ST. CLAIR. CHAPTER THE FIRST. "Mark yon old mansion, frowning through the trees, ROGERS. SLOW broke the tints of a bright autumnal morning on the grey monastic towers of the castle of St. Clair; and all, but Sir Walter Grey De Ruthen, slept in peaceful slumbers beneath its antiquated walls. He had retired, at a late hour, to the gothic chamber which had been prepared for his reception on his arrival there; long previous to which, no one of his vassals dared to interrupt the meditations to which he seemed inclined. It had been a tranquil night, sweet as the breath of angels; and as he sat absorbed in thought, near the casement, a gentle breeze whispered among the honeysuckles which bloomed above him; and the full moon tinged with her sver fight the white bosom of the wide expanse of ocean, that proudly swelled A 2 and sometimes gently flowed, beneath the grey and lofty towers of St. Clair. A supper had been placed before Sir Walter, of the choicest delicacies; but he tasted not of the pampered meal of luxury, by him uncalled for. And the warrior looked, and smiled at the fancied made-up dishes which were placed before him; and gazed with listless apathy on the brilliancy of the dazzling lights, which illuminated, in various directions, the sumptuous apartment in which the costly banquet for him only had been provided, with such idle pomp and useless ceremony. There were odoriferous perfumes, too, scattered in rich and elegant profusion; and slaves" that waited in obedience to his commands. But it was a joyless supper to Sir Walter; and the gaudy scenes before him, for his cheerless and melancholy mind, had not a charm. Inured to the hardships and perils of war, he loved war alone. It had been his rugged nurse; and the cradle that rocked his infancy had been the din of arms the cannon's roar-the sword-the bucklerand the shield. He was both born and educated in feudal times, nor knew he aught but that which appertained to the life of a soldier. But to the castle of St. Clair he had been sent by the express command of his imperious liege lord and master, St. Julian, who was the victorious chief, to seek audience with the Lady Margaret Albino, mother of the illustrious hero, who had that day been slain in battle, to demand the keys of the store rooms; in order that fresh supplies of provision might be sent to the weary and exhausted troops, then under his command, and unable to pursue their route, from the many privations and hardships they had sustained, through a long and tedious campaign. But with the peremptory and imperious command of the mortally hated and detested St. Julian, Lady Margaret chose not to comply; and although a luxurious banquet had been set before his page, Sir Walter De Ruthen, yet the common supplies necessary to support human nature, Lady Margaret had denied to the poor famished troops, merely because they were under the command of St. Julian. "No!" uttered she, in a proud, haughty, and vindictive tone, tempered by the natural asperity of her disposition; "tell Sir Walter De Ruthen that Margaret disdains to listen to any terms of amity thus offered by St. Julian; and that I will not grant the assistance which he so imperiously demands! He has conquered my husband, but he shall not conquer me; nor will I yield compliance with his wishes! His terms of negotiation I despise! and tell him, also, that I do not dread his vengeance do what he may. The castle of St. Clair shall be impregnable to his attempts, and to all of his minions, who shall dare to invade its repose. Tell Sir Walter all this let him go hence, depart in peace, and trouble me no more!" But Sir Walter, who had listened in profound astonishment to the haughty and repulsive language of the Lady Margaret Albino, greeted the page to whom she had delivered her commands, with no very conciliating looks, as he approached him; and, not giving him time to execute the mission with which he was so imperiously charged, he fiercely exclaimed : "I will not be so repulsed, by the honour of a soldier! nor will I go hence, or depart, without more satisfactory intelligence. Conduct me, then, to the presence of this relentless fair one, of whom, I, Sir never yet sued to mortal Walter De Ruthen, who man, now implore of her, (the Lady Margaret) a private conference. One single word shall suffice me, and that word will charm her-shall charm ber!" Sir Walter paused—a hectic colouring of a moment passed over his furrowed check; furrowed with the toils of rude and rugged war, more than any ravages that the hand of hoary headed time had made on his sunburnt, yet highly animated and intelligent features; and Sir Orville Faulkner, while observing the most respectful silence, could not repress the most glowing admiration of the fine martial figure of the brave and undaunted soldier, who disdained meanly to wear a smile of hypocrisy, when his heart owned a more powerful influence than merely the duty which was incumbent on him in delivering the commands of his liege lord and master to Lady Margaret Albino, for wishing to behold her; and it was not alone the fine figure of Sir Walter De Ruthen, that altogether attracted Lady. Margaret's page towards him; it was the military costume, which was evidently of the Austrian order, (which was not that of St. Julian's) and which so corresponded with the look-the manuers-the voicethe countenance of Sir Walter; and that was no unmeaning one, for nature had stamped upon it an impression which could not easily be mistaken ;—a soldier, a man and a christian! And, when darting once more his eagle eye on Sir Orville Faulkner, he repeated his demand, to obtain an audience with the Lady Margaret, the page, in a faltering voice, replied, ر "Think not, Sir Walter, that I would willingly deny you an interview with an illustrious lady, did the access to her apartments rest alone with me; but you know not the mysteries that extend their baneful influence in the castle of St. Clair for that there are mysteries which no mortal hath the power of divining, save the Lady Margaret herself, all who enter the precincts of this castle, will quickly learn; even now the postern-gates are strongly guarded, and the drawbridge already secured." "Am I, then, a prisoner of the Lady Margaret?" cried Sir Walter, and smiled contemptuously. "Not so, Sir Walter," uttered the page, "far be it from me to insinuate aught against the liege mistress whom I serve; but you will find it difficult to depart ere the morning breaks, from the lofty towers of St. Clair." "I would try that, and grapple which should have the stoutest sword among us, were I once resolved to go," answered Sir Walter ; " but, by my faith, I would rather tarry here a thousand years, than miss my aim with haughty Margaret Yet, save you, sir, I am much bounden to you for your well-meaning; as, no doubt, you mean me well, as I do you." Sir, I bear no enmity to mortal man, nor woman either," cried Sir Orville Faulkner. Sir Walter eyed the page incredulously; for he imagined that beneath the guise of so much courtesy and suavity of manners, that deception lurked, and that there was somewhat of the crafty statesman about him and fixing his keenly penetrating eye full upon him, he uttered, sarcastically, "Then thou art at peace even with thy foes?" |