Guiderius was young; he might have been called handsome, had not every feature betrayed the traces of riot and licentiousness. When I complained of his usurped authority, he frequently assured me, that I was not his captive as I stated, but much rather was he mine: but these declarations, which made him still more hateful to me, were received and answered with such contempt and bitterness, that he at length desisted from making them. Instead of these insulting liberties, he seemed to adopt a particularly delicate and humble manner in all things, in which I was concerned, and about which I appeared interested. So that as I now began to feel easy respecting his professions of too warm an attachment, and in this moment of most urgent necessity, when our terrible foe was at our gates, and as every one had recourse to me for that advice, which I, poor trembling woman, would so willingly have asked of others; in such a situation, helpless and bewildered as I was, I did nor think it wise to reject without an hearing the proposition, which the Abbot of Curwald requested leave to lay before me, and whose adoption (he said) would be greatly for my advantage. It proved to be of a nature so innocent, that ill as I thought of the person who proposed it, I could find no reasonable grounds for its rejection.
—“There are few hearts,” said Guiderius, “so hardened as to resist the tears which flow from the eyes of women, or the voice of God when it speaks from the lips of his servants. I am thoroughly persuaded, that Count Donat’s fury would be this moment disarmed, could he witness the streams of anguish, which fear of his vengeance forces into eyes so bright; nor did he once see you kneeling at his feet, could he resist raising you, to fall himself at yours. But you are unconscious of the power which Heaven confided to you, when he formed you so lovely; or knowing it, you will not condescend to make it of use. Well then! Let us have recourse to some other means of softening Count Donat. Permit me to assemble the whole brotherhood of my convent in the Castle-chapel: these holy monks shall form around you with their prayers a wall more solid than one of brass; as soon as your dreaded foe approaches, I will place myself at their head, go forth with them to meet him, command him in the name of our patron-saint to lay aside his blood-thirsty designs, and you will be astonished to witness the effects of our interference.”—
I consented to his proposal. Guiderius gave his orders; and it was not long before the holy monks (no one but their Abbot could have had the assurance to call them holy) set forth on their march with all possible solemnity, and with every circumstance of pomp, which might make them appear of the more consequence in the eyes of him, to whom their embassy was addrest. They laid no slight stress upon the merit of this act of heroism, as they scrupled not to call their interference; and one of the most learned brethren went so far, as to compare their conduct with that of the Roman Deeii, who for the general good devoted themselves to the infernal gods; a comparison, which would have extorted a smile from Minna and myself, had any thing at that moment of danger been capable of making us smile.
We waited for the return of these modern Deeii with inexpressible anxiety. Yet unhappy as we were, and much as we required all our strength of mind and body to support ourselves, we were compelled to exhaust our powers in the difficult task of preventing Ethelbert from sinking under his apprehensions of his foe’s approach, which he dreaded, as if it had been that of an avenging Deity.
During the consultation, which took place on the proposition of Guiderius, we had been necessitated to leave the wretched sufferer to himself. After the departure of the monks, we found him to our great astonishment busied in removing the stone, which covered the mouth of that well, which I have already mentioned as being so terrible to him in his hours of distraction. A variety of circumstances, as well as some broken sentences, which at first escaped from him, left us no doubt, with what object he had sought that particular spot, and what would have been the event, had we not arrived in time to rescue him from his own fury.
In the situation in which he then was, it was unsafe for us to suffer him out of our sight for a moment. We employed all our powers of persuasion to his agitated mind; Minna, whose kind and gentle manner had great influence over him, at length succeeded in kindling a faint spark of hope in his anxious bosom; and he seemed to derive some comfort from her assurances, that (even should Count Donat prove the furious tyrant, which report described him to be) still it was impossible for him to have so totally laid aside all vestiges of humanity, as to look on his father as on a foe, and punish him for offences, which it was now beyond his power to remedy.
—“You are right, sweet angel!” said Ethelbert with a childish vacant smile, which generally took possession of his countenance, when he felt himself exhausted by any violent breaking out of his delirium; “you are quite right! Donat should not revenge his mother’s death on me; I never hated Lucretia; no, no; she was my first love. Its true, I was unfaithful to her; but though Urania was more beautiful and rich, that could only have injured Lucretia for a while. Had but death relieved me from my second wife, nothing need have prevented my restoring my first to liberty, and permitting her to resume her legal rights! then all would have been well; then Lucretia and Donat would have been appeased: fool that I was! Oh! that I had not suffered Urania to live!”—
The pious Minna shrunk back in horror at this proof of aggravated wickedness, which she had undesignedly drawn from an heart, whose sentiments (I had so vainly flattered myself) had been chastened by adversity. Minna dropt the miscreant’s hand in disgust, while she cast upon me a look expressive of the deepest sorrow and compassion; I could not restrain my feelings, and burst into a flood of tears.
—“Nay, weep not!” said the wretched man, whose senses had quite forsaken him; “trust me with a dagger for a few minutes, and neither you nor I shall have reason any longer to tremble at the thoughts of Donat’s vengeance!”—
This conversation, which became more painful with every minute that it lasted, and which was only calculated to make two unprotected women apprehend a nearer danger than Count Donat’s sword, was interrupted by the return of two of the monks, who had accompanied Guiderius. They accosted us with countenances expressing the greatest consternation, and gave us to understand, that the eloquence of their holy brethren had by no means produced the desired effect. Count Donat, an avowed enemy of the church and her servants, had ordered them all to be made prisoners, and flight alone had enabled these two to hasten back to the Castle, and apply to us for assistance.