We need not pursue their conversation farther: for nearly an hour more it went on in the same strain; and if the resolutions of Algernon Grey faltered for a moment now and then,--if a tenderer word would fall from his lips,--yet still, considering the feelings that were at his heart, he exercised great power over himself. I know not whether it were better or worse for Agnes, that he did so; for certainly the calmness of his manner and the careful tone of his language aided her in deceiving herself as to that which was in her own breast. She laughed to scorn the thought of love between them. She was grateful, deeply grateful; and if there was aught more in her bosom, she fancied it was but a feeling of compassion for one whom she thought wronged by unjust imprisonment. She could hear him talk as calmly of his departure, she said to herself, as she could listen to a sermon or a lecture. She could speak of it herself without one emotion. Was this like love? Oh, no. She had a deep friendship for him; well she might have; but that, and gratitude, and compassion, were all. Agnes knew not what she would have felt had she been called upon to part with him at that moment. As it was, she went on gaily, like a child treading the verge of a precipice and gathering flowers upon the edge of destruction. And when the time of his short liberty was at an end, she was sorry for it; for it had been a sweet and pleasant time to her. They parted at the door of his chamber, each with a sigh; and Algernon Grey paced up and down his solitary room, and, as the moon rose solemnly over the hills, opened his window and gazed forth as if his thoughts would be more free with the wide expanse of heaven and earth before him. The moment after, he heard the sound of an instrument of music; and turning quickly round to the right he saw the light streaming forth from an open casement, which, as far as he could calculate, was near those of the Electress Dowager. He could not see into the room; but the sweet sounds issued forth upon the night air, as a skilful hand swept the strings; and a moment after a voice, the sweet, clear, rounded tones of which he knew right well, poured out a flood of melody, rising and falling on the ear like the notes of a nightingale in the spring eventide. The music was not exactly gay; but yet, every now and then, a cheerful tone enlivened the graver strains; and partly from memory--for he had heard the song before--partly from the exceeding clearness with which every word was pronounced, he distinguished each verse as it was sung.
SONG.
The moon is on high, but she's hid by a cloud,
The prospect looks gloomy and drear,
And still through the night may she weep 'neath the shroud;
But daylight is coming, and near.
The heart is bowed down 'neath the cares of the hour,
And the eye may be dimmed by a tear;
But the heart shall rise up in the morn like a flower;
A brighter day's coming, and near.
We have trusted and hoped, been oppress'd, and have grieved;
But joy will return, never fear:
There's a trust and a hope that is never deceived;
A brighter day's coming, and near.
Each life has its joy, and each life has its pain;
But the tempest still leaves the sky clear;
And for honour and truth, which are never in vain,
A brighter day's coming, and near.
CHAPTER V.
Another night passed of agitating thought, with but little sleep and many troublous dreams; and for more than one long hour Algernon Grey remained in deep and intense thought, pondering over the present and the future. I know not how or why--for there are many mysteries in man's nature, which the skill of philosophy, as yet, has not been able to unravel;--but certain it is, that at one particular portion of the night, unless sleep deaden the reflective powers and still the imagination, or active exertion occupies the thoughts with tangible things, dark and gloomy images come crowding upon the mind and seem to triumph over the powers of reason, with a supernatural influence, like that which has been attributed to spectres from the grave. All that is sad and horrible in man's general fate, all that is grievous or perilous or worthy of regret in the history of the past, in the aspect of the present, and in the prospect of the future, marches by in long and black procession; and the oppressed heart is fain to exclaim at this sight of human ills, "What! will the line last to the crack of doom?"
The couch of Algernon Grey was not without such apparitions; and--alas! that I should say it--the thought of her who had just quitted him in all her beauty, in all her sweetness, in all her grace, but rendered the wild phantoms of fancy more terrible. He felt, he could not deny, in that hour of the opening of the heart's secrets to itself, that he loved her, eagerly, ardently, with that first passionate love of enthusiastic youth; that to win her he would willingly have sacrificed rank, name, station, aught on earth but his own sense of right. But still, at the same time, came a voice from his own breast, like that of fate, repeating: "She cannot be thine! She cannot be thine!"
"What should he do?" he asked himself; "how should he act?" He could not reject her gentle kindness offered in simple innocence by a grateful heart. Flight was his only resource; but he was a prisoner and had no power to fly. Chained down to the sole society most dangerous to his peace, it seemed as if he were tied to the stake to endure to the utmost the fiery ordeal of temptation. Then again, he strove to cast the thoughts from him, and gained a brief interval of sleep; but visions all coloured by the same gloomy hues either disturbed repose, or made him start up again to think of the same themes and wrestle with the same dark adversaries.
At length the day dawned; and, rising quickly from his bed, he hurried to the window, opened it, and gazed forth. Oh, how sweet was the fresh aspect of the morning to his wearied eyes, as calm and reinvigorating to the mind as the gentle breath of the early summer day to the heated cheek it blew upon. The golden light spread through the valley and over the hills, sunk in amongst the deep woods, and threw out the masses of the dark trees from a soft background of luminous mist; while, here and there, a woodman's fire or cottage chimney sent up wreaths of faint blue smoke, rolling in graceful lines amongst the leaves and branches.
The day went on in its usual course: many hours of solitude, broken only by the entrance of a servant or the guard. Algernon Grey found no means of relieving the tedious passing of the time. He tried to read, but he could not. He turned from the instrument of music he had asked for, with a sickened feeling, as if sweet sounds would but increase the bitterness of meditation. Thought, devouring thought, consumed the moments; till towards evening, when the guard threw open the door, and to his surprise he saw his old and attached servant Antony enter and approach him. The man's face wore a mingled expression, as if he was striving to keep up his usual appearance of gaiety, when in truth his heart was sad; and his master would not suffer one who, he well knew, loved him dearly to see how bitterly circumstances made, him feel his imprisonment.
"Well, Tony," he said, in a cheerful tone; "so they have given you admission at length."
"Yes, my lord," replied the man; "they have come down from their high flight, now that they find their heavy bravo will not do.--I hope your lordship has not fancied I have been negligent; for I have been up here twice a day, and the page as often. The little devil would have stabbed the guard, I believe, to get entrance, if I had not stopped him; but we two are not enough to storm the castle, and we should have only got ourselves in limbo too. However, to-night they let me in to carry you these letters, which a courier brought just now from England; so there are now four of us; and, if you like, methinks between us all we can contrive to get you out."