She regarded the situation of her father with the most lively anguish. She knew little of the world, but she was aware, from the little that she did know, that his cause would be tried before prejudiced judges, and a court that regarded every Roman Catholic with avowed distrust. The persecuted will naturally ever speak harshly and bitterly of their oppressors; and she had heard strange stories, at various periods, of outrages perpetrated on Roman Catholics without any provocation, and in violation of every principle of law and right. According to these tales, men were never wanting, at the bidding of the government, to support charges against them by the most barefaced perjury; and, on such corrupt testimony, judges would unscrupulously condemn them to the block or the gibbet. As she thought how easy it would be, by means such as these, and before a partial and bigoted judge, to make her father appear guilty, and so bring his declining life to a violent end, her heart turned cold with horror; and she began to perceive the full extent of the calamity that had so unexpectedly fallen upon her.
Nevertheless she did not despair—not for a moment. She saw, from the very first, that it was no time to hesitate, or to suffer the energies of her mind to be wasted in repining, or crushed by depression. Her heart was sad, and her spirit dejected; but, though she was so deeply and sensibly moved, she met the trying crisis with decision, and a reliance on the protection of Heaven, whatever might be the result, that could not fail to prove a source of cheer and hope.
Her heart was considerably lightened after she had laid its plea before God. On rising from her knees, her bosom became alive to a soothing calmness, which cannot be described; and her brimming eyes were again raised to heaven, with tears of deep and heartfelt gratitude, as she felt that this was but the leading effect of her hardly-uttered prayers.
Reflecting how she could be of service to her father, her first thought naturally inclined her, as a preliminary measure, to repair to London, and make her way to his presence. But she felt that, in consequence of his being a state-prisoner, there might be some difficulty in obtaining access to him; and, therefore, on further consideration, she determined to seek some means of aiding him before she visited his prison. She had a confident hope of succour from Sir Walter Raleigh, but, unfortunately for its realization, she knew not where to apply to that personage, or how to inform him of her father’s situation. While she was pondering on these circumstances, she thought of the letter, or packet—for it evidently contained some enclosures—which had been given to her by Hildebrand; and, in this possession, a new and felicitous resource seemed to open to her. Drawing it from beneath her vest, she proceeded to examine it, and to ascertain, from the evidence furnished by its exterior, what room it would afford her for any hope. But she could form no opinion from the cover; and if she had been disposed to seek further (which she was not), the search would have been equally fruitless. The packet, indeed, had been folded with the greatest care, and, moreover, was secured with two fair seals; and, consequently, she had no ground for conjecture but the direction. It was inscribed, in a bold and distinct hand, to “Master Bernard Gray, at the sign of the Angel alehouse, Lantwell;” and these words, which she deciphered at a glance, were all that its exterior revealed.
She raised the packet to her lips before she re-placed it in her vest. While her lips still rested on it, however, the kiss they were about to exhale was arrested; and a deep blush spread over her face and neck. It was a beautiful manifestation, and showed that, in the bosom of innocence, true modesty is ever alert, and requires no overlooking eye to excite its sweet sensibilities.
After a moment’s deliberation, she resolved to deliver the packet to its direction without delay. Pursuant to this design, she called for Martha Follett; and through that faithful adherent, gave orders to her other servants, who had charge of the carriage and horses, to prepare for their return to Neville Grange. While she was herself preparing to depart, Martha again entered her presence, and, with some appearance of agitation, informed her that her cousin, Don Felix, was without, and sought to speak with her.
“Bid him come in, good Martha,” answered Evaline.
Martha, with a silent curtsy, withdrew; and, the next moment, Don Felix entered.
Evaline did not meet him with her usual friendliness. His conduct towards Hildebrand, with a knowledge of the service that the latter had rendered her and her father, had led her to look upon him in a new light, and, though she was not disposed to judge him harshly, had shown a meanness of spirit that she could not but condemn. On glancing at his face, however, and perceiving that he looked dejected and anxious, her coldness began to relax, and, yielding to the generous impulses of her nature, she extended him her hand.
“’Tis well,” said Don Felix, taking her hand. “I have come to bid thee adieu, Evaline.”