“My father and mother lived together in the greatest love and unanimity of feeling, until the advent of a governess, when Lelia was eight years old, to superintend her education. This woman, as sly and insinuating, as she was bold and unprincipled, soon sowed the seeds of contention between my parents, and alienated from the forsaken wife the lawful affections of her husband. She was not handsome, but she succeeded by art, in acquiring over my father’s mind an almost unlimited control. He forsook my mother’s society, and surrendered himself to the fatal influence of Mademoiselle Desportes. My mother was left to linger on and die alone, in her own solitary apartments of the chateau.
“Little Lelia became fonder of her governess than of her mother, and preferred at all times being with Mademoiselle, than with the desolate and despairing Madame de Serval. Francois and Pierre, seduced by presents and unlimited indulgence, grew to love her. I alone, of the whole family, remained firm in my allegiance to my best parent. I alone spent hour after hour, day after day, by her lone bedside, endeavoring to soothe the saddened spirit, and calm its approach to eternity. My unfailing devotion to her, gained me the bitter enmity of our governess; but I defied and despised her malice. My father from that time henceforward, till his death, regarded me with an eye of distrust; but for that too I did not care: I felt convinced that he had forfeited all claim to the title of husband or father; that he had debased himself by a vulgar, dishonorable connection; disgraceful alike to himself and the ancient name he bore. I owed my first duty to the deserted, not to the deserter; I saw that this disgrace to her sex, aimed at my father’s hand; that she wished to establish herself firmly in a high position; who the man was mattered little to her, so long as he possessed rank and wealth; and, unfortunately, for my opinion of women, I have seen but too many others like unto her. My mother was a stumbling block to her ambition; I saw all the manœuvring that was constantly going on through this woman’s influence; yet what could I do, a young boy, without money or influence in society? If a man chooses to turn against his own wife, the mother of his children; abuse, neglect her, and take instead, a bad, intriguing woman, as confidant and companion, what can the world say or do? nothing, it is their own affair: every one says, let them settle it between them: the public have nothing to do with family quarrels.
“Thus defenceless and unprotected, her parents dead, her relations far away, my mother became a victim to this vile creature. Her health declined with amazing rapidity during the first year of this woman’s arrival; her hectic cough increased daily; her pale and hollow cheeks, glassy eyes, and shrunken form, like a scroll of shriveled parchment, showed the ravages of disease and gloom, preying upon both mind and body. A little incident first gave me a horrid suspicion of the secret cause of this decay.
“A physician from the village, and a mysterious looking monk from a neighboring convent, regularly visited my mother twice a week; the one to attend to her spiritual welfare, the other to administer to her wreck of mortal frame. Father Ignatius I never liked; no love was lost between us; my sentiments were freely returned; his step, gliding and noiseless; his large eyes, always downcast with mock humility, and hands clasped upon his breast, always inspired me with a presentiment of the vicinage of some evil genius. Mystery, I have observed, is generally the cloak of ignorant or knavish minds; in this case it was the latter. I felt relieved when I saw his draperied form leave the chateau, as if some evil influence had been withdrawn. Notwithstanding my dislike, he seemed to be a favorite of my mother’s, and to please her I forbore saying any thing to his disparagement. His conversation seemed to amuse and momentarily enliven her; his voice was soft and low, and manner insinuating and jesuitical. I said nothing against him to her or any one else, though secretly distrustful, for I would not have added to her gloom, around whose soul were gathering fast the shadows of the tomb.
“I was retiring to my mother’s room one evening at dusk, when as I neared the anti-chamber, I heard voices within conversing, and my own name mentioned; pausing at the door, and concealed by its deep shadow, I listened; the speakers were Doctor Theodori, and Father Ignatius; they appeared to have met accidentally.
“‘Well, Doctor,’ was the jocose salutation of Ignatius, ‘how fares thy patient?’
“‘And may I not ask the same question of thee, oh, physician of the soul?’ was the laughing reply of the fat, shrewd-looking Theodori.
“‘Between us two,’ said the monk, glancing round the anti-chamber, as if to observe they were free from notice; the dusk of twilight far advanced, reigned, and they could not see me; ‘between us, I say, she is failing fast: the last few months have wrought a great change.’
“‘I plainly perceive it,’ was the cool reply of his worthy colleague; ‘she will not cumber the earth long, nor be in the way of Monsieur and Mademoiselle Desportes.’
“‘You should be careful not to give the powders too often,—their effect will excite suspicion,’ was the next remark of the holy father.