ELLERTON CASTLE: A Romance. BY "FITZROY PIKE." CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. ESTHER DE VERMONT. A SHORT period is passed over, and the scene is changed: from the pomp and clamour of war we turn awhile aside to the silence of grief-from the battle field to the house of sorrow. SONG OF THE DESERTED. "He whom I loved is gone, "He breathed the soft vows of love, "He looked upon me with pride, "Doth earth hide his funeral urn? Hath ear heard the funeral moan? -Alone! -Alone? "He whom I loved is gone, Gone in the hour of mirth; While I am deserted and lone; Alone upon earth!Alone !" Such were the words that in mournful and melodious cadence broke upon Heringford's waking ear; so sweet was the strain that he could have fancied himself already in the Better Land, had not its tone and its purport betokened a sorrow that never enters there. Now for the first time, since the occurrences in the mine, conscious of passing events, and possessing but a faint remembrance of the circumstances recently narrated, it was with surprise that Edward found himself placed upon a soft bed, the curtains drawn around him, and the music of an unknown female voice thrilling within his chamber. He remained as in a dream that he feared to interrupt, withholding even his breath as the song proceeded. There was a feeling, almost painful, infused into the words; and the soft voice faltered as, at the conclusion of each verse, the oft-repeated word bewailed the sad cause of trouble. Edward felt that whoever sang, sang of her own misfortunes; no indifferent voice could have lent such pathos to the melody. Silently Heringford withdrew a portion of the curtain to observe whence the sound proceeded. The room was darkened; but he could see, by the tapestried walls and tasteful furniture, that he was not among people of a meanly station. On all this, however, Edward scarcely glanced, as his eye rested on the singer. She sat beside a table covered with embroidery; and although beyond the prime of life, still bore the traces of once surpassing beauty. Her form now was wasted; her attenuated hands still held, in feeble grasp, the lute with which her voice had been accompanied; and she bent over it a face on which resignation had evidently striven for mastery over the agony of grief. As Edward gazed in sympathy with the unknown sorrows of the sufferer, a light footstep was heard without, the door opened noiselessly, and a younger lady entered, a girl of seventeen, contrasting in every respect with her whose solitude she disturbed. In each look, in every movement, was displayed a spirited and a merry mind. Her nut-brown hair fell in ringlets, unrestrained, her dark eyebrows Momus himself might have arched and pencilled, while, from beneath their long lashes, flashed a pair of beaming, roguish eyes, whose glances he only who could gaze upon the bright sun unharmed, might hope to meet with impunity. The smiling lips, too told the same tale of happiness that beamed from every line of those fair, joyous features. Her dress, unlike that of the other lady, was neither sad nor simple, but bore, on the contrary, abundant token of female vanity and female taste. "I come to relieve guard, sweet Esther," said she; "I find thou hast been singing the old song again; it is not with such sad music as that that our patient should be awakened." "He hath seen trouble, Annette," replied the other, "or we should not find him thus. He will awaken to sorrow as surely as to light with what melody more fitting could he then be greeted?" 66 Why should he awaken to sorrow?" asked Annette. this bright world so full of it?" "Is "I, at least, have lived to find it so!" replied the other, with a sigh, as she passed out of the chamber. "Poor Esther!" murmured the girl, as she took up the lute, left by the sufferer : "The birds in May are merry and gay, But I am merrier far than they: And why? These can but enjoy the passing day; : Can recall, at will, what hath passed away, The law of creation 'tis mine to obey, 'Be happy and gay!-Be happy and gay!'" "There!" cried she, as her wild lay was concluded, "that ought to awaken the wounded knight and hero in arms." "I am awake,” replied Edward, as she drew the curtains apart, and sat beside the bed, "but ere I thank the unknown musician, will she tell me where I am, and how I was transported hither?" "Thou art in bed," replied the girl, "and wert transported hither upon a litter. The questions are not too sensible, yet are they replete with wisdom, when compared with the raving nonsense thou hast talked this week or fortnight past." "Have I been here so long!" exclaimed Heringford, as his desire to hasten to his own village and to Kate Westrill again took possession of his restored faculties. "All further questions, convalescent hero, I will forestall," added Annette: "know, Sir, that this is my father's house; that my father's name is de Vermont, who saw thee fall, and, in part payment of a debt in Paris contracted, had thee brought hither, and commanded his household to tend thee well." "I am grateful to him," replied Edward: " to thee, also, my gay young nurse. Hast thou held this office from the first?" "No," replied Annette de Vermont, "thou hadst at first a nurse of thine own country, that found thee out, and would not leave thee-I forget his name." "Mat Maybird?” "The same. He is absent now on a short journey, that he seemed long anxious to undertake." "Who," asked Edward, "is the lady that was here even now?" "Didst thou see her?" replied Annette: "that was poor Esther, my father's sister. She also hath been thy nurse.” "She appears to be labouring under some heavy affliction." "Poor Esther!" sighed Annette. "At another time I will tell thee her story. But I promised my father that he should know when thou couldst speak with him; therefore, adieu." Beyond what has appeared from the above conversation, we have little to say in explanation of Heringford's present position. His wound had been slight, but the excitement caused by previous events went far to increase the danger of the illness from which he had now recovered. De Vermont, the reader will remember, was tended by Edward at Paris, and now rejoiced at an opportunity of returning the benefit. The interview between Edward Heringford and his new friend, gave rise to a free interchange of grateful sentiment: all necessary explanation of past events, and information concerning the future, was given; among the rest, a fact became known that aroused all Edward's latent energies. Harfleur must surrender. Want of food and other causes, rendered it impossible for the townspeople to resist any longer; and, unless succour arrived within a stated time, the town was to be given up to the English. The stipulated period within two days would be completed; then, as Heringford knew, the campaign would be at an end, and soon again might he look upon the quiet cots of Ellerton-again receive the blessing of the pious priest, and protect Kate Westrill from the fury of the storm that seemed gathering in strength about her head. Such thoughts as these were occupying Edward's mind when De Vermont left the chamber, and the cheerful voice of Annette once more aroused him. "Thou hast spoken in thy madness," said she, "among others, of one Sir Richard Ellerton; he is an object of deep interest to the inmates of this house. What knowest thou of him?" "Is it with Esther that he is connected ?" inquired Heringford, as he remembered the visions in the orchard. "It is! How was that discovered?" "I have heard him mention the name," replied Edward; "but thou hast promised to tell me her story. Let me hear it now." "At once," said Annette. When my aunt Esther was young, she was considered the belle of Paris; for she lived then in the capital, with her family, in the same house in which my father so lately was attacked. Esther de Vermont was the centre of attraction to all the young men around, but none succeeded in winning her affections. She was gay, and vain perhaps; but my aunt's heart is, and ever was, warm and pure. I have said that Esther looked upon all men indifferently. This was long the case, until a stranger came-a young and handsome Englishman. Like all others, he saw Esther de Vermont, and loved; his was the passion that my aunt returned and cherished. The young stranger called himself Sir Richard Ellerton. He was gloomy and reserved to all but Esther; he gave no account of himself. My aunt's parents liked him not; neither did her brother, my father. Opposition determined the young Esther more strongly in his favour. At his solicitation she fled, and to him was married privately." "It is short, but full of sorrow. "And he deserted her?" said Edward. "Hear the manner of it," replied Annette. "She had retired with him to a mean lodging, as he said, that they might not be found. The next day after their marriage he made excuse to leave her. But it was not until two months after this that Esther de Vermont, once rosy with health and gaiety, then pale and squalid, she who had been the pride of Paris,—in a beggar's garb, summoned courage to approach her parents' door. Warmly and joyfully was the unhappy girl received. She breathed no word of reproach against the base villain by whom she had been deserted; she said, she had waited for him so long as her means would permit; she had sold her dress piecemeal, and replaced it by common rags, that she might buy food, poor and insufficient as it was, for those two months; she had endured for him the worst privations, but murmured not; she was confident he would return; he must, for he had told her that he would; and had he not sworn to be faithful? It were well for thee, dear aunt, hadst thou but known suspicion! She came home, she said, only to wait for him; she could not say what detained him, but was angry if they hinted that he never would return. Every week she went to the old lodging, to ask whether he yet was there. Her parents died, her brother married,-I was born; but, through every change of circumstance, she still pays a weekly visit to that house to inquire for Richard, or, if she be absent from Paris, leaves |