CHAPTER XXXVIII.
WHAT HAPPENED THERE.
The darkness of the sky and the denseness of the interwoven foliage overhead, made our whereabouts so obscure, that our horses stumbled at every step, till dismounting, I led them by the bridle. There was a strange stillness in the air; the rain fell in large warm drops which plashed heavily on the broad leaves of the summer forest; the green, ghastly lightning at times lit up the long dark vistas, glancing for an instant on the old gnarled trunks, imparting to them a freakish and grotesque aspect that terrified Nicola, who began to consider herself rather rash in having rehearsed that very far from lively historiette or episode in the life of his Majesty Charles VIII. in such an alarming locality; and as the thunder rolled and hurtled above us, every moment nearer and more near, she was all palpitating with terror like a little bird, when I wrapped my cloak round her, as an additional protection from the fast falling rain.
I now became seriously anxious to find a place of shelter for her. A night in the forest, exposed to all the discomfort of a storm, and to the real and imaginary terrors of such a place, might prove, I feared, too much for the constitution of a girl so delicate by nature, and so tenderly nurtured as Nicola had been.
While I was in this state of perplexity, we discovered a cavern, or deep fissure in a mass of ivy-covered rock close by us—the same rock on which the old castle stood. The bridle of Dagobert, whose equanimity (never very great at any time) was rather ruffled by the thunder, I buckled to the branch of a tree. Entering, I examined the place by firing my pistol among some dry leaves, and thus creating a momentary light, found it to be a complete alcove in the rocks, full of the withered spoils of the last autumn. I led in Nicola, placed her in a comfortable nook, and after securing the horses close by, in such a manner that to break loose or escape would be, for them, impossible, I rejoined her; and there we sat, hand in hand, in that dark rocky chamber, listening to the wild storm that bellowed without, and watching the gleams of lightning that flashed and glared on the stems of the summer forest.
I had my pistols at hand, prepared for any emergency; and making for Nicola a bed composed of dry leaves and our mantles, I besought her to be composed, and to endeavour to sleep; but she pressed my hand gently, and declared herself to be too much alarmed and too excited to think of sleeping; and there we were alone, at night, in that old haunted forest on the borders of Champagne.
I pressed her dear and tiny hand from time to time, and occasionally there was a response, which sent a thrill of happiness to my heart; then she crept closer to my side, for the darkness was intense, and the uproar of the elements without was somewhat appalling.
As we sat there, the deep, hoarse, solemn murmur of the wind, as it rose and fell, had in it something very impressive. At times it wailed like the mingled voices of a vast multitude; then it chafed among the tossing branches like the waves of a distant sea, in fierce and sudden gusts; anon it would die away, and we heard only the hiss of the rain that poured so ceaselessly down on the leaves of the drenched forest. At times strange sounds seemed to mingle with the passing wind. I deemed these to be the cries of affrighted wolves; and often sat pistol in hand, lest some of those dreadful denizens of the wild should find our place of shelter, and rush headlong in.
The lightning that came in brilliant and quivering flashes revealed the rugged outline of the cavern-mouth, and the wet dingles which stretched away in vague and dark perspective; and the whole scene, with all its concomitants, was so terrible, that Nicola drew her hood over her eyes, and at times drooped her forehead on my shoulder. She was faint with fear, and weary by fatigue; and, being a good little Catholic, I heard her muttering her prayers from time to time. Moreover, she made a vow, if she escaped all the terrors of the night, to visit the most renowned shrine in Lorraine, that of St. Lucy the Scot at St. Michel.
Then she uttered a feint cry, and clutched my arm!