FRAN. (as if astonished.) To me? Amelia's portrait to me? Charles, Amelia? To me? AMEL. (going furiously to Herman.) Hireling! pander! liar! [Looks hard at him. HER. That am I not, my lady. Look yourself, if it is not your picture-perhaps you yourself gave it to him? FRAN. By Heaven, Amelia, it is yours! It is really yours! AMEL. (gives him back the picture.) Mine, mine! Oh, heaven and earth! OLD M. (shrieking.) Woe, woe! My curse has driven him to death! he has fallen in despair! FRAN. And he thought of me in the last heavy hour of departure—of me!-angelic soul!--when already the black banner of death rustled over him-of me! OLD M. (muttering.) My curse has driven him to death! my son has fallen in despair! HER. This sorrow I cannot bear. Farewell, old Sir. (Softly, to Francis.) Why have you done this, too. [Exit, quickly. AMEL. (springing after him.) Stay, stay! What were his last words? HER. (calling back.) His last sigh was, "Amelia !" [Exit. AMEL. His last sigh was, "Amelia !"- No; thou art no deceiver! It is true true! he is dead-dead-(she sinks down)-dead!-Charles is dead! FRAN. What do I see? What stands there upon the sword, written in blood?-Amelia ! AMEL. By him? FRAN. Do I see aright, or do I dream? See there are traces of blood: "Francis, leave not my Amelia!" Look there, look there! and on the other side: "Amelia! all-powerful death hath broken thy oath."-Do you see now? do you see now? He wrote it with a stiffening hand; he wrote it with his heart's warm blood; he wrote it on the fearful brink of eternity! His flying spirit yet tarried to bind together Francis and Amelia. AMEL. Sacred Heaven! it is his hand!-He has never loved me! [Exit, quickly. FRAN. (stamping on the ground.) Despair! my whole scheme is ruined by this obstinate girl! OLD M. Woe, woe! Leave me not, my daughter!-Francis, Francis! give me my son again! FRAN. Who was it that cursed him! Who was it that drove his son into battle, and to death, and to despair?-Oh! he was an angel! a jewel of heaven! Curses on his murderer! Curses, curses on you yourself! OLD M. (striking his breast and forehead.) He was an angel; he was a jewel of heaven. Curses, curses, destruction-curses on myself! I am the father that hath slain his great son. He loved me unto death! To avenge me, he rushed into battle and to death! Monster, monster! FRAN. He is gone; to what end serve late complaints ?(Laughing scornfully.)-It is easier to murder, than to make alive. You will never fetch him back from his grave. OLD M. Never, never, never fetch him back from the grave! Gone, lost for ever! And thou hast prated the curse from my heart; thou-thou-give me my son again! FRAN. Rouse not my anger. I leave you in death!— [Starts from his seat, and seizes Francis by the throat, FRAN. Powerless bones! you dare it-die! despair! [Exit. OLD M. A thousand curses thunder after thee! Thou hast torn my son from my arms. (Tossing about on his couch.) Woe, woe! Despairing; but not to die!-They fly-leave me in death -my good angels fly from me; all holy things shrink from the grey murderer.—Woe! woe! will no one hold my head? will no one unbind my writhing soul? No son? no daughter? no friend? -Men only will none?-alone-forsaken! Woe, woe! Despairing; but not to die! Enter AMELIA, weeping. OLD M. Amelia! messenger of Heaven! Come you to set free my soul? AMEL. (with a soft tone.) You have lost a noble son. OLD M. Murdered, you would say. Laden with this witness, I step before the judgment-seat of God. AMEL. Not so, sorrowful old man! The heavenly Father hath called him to himself. We should have been too happy in this world. There, there-beyond the sun-we shall see him again. OLD M. See him again! see him again! Oh, it will pierce through my soul as a sword! If I find him a holy one among the holy-in the midst of heaven will a shudder of hell pass through me! In the sight of the Eternal, the remembrance would crush me: I have murdered my son! AMEL. Oh, he will smile away the bitter memory from your soul! Be more glad, dear father! I am quite so. Hath he not already sung the name, "Amelia," to heavenly listeners on seraphic harps? and have not the heavenly listeners lisped it lightly after him? His last sigh was, "Amelia !"-will not his first jubilee be, "Amelia?" OLD M. Heavenly comfort flows from thy lips. He will smile on me, sayest thou? Forgive me: you must stay by me, beloved of my Charles, when I die. AMEL. To die, is to fly into his arms. Well for you! You are to be envied. Why are these bones not dry? Why are these hairs not grey? Woe upon the powers of youth! Welcome, marrowless old age! nearer to heaven and my Charles. Enter FRANCIS. OLD M. Come here, my son! against you. I forgive you all. spirit in peace. Forgive me, if I was too hard FRAN. Have you wept enough for your son? So far as I see, you have but one. OLD M. Jacob had twelve sons; but for his Joseph he shed tears of blood. FRAN. Hum! OLD M. Go; take the Bible, my daughter, and read me the story of Jacob and Joseph. It has always much moved me; and then I had not been a Jacob. [Takes the Bible, and opens it. OLD M. Read me the sorrow of the forsaken, as he found him not among his children—and waited for him in vain, in the circle of his eleven-and his song of mourning, when he thought his Joseph was taken from him for ever. AMEL. (reads.) "And they took Joseph's coat, and killed a kid of the goats, and dipped the coat in the blood. And they sent the coat of many colours, and they brought it to their father, and said, This have we found: know now whether it be thy son's coat or no."-(Exit Francis, suddenly.)—“ And he knew it, and said, It is my son's coat; an evil beast has devoured him: Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces." OLD M. (falls back on the pillow.) "Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces!" AMEL. (reads.) "And Jacob rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon his loins, and mourned for his son many days. And all his sons and his daughters rose up to comfort him; but he refused to be comforted; and he said, For I will go down into the grave unto my son-" OLD M. Leave off, leave off! I am very ill. AMEL. (springing up, lets the book fall.) Help, Heaven! What is that? OLD M. That is death!-Blackness-swims-before my-eyes. -I pray thee-call the priest-that he may give me--the sacrament. Where is my son Francis? AMEL. He is gone! God have mercy on us! OLD M. Gone-gone from the bed of death?-And that is all -all-of two children of hope! Thou hast given them-hast taken -them-thy name be AMEL. (with a sudden cry.) Dead! quite dead! FRANCIS comes in, rejoicing. "Dead!" [Exit. "Dead!" they cry Now am I lord. It peals through the whole castle, "Dead!"-However, perhaps he but sleeps. Truly, ah truly! that is a sleep, truly, where there will never more be a "Good morning."-Sleep and Death are but twins. We will, for once, change the name. Good: welcome Sleep! we will call thee Death! (He closes his eyes.) Who will now come, and dare to challenge me? or tell me to my face, "You are a villain?" Away, then, with this wearisome guise of gentleness and virtue! Now shall ye see Francis as he is; and he shall horrify you! My father sugared his demands, gave forth his orders to a family circle, sat kindly smiling at the door, and greeted ye as brothers and children.- My eyebrows shall hang over you like a thunder-cloud; my name shall hover like a threatening comet over these hills; my brow shall be your weather-glass. He stroked and caressed the necks that stiffly rebelled against him.— To stroke and to caress, is not my way. I will dig the toothed spur into your flesh, and try the sharp scourge. Under my rule shall it come so far, that potatoes and small beer shall be a feast for a holiday; and woe to him who meets my eye with a full and ruddy cheek! The paleness of humility and slavish fear is my colour: in this livery will I dress ye! [Exit. (To be continued.) THE KING'S COLLEGE MAGAZINE. OCTOBER, 1841. ELLERTON CASTLE; BY "FITZROY PIKE." CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. FRANCE-HARFLEUR-THE PASSAGE OF THE FORD. THE malicious laugh of Andrew Westrill was still ringing in Edward's ears ;-to know the extent of his misery, to protect Kate from the threatened danger, he would have ridden at once to Ellerton, but what then could he have done? Worse than powerless, his presence could serve only to add new perils; and Kate was faithful, firm too, he knew it well,-persecution she might suffer, but not disgrace; persecution that would be doubled if he should return, and, by relinquishing the golden hopes held out to him in his present situation, throw aside every chance he had of an honourable alliance. Decided by such thoughts as these, he remained, with an anxious heart, to follow the course of glory that fortune had pointed out. Entirely to omit the narrative which follows of Heringford's career in France, would be greatly to obscure the perfect development of our story; yet, since it is only at the close of this career that the more important detail of adventure can take place, we shall endeavour to pass over it with the greatest possible rapidity. First, however, let us briefly call to mind the state of affairs in France at this period. Let the reader remember, that it was Charles VI. who occupied the throne; Charles the Bien-aimé, |