“After passing a few unquiet hours, Fitzallan fell into a doze, from which he was roused by a noise, which he distinguished to be footsteps on the stairs. He imagined some one was coming to know if he wanted any thing, and he expected every moment the entrance of a servant. The steps, however, died away, and again he tried to compose himself to sleep, when he heard a repetition of the same noise, and at the same time accompanied by a sort of breathing, which seemed to pause at his door.
“A degree of superstition had, very early in life, crept into the mind of Theodore, owing to the improper management of those intrusted with the care of his infant years. He recollected that the old Baron had expired that day at two o’clock; and sounding his repeater, found that it was precisely the same hour. The weak state of his body also affected his spirits; and he yielded himself up to a state of timidity, which he was unable to get the better of.
“His terror was considerably augmented by a noise which shook the room, and seemed as if part of it had given way. In a faltering voice he articulated—‘Who is there?’ but no answer was returned. The low breathing sound was again heard, and the next instant something of icy coldness pressed against his cheek, and a heavy weight seemed to rest on his stomach. No longer master of his fears, Theodore rung the bell, violently uttering a cry of terror, which, in a few minutes, brought an old woman with a lamp into the room, and immediately, to the mingled astonishment, shame, and joy of Fitzallan, he discovered, in the object of his groundless alarm, his faithful dog!”
“Dear papa!” exclaimed Caroline, who, during the narration, had crept closer to her mother, and turned pale with apprehension, “how happy I am to hear that was all! I really thought it had been a ghost.”
“My dear child,” returned Fitzallan, “have not I often warned you against the folly of giving way to such weak fears? The possessor of a virtuous heart has no more to dread by night than by day; and though I was timid enough in the case I have related to suffer my fears to vanquish my reason, I must, in justice to myself, attribute my terror to the powerful force of early impressions. There is a passage in a favourite author, which I have often read to you, and wished you to retain it in your memory, as you may find it of infinite service to you in the events of life. It is in Sturm, whose works you have perused with so much profit and delight. That exquisitely sublime author makes this judicious observation:—‘How much we torment ourselves by vain terrors, which have no foundation but in a disordered fancy! We might spare ourselves many fears, if we would take the trouble to examine the objects which frighten us, and seek for their natural causes. The same thing happens to us with respect to moral things. With what ardour we pursue the goods of fortune, without examining if they are worth such anxiety, or can procure us the hoped-for happiness.’”
“I well remember this, papa,” said Caroline; “but pray tell us now how Rover came to be in that house?”
“I will to-morrow evening, my love; but it grows late—you must retire; and let me again caution you to indulge no fears of darkness or hobgoblins. There is a good God watching over to protect virtue and innocence. Pray to him when you lay down to sleep; let his blessings and mercies occupy your last thoughts, and he will suffer nothing evil to approach you. So good night, my children.”
CHAP. IV.
Let it be considered, that besides as happiness is uncertain, misfortune is rarely without remedy. Time may console us, Fate may change; and he who fancies himself the most unfortunate of beings may yet become happy.
Genlis.