IN CONTINUATION.
I had written thus far, when some one tapped at my door, and the next moment the priest entered: he was not an hour arrived, and with his usual kindness came to inquire after my health, expressing much surprise at its alteration, which he said was visible in my looks. “But, it is scarcely to be wondered at,” he added: “a man who complains for two days of a nervous disorder, and yet gallops, as if for life, seven miles in a day more natural to the torrid zone than our polar clime, may have some chance of losing his life, but very little of losing his disorder.” He then endeavoured to persuade me to go down with him and take some refreshment, for I had tasted nothing all day, save Glorvina’s draught; but finding me averse to the proposal, he sat with me till he was sent for to the Prince’s room. As soon as he was gone, with that restlessness of body which ever accompanies a wretched mind, I wandered through the deserted rooms of this vast and ruinous edifice, but saw nothing of Glorvina.
The sun had set, all was gloomy and still, I took my hat and in the melancholy maze of twilight, wandered I knew not, cared not whither. I had not, however, strayed far from the ruins, when I perceived the little postboy galloping his foaming mule over the drawbridge, and the next moment saw Glorvina gliding beneath the colonnade (that leads to the chapel) to meet him. I retreated behind a fragment of the ruins, and observed her to take a letter from his hand with an eager and impatient air: when she had looked at the seal, she pressed it to her lips: then by the faint beams of the retreating light, she opened this welcome packet, and putting an enclosed letter in her bosom, endeavoured to read the envelope; but scarcely had her eye glanced over it, than it fell to the earth, while she, covering her face with her hands, seemed to lean against the broken pillar near which she stood for support. Oh! was this an emotion of overwhelming bliss, or chilling disappointment? She again took the paper, and still holding it open in her hand, with a slow step and thoughtful air, returned to the castle; while I flew to the stables under pretence of inquiring from the post-boy if there were any letters for me. The lad said there was but one, and that, the postmaster had told him was an English one for the lady Glorvina. This letter, then, though it could not have been an answer to that I had seen her writing, was doubtless from the mysterious friend, whose friendship, “like gold, though not sonorous, was indestructible.”
My doubts were now all lost in certain conviction; my trembling heart no longer vibrated between a lingering hope and a dreadful fear. I was deceived and another was beloved. That sort of sullen firm composure, which fixes on man when he knows the worst that can occur, took possession of every feeling, and steadied that wild throb of insupportable suspense which had agitated and distracted my veering soul; while the only vacillation of mind to which I was sensible, was the uncertainty of whether I should or should not quit the castle that night. Finally, I resolved to act with the cool determination of a rational being, not the wild impetuosity of a maniac. I put off my departure till the following morning, when I would formally take leave of the Prince, the priest, and even Glorvina herself, in the presence of her father. Thus firm and decided, I returned to the castle, and mechanically walked towards that vast apartment where I had first seen her at her harp, soothing the sorrows of parental affliction; but now it was gloomy and unoccupied; a single taper burned on a black marble slab before a large folio, in which I suppose the priest had been looking; the silent harp of Glorvina stood in its usual place. I fled to the great hall, once the central point of all our social joys, but it was also dark and empty; the whole edifice seemed a desert. I again rushed from its portals, and wandered along the sea-beat shore, till the dews of night and the spray of the swelling tide, as it broke against the rocks, had penetrated through my clothes. I saw the light trembling in the casement of Glorvina’s chamber long after midnight. I heard the castle clock fling its peal over every passing hour; and not till the faintly awakening beam of the horizon streamed on the eastern wave, did I return through the castle’s ever open portals, and steal to that room I was about to occupy (not to sleep in) for the last time: a light and some refreshment had been left there for me in my absence. The taper was nearly burned out, but by its expiring flame I perceived a billet lying on the table. I opened it tremblingly. It was from Glor-vina, and only a simple inquiry after my health, couched in terms of commonplace courtesy. I tore it—it was the first she had ever addressed to me, and yet I tore it in a thousand pieces. I threw myself on the bed, and for some time busied my mind in conjecturing whether her father sanctioned or her preceptor suspected her attachment to this fortunate rebel. I was almost convinced they did not. The young, the profound deceiver; she whom I had thought
“So green in this old world.”
Wearied by incessant cogitation, I at last fell into a deep sleep, and arose about two hours back, harassed by dreams and quite unrefreshed, since when I have written thus far. My last night’s resolution remains unchanged. I have sent my compliments to inquire after the Prince’s health, and to request an interview with him. The servant has this moment returned, and informs me the Prince has just fallen asleep after having had a very bad night, but that when he awakens he shall be told of my request. I dared not mention Glorvina’s name, but the man informed me she was then sitting by her father’s bedside, and had not attended matins. At breakfast I mean to acquaint the excellent Father John of my intended departure. Oh! how much of the woman at this moment swells in my heart. There is not a being in this family in whom I have not excited, and for whom I do not feel an interest. Poor souls! they have almost all been at my room door this morning to inquire after my health, owing to the nurse’s exaggerated account: she too, kind creature, has already been twice with me before I arose, but I affected sleep. Adieu! I shall despatch this to you from M———— house. I shall then have seen the castle of Inismore for the last time—the last time!!