While Rodolpho through his wife’s illness suffered both for himself and for her, his situation had become more critical with every day. The favourable hour for flight had been consumed by the side of Adelaide’s sick-bed. With no kind friendly hand to pour balm into the wounds of his conscience, their agony was become most acute; and he was now compelled to see (what is seen by every criminal) the deed that was done with very different eyes from those, with which he saw the deed while it was yet to do. He was without comfort, without hope; and already did the emperor’s avengers tread close upon his footsteps.
There was no longer any security for the unfortunate family of Rodolpho at Ravenstein Castle: concealment was the only chance for preserving his life from the many swords, that were in search of him. Adelaide’s first care therefore on her recovery was to quit her abode; nor did her still weak state of health deter her from immediately executing her resolution. Rodolpho followed whither she thought proper to conduct him, less from the hope of saving his wretched existence, than from feeling it impossible to part any more from Adelaide. The horror, which had taken possession of all her faculties on first hearing of this dreadful act, had now given place to sorrow and compassion: she tortured herself to find some apology for his crime; and when she felt that the excuses of love avail nothing at any judgment-bar except its own, though she found herself compelled to confess Rodolpho guilty, she still vowed, that all guilty as he was she loved him still, and that all guilty as he was she would perish with him.
Willingly did the grateful inhabitants of the Vale of Frutiger afford a shelter to her, from whom they had formerly received such essential services; but it was not without much secret murmuring, that they granted the same favour to her blood-polluted husband. How indeed could that innocent and open-hearted race of people willingly support the presence of a murderer?
In the shelter of their huts Rodolpho ran no risque of being betrayed; but it was clear to every one, and most so to himself, that the sacrifice made by them in this instance to humanity, was a sacrifice which cost them very dearly. His own afflicted conscience too prevented him from long remaining quiet in the same place; and he at length suddenly told his wife, that he was determined on hastening to Rome, and on soliciting absolution for his crime at the feet of the holy father. This, he believed, was the only balsam capable of calming the inexpressible anguish, which preyed upon his heart.
Unwillingly did Adelaide suffer him to tear himself from her arms. She would fain have accompanied him in his pilgrimage; but her weakness which still continued, and the caution which it was necessary for a proscribed man to observe upon his journey, compelled her to give up her generous design. Rodolpho set forward in disguise for Rome; Adelaide remained in the Vale of Frutiger with her little son, mingling the milk, which she gave him, with many a tear of bitterness.
A considerable space of time elapsed, and yet no news arrived from the unfortunate pilgrim: her friends the worthy matrons of Helvetia endeavoured to give this delay, which so justly was the cause of much anxiety to Adelaide, a favourable interpretation; and their husbands solemnly promised, should Rodolpho return with the Holy Father’s pardon, they would refuse him no service, which an honest man could require at their hands.
Adelaide’s tranquillity began to return: absolution even from crimes, whose mention makes humanity shudder, is no uncommon thing in our days; this is a circumstance, which gives the laity opportunities of throwing much reproach upon the church; but on which, as belonging to a religious society, it becomes me to remain silent—the hopes of our friend were also greatly strengthened by an event, which (when Adelaide communicated it in one of her letters) appeared even to myself as meriting no slight attention; it was, that persons of inferior consequence having all desisted from the pursuit, the only person, who still demanded Rodolpho’s punishment, was Johanna, the reigning queen of Hungary, and daughter of the murdered emperor. We trusted, that the gentle soul of a woman would be easily awakened to compassion; and this flattering persuasion received additional force, when Adelaide received an assurance, that it was unnecessary for her to continue in concealment, and that she might return to her abode at Ravenstein, in perfect security from meeting with injury or insult.
Adelaide and her friends naturally considered, this permission as a fore-runner of still greater favours—“It is clear then,” said she, “that the place of my concealment was well known to my husband’s enemies. It was in their power, had they thought fit to take the most severe vengeance, to have punished Rodolpho’s crime on me and on his son; but they molested us not, and I am now permitted to return to my former residence. Besides, Rodolpho is in truth not so very culpable; he was seduced into guilt by the artifice of others. He drew not his sword to revenge his own injuries, but to protect his friend against injustice and oppression. Perhaps he was selected as an instrument of the Divine Vengeance, and commissioned by Heaven to punish Albert’s crime, who was himself his sovereign’s murderer.”—
Oh! Adelaide, how could your pure and generous heart persuade itself even in a single thought or by a single word to palliate an offence, too atrocious to admit of pardon? vainly did you strive to deceive yourself; one serious glance falling on the veil, which affection would fain have thrown over the crime of your beloved, was frequently enough to make you tremble and blush at being employed in such an office.
For some time the Lady of the Beacon-Tower resided at Ravenstein in a situation, whose apparent tranquillity was more artificial than real, but which still was rendered supportable by the hope of better days. A thunder-clap suddenly rouzed her from her pleasing dreams, and a tempest hurried her towards the termination of her sorrows.