This conversation having ended, the duke ordered his carriage, and prepared to drive to Colwood Bay. Lord Glenarvon promised in a few hours to meet him there, and bring with him Viviani. “If he restore my child, and confesses every thing,” said the duke, before he left Lord Glenarvon, “pray inform him, that I will promise him a pardon.” “He values not such promise,” said Glenarvon scornfully. “Lady Margaret’s life and honour are in his power. Viviani can confer favours, but not receive them.” The duke started, and looked full in the face of Glenarvon. “Who is this Viviani?” he said, in a tone of voice loud and terrible. “An idol,” replied Glenarvon, “whom the multitude have set up for themselves, and worshipped, forsaking their true faith, to follow after a false light—a man who is in love with crime and baseness—one, of whom it has been said, that he hath an imagination of fire playing around a heart of ice—one whom the never-dying worm feeds on by night and day—a hypocrite,” continued Glenarvon, with a smile of bitterness, “who wears a mask to his friends, and defeats his enemies by his unexpected sincerity—a coward, with more of bravery than some who fear nothing; for, even in his utmost terror, he defies that which he fears.” “And where is this wretch?” said the duke: “what dungeon is black enough to hold him? What rack has been prepared to punish him for his crimes?” “He is as I have said,” replied Glenarvon triumphantly, “the idol of the fair, and the great. Is it virtue that women prize? Is it honour and renown they worship? Throw but the dazzling light of genius upon baseness, and corruption, and every crime will be to them but an additional charm.”
“Glenarvon,” said the duke gravely, “you have done me much wrong; but I mean not now to reproach you. If the story which you have told me is true, I must still remember that I owe my son’s safety to you. Spare Lady Margaret; keep the promise you have solemnly given me; and at the hour you have mentioned, meet me with the Italian and this boy at Colwood Bay.” Glenarvon left the presence of the duke immediately, bowing in token of assent. The Duke then rang the bell, and ordered his carriage. It was about four in the afternoon when he left the castle: he sent a message to Lady Margaret and Mrs. Seymour, to say that he had ordered dinner to await his return at seven.
CHAPTER XCIX.
No sooner had the duke, accompanied by Macpherson, who waited for him, left the castle, than Mrs. Seymour sought Lady Margaret in her apartment. The door was fastened from within:—it was in vain she endeavoured by repeated calls to obtain an answer.—a strange fear occurred to her mind.—There were rumours abroad, of which she was not wholly ignorant. Was it credible that a sudden paroxysm of despair had led her to the last desperate measure of frantic woe? The God of mercy forbid! Still she felt greatly alarmed. The duke returned not, as he had promised: the silence of the castle was mournful; and terror seemed to have spread itself amongst all the inhabitants. Mac Allain entered repeatedly, asking Mrs. Seymour if the duke were not to have returned at the hour of dinner; and whether it was true that he was gone out alone. Eight, nine, and ten sounded; but he came not.
Mac Allain was yet speaking, when shrieks, long and repeated, were heard. The doors burst open; servants affrighted entered; confusion and terror were apparent in all. “They are come, they are come!” exclaimed one. “We are going to be murdered. The rebels have broken into the park and gardens: we hear their cry. Oh, save us—save us from their fury! See, see, through the casement you may behold them: with their pikes and their bayonets, they are destroying every thing they approach.” Mac Allain threw up the sash of the window: the servants crowded towards it. The men had seized whatever arms they could find: the women wept aloud. By the light of the moon, crowds were seen advancing through the wood and park, giving the alarm by one loud and terrific yell. They repeated one word more frequently than any other. As they approached, it was plainly distinguished:—murder! murder! was the cry; and the inhabitants of the castle heard it as a summons to instant death. The Count Viviani’s name and Lady Margaret’s were then wildly repeated. The doors were in vain barricadoed and defended from within. The outer courts were so tumultuously crowded, that it became dangerous to pass. Loud cries for the duke to appear were heard.
A rumour that the heir of Delaval was alive had been circulated—that blood had been spilt. “Let us see our young lord, long life to him!” was shouted in transports of ecstasy by the crowd; whilst yells of execration mingled against his persecutor and oppressor. “Return: shew yourself to your own people: no ruffian hand shall dare to harm you. Long life to our prince, and our king!”—Suddenly a bugle horn from a distance sounded. Three times it sounded; and the silence became as general as the tumult previously had been. In the space of a few moments, the whole of the crowd dispersed; and the castle was again left to loneliness and terror.
The inhabitants scarcely ventured to draw their breath. The melancholy howling of the watch-dogs alone was heard. Mrs. Seymour, who had shewn a calm fortitude in the hour of danger, now sickened with despondency. “Some direful calamity has fallen upon this house. The hand of God is heavy upon us.” She prayed to that Being who alone can give support: and calm and resigned, she awaited the event. It was past three, and no news of the Duke. She then summoned Mac Allain, and proposing to him that he should arm himself and some others, she sent them forth in quest of their master. They went; and till their return, she remained in dreadful suspense. Lady Margaret’s door being still locked, she had it forced; but no one was there. It appeared she had gone out alone, possibly in quest of her brother.
CHAPTER C.
When the duke arrived at Colwood Bay, he found Colonel de Ruthven prepared to receive him; but was surprised and alarmed at hearing that Lord Glenarvon had that very morning sent for Zerbellini, and neither himself nor the boy had been seen since. The duke then informed the colonel that Lord Glenarvon had been at the castle about an hour since; but this only made the circumstance of his having taken away the child more extraordinary. It was also singular that Lord Glenarvon had paid for his passage the night before, and had taken leave of his friends, as if at that moment preparing to sail: his presence at the castle was, however, a full answer to the latter report: and whilst every enquiry was set on foot to trace whither he could be gone, the duke requested permission of the colonel himself to examine the maniac La Crusca and Macpherson: the former was still at St. Alvin Priory—the latter immediately obeyed the summons, and prepared to answer every question that was put to him.
The duke first enquired of this man his name, and the principal events of his life. Macpherson, in answer to these interrogations, affirmed, that he was a native of Ireland; that he had been taken a boy into the service of the late Countess of Glenarvon, and had been one of the few who had followed her into Italy; that after this he had accompanied her son, the young earl, through many changes of life and fortune; but having been suddenly dismissed from his service, he had lost sight of him for above a year; during which time he had taken into his pay a desperado, named La Crusca, who had continued with him whilst he resided at Florence.