CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Painful and terrific as had been the struggle in the bosom of Albert Maurice, while he remained in the presence of the princess, his feelings had been light and sunshiny, compared with those which he experienced when he found himself alone with the deep gloom--the dull, immovable despair, which at once took possession of his heart, the moment that thought had an opportunity to rest upon his own situation. We have before seen that remorse was already busy in his bosom; and the only shield that guarded him from the lash of his own reflections, had been the bright surpassing hope of overcoming all the mighty obstacles before him, and winning her he loved. But now he had triumphed over every enemy--he had overleaped every barrier--he had set his foot upon every obstacle, and, in the end, discovered that she loved another--that all was useless he had done--that the blood he had shed, had been shed in vain--that he had forgotten his country and her rights--that he had forgotten justice and humanity--that he had yielded himself entirely to ambition, and consigned himself to remorse for ever--for a dream that was gone. Nor was this all; the same deep, fiery, passionate love remained in his heart, but was now doomed, instead of the bright follower of hope, to become the sad companion of remorse and despair. When he thought of the future--when she should become the bride of another--he felt his brain reel under the agony of that contemplation. When he thought of the past, he felt that the gnawing worm was for ever destined to prey upon his heart. There was no refuge for him in all time, to which he could fly for relief. The gone hours were full of reproach, and the approaching ones were all bitterness.
Such were his feelings as he strode along the passages of the palace at Ghent; and the incoherent words that he muttered to himself, as he proceeded, showed how terrible had been their effect already upon his bright and powerful mind. "They have been murdered in vain," he muttered--"they have been murdered in vain. Their blood cries up to heaven against me. To see her in the arms of another--oh God! oh God! But she shall be happy. Yes, she shall be happy. I will provide for his safety, as a brother, and she shall be happy; and I?--and I? Why, there is the grave--that is one resource, at least!" and suddenly he burst into a low, involuntary laugh, which made him start even as it rang upon his own ear. "Am I insane?" he thought; "then I must be speedy, lest the power fail me." And again muttering disjointed sentences, he proceeded down the great staircase, and was passing through the entrance-hall, without noticing any one, when Matthew Gournay advanced to his side and stopped him.
"There is no time to be lost, sir," he said; "let us hasten quick."
"Who are you?" demanded Albert Maurice, gazing vacantly upon him. "Oh, yes! I had forgot," he added, recalling his thoughts. "Other things were pressing on my mind. We will go presently, but I must first return to the town-house; and yet that square--I love not to pass that square, where they were beheaded."
"You have no time, sir," replied the old soldier, in a tone which again recalled Albert Maurice to the present moment. "As I sat here but now, that evil Prevot--that Maillotin du Bac--passed through the hall, with several others, speaking eagerly of you. His eye fell upon me, and he may chance to know me well. At all events, he was silent instantly; but, if I am not very wrong indeed, he has taken his way towards the prison, where my young lord lies; and, perchance, if we be not quick, we may come too late."
"You speak true; lead on!" cried Albert Maurice, roused to the exertion of all his powers by the sudden call upon his energy. "You, young man, run as for your life to the town-house! Bid the commander of the burgher guard march a hundred men instantly down to the Prevot's prison, near the gates. But who have we here?" he added, as a man in breathless haste ran up the steps into the hall. "The lieutenant of the Prevot, as I live! How now, sir! whom seek you?"
"You, Sir President," replied the man, at once. "You once saved me when I was in imminent peril; and I now think that the news I bring may be valuable to you. The prisoner who was made in the market-place--the Vert Gallant of Hannut--men say you owe him something, and would fain repay it. But, if you hasten not your steps, you will come too late. I have done what I can to delay the Prevot, but he is now speeding on to the prison. His purpose is against the life of the prisoner; and his horses are ready to fly from Ghent for ever."
"Enough, enough!" said Albert Maurice, passing him suddenly, and springing down the steps of the palace. The active exertion of his corporeal powers seemed to give back to Albert Maurice full command of his mental ones, at least for the time; and though his thoughts were characterized by the darkest and sternest despair, they wandered not from those points to which he strove to bend them, and he seemed revolving eagerly some plan of future conduct. "Yes," he said, half aloud, as he strode on, "yes! so shall it be! If I am in time, he shall conduct the rest; and, ere all be finished, the world may know that there were some drops of Roman blood even within this bosom."
Almost as he spoke he turned the corner of a street, which led directly towards the Alost gate. Fifty yards farther stood a small stone building, known as the Prevot's prison, in which he lodged any newly-arrested prisoners, previous either to their immediate execution or to their removal to some other place of confinement. The street was all dark, and likewise solitary, except where--the upper stories, as was often customary in Ghent, protruded considerably beyond the lower ones--stood four or five men, holding saddled horses, and conversing together in a low tone.