Men were deceivers ever,
One foot on sea and one on shore——
Yes! yes! on sea!—how many vows did that false man of the sea utter! and how cruelly did he break them on shore!”
“What do I hear?” exclaimed the gentleman. “The very song! the very song we so often sang in duet together at Calcutta!”
“Calcutta!” cried the maniac, earnestly seizing his wrist, and in a tone of deep feeling; “yes, I sang that song often at Calcutta with one who tenderly loved me. How often do I think on that!”
“Merciful powers!” cried the stranger, as he suddenly observed a small Indian wrought ring on the little finger of that hand by which she had for a moment held his; “by all that is wonderful, it is the ring! the very ring! Let me see that ring!”
“No!” said the maniac, in a high, haughty, and determined manner; “it shall never be touched by you nor any one else. He gave it to me—I have worn it—I have preserved it through all my miserable sufferings, and it shall go with me,” added she, fervently kissing it; “it shall go with me to my cold cold grave.”
“Stop, stop!” cried the gentleman, as she was turning away from him; “avoid me not! I am he who gave it you!”
“You!” cried she, stopping suddenly in her retreat, drawing herself up to her full height, and looking back upon him with an air of the most sovereign contempt; “you Charles Græme!—Ha! ha! ha! ha!—you Charles Græme!—His face was fair, and with the expression of an angel; yours is sallow, withered, and wrinkled, like that of a baboon—his hair was lovely as the beams of the morning sun; yours is white, as the eternal snow of the Himala—his form was like that of the Grecian Apollo; yours is like that of winter. Go, traitorous man! I have had enough of falsehood! Come not near me! Chirsty Ross will wed no one now but Charles Græme or the grave!”
In an instant she darted from his sight, before he was aware of her intention, and she disappeared among the ruins. In the wildest state of agitation he rushed after her. He thought he heard a faint shriek, but he vainly sought her with unremitting solicitude for some hours. Believing at length that she must have got into the interior of the building by some secret passage known only to herself, he unwillingly gave up his search, and the sea having now ebbed, and the flood in the river having somewhat subsided, he mounted his horse, with some difficulty crossed the ford, and, oppressed with sorrowful thoughts, he slowly made his way to the castle of his noble friend, to whom he confided his sad tale. From him he learned much that was new to him. A cambric handkerchief, embroidered with Chirsty’s story, had found its way to her friends, who, after many difficulties, succeeded in rescuing her from her confinement. But alas! they found her not till her sufferings had rendered her a confirmed maniac. For a time she felt soothed by the kindness shown her by her afflicted parents; and during the short time they lived, she amused herself by wandering harmlessly about the scenes of her childhood. But when her father and mother were both dead, and all her other relatives being likewise gone or removed, she abandoned her home and took up her abode in the ruinous building, of which she was for the most part left in undisturbed possession. Such was the melancholy outline of her history.