Hildebrand; or, The Days of Queen Elizabeth, An Historic Romance, Vol. 1 of 3

by Anonymous

But though Inez repaired to her chamber, she did not retire to rest. Indeed, to have sought repose in the state of mind she was in, agitated with contending influences, would have been the extreme of folly. Yet it was not any remembrance of the conduct of her guardian that engaged her attention. The anger and indignation arising from that source, though deep and bitter, was soon lost in her anxiety concerning the disappearance of her lover. She started a whole host of conjectures, as to the manner in which he had effected his escape, but none of them could reduce, in any material degree, her excruciating doubts of his safety. Whatever had been the mode of his egress from the casement, she fancied that he could not descend from so great a height, by his own unaided efforts, and under the disadvantage arising from the darkness of the night, without incurring injury. A thrill of anguish shot through her frame, as, pursuing this train of reflection, she thought that he might now be lying disabled on the damp ground, writhing under the torture of a broken limb. Yet, how could she afford him any succour? how could she even ascertain, without the cognizance and sufferance of her guardian, that he needed succour?

She pondered on the subject till she grew distracted. At last, after she had thought of every possible mode of proceeding, she resolved to wait till the household should have retired, and then search for her lover in the garden.

She did not determine on this step without some hesitation. In making an assignation with a stranger, without so much as knowing his name, or ever interchanging a word with him, she may seem to have manifested little delicacy, and committed excessive indiscretion; but, before passing judgment on her conduct, it must be borne in mind, in reference to her being the first mover of the assignation, that this was in accordance with the custom of her country, and was no way singular or unusual. She invited Hildebrand to meet her, if his sentiments were such as, on the two occasions she had seen him, he had endeavoured to reveal to her by his looks; and though this might not be a legitimate favour, it was a gallantry that was every day practised, and the bachelors of Cadiz hardly ever ventured to address a young lady, especially when she was remarkable for her beauty, till they received some such licence.

Though she was precipitate, ardent, and romantic, and placed scarcely any bridle on her headlong passions, Inez had never entertained a gallant before. It was the noble form, and fine, manly countenance of Hildebrand, which the contrast they presented to the persons of her countrymen rendered more than usually prepossessing, that wakened a sense of love in her breast for the first time. Yet it was not love, but rather a feeling of satisfaction, if a term so cold may be used, that her charms could win from such a cavalier the homage of his looks. She felt gratified by his admiration; his appearance struck her with a responsive impression; and it was this influence, more than any other, that induced her to invite him to an assignation.

Precipitation in an affair of the heart is often attended with peril and mischief. Inez was the creature of impulse, and, in her correspondence with Hildebrand, all had been hurry and action. She had not paused once. Moreover, from the moment that she had opened a direct communication with him, the novelty and excitement of every individual circumstance, by associating him constantly with her thoughts, had combined to invest him with a new interest. The expectations raised by his approach, the feelings awakened by his first address, by their progress to her chamber, by the intrusion of her guardian, and by his mysterious disappearance, with the tormenting doubts which she entertained concerning his safety, knit him to her heart, and opened to his hand its most precious sympathies, and all its priceless affections.

The heart may seem too lightly won that surrenders without a struggle. Even the love that has sprung from time, by slow and gradual degrees, and under the propitious influence of intimate fellowship, often retains some taint of selfishness, and acknowledges a fixed and distinct limit. But it is those warm natures which, once aroused, abandon to their love their every thought, that are soonest and most easily vanquished. They might endure the vicissitudes of a slow and gradual attachment with perfect equanimity; but the magic force of love’s first touch, taking them off their guard, awakens in their bosoms their deepest springs of feeling, and hurries them over every restraint, and past every opposing scruple, into all the excess of unbridled passion.

In the impetuosity of her nature, Inez had unlocked to her unknown lover the inmost recesses of her heart. He was the light and key to all her thoughts. What would have been to his disadvantage with some, by enforcing caution, and keeping before them the necessity of acting with prudence, pleaded to her in his favour; and her very ignorance of his name and station made her look upon him with a more ardent and passionate interest.

At length, the silence that prevailed, and the lateness of the hour, which was now past midnight, led her to suppose that the household must all have retired, and she proceeded to put in execution her purpose of visiting the garden. Softly opening her chamber-door, she looked out into the gallery, and found that the lights in the hall below had been extinguished. Nevertheless, she was afraid to bring her own light forth, and she set on her way in the dark.

Wrapping her mantilla tightly round her, she pressed close to the wall, and proceeded, with a light but quick step, to descend to the hall. She soon reached the bottom of the stairs, and, with a beating heart, groped her way to the rearward door. It was very dark, but, from long familiarity with the building, both by night and day, she knew where to tread, and she made out the door without difficulty. She raised her hand to draw back the bolts; but, to her surprise, she found that, either from neglect or accident, these were not secured, and the door had been left unfastened.

It was not without some qualms of fear that Inez looked out on the pitchy night. The rain was still falling, though not with any force, and the light showers drew from the foliage of the trees, as they fell upon it, a distinct vibration, that gave to the prevailing darkness an unearthly terror. But her apprehensions of peril from fellow-mortals, which her venturing out alone at so late an hour might well inspire, repressed any superstitious fears in the bosom of Inez, though they rendered her equally timid and irresolute. After a brief pause, however, her decision returned, and, drawing the door close after her, she passed out.