Part 35 (2/2)
Caspar a.s.sented; for he grew fonder of his new partner, and more forgetful of Caroline. She pressed closer and closer to his side. A distant clock struck ten. Entwined in her tresses, encircled in her arms, he sunk senseless to the ground.
When Caspar recovered from the trance, into which he had fallen, the cold morning breeze, that precedes the dawn, was freshening his cheek; a few faint streaks on the horizon, reflected the colours of the coming sun; and the night birds were returning tired to the woods, as the day birds were merrily preparing for their flight. He was not where he had fallen: he was sitting on a rustic bench, beneath a moss-grown rock.
Caroline de Werner was beside him.
Her white frock was torn; her hair was hanging in Bacchante curls, twined with the ivy that had wreathed it; her eyes glared wildly, and blood bubbled from her mouth. Her hand was fast locked in that of Hazenfeldt.
”Caroline!” he exclaimed, in a tone of wonderment, as one who awakes from a deep sleep, ”Caroline! why are we here? what means this disorder?”
”You now speak,” said she, ”as did my Caspar,”
Caroline de Werner is in a mad-house near Vevay:--the man in black has not been seen since he disappeared from the ball room of Beau-Sejour:--my cousin, Caspar von Hazenfeldt, took to wandering alone over the Swiss mountains; and before three months had elapsed, from the time he met _the old gentleman_, was buried in the fall of an avalanche, near the pa.s.s of the Gemmi.
Supper was not ready as the student finished this story; and George proposed a stroll. The change from the heated room to the margin of the lake, was a most refres.h.i.+ng one. As the brothers silently gazed upwards, a young lad approached, and accosted them.
”Gentlemen! I have seen the horses fed, and they are now lying down.”
”Have you?” said Delme, drily.
”A very fine night! gentlemen! Perhaps you have heard of the famous echo, on the other side of the lake. It will be a good hour, I am sure, before your supper is ready. My boat lies under that old tree. If you like it, I will loose the chain, and row you over.”
The brothers acquiesced. They were just in the frame of mind for an unforeseen excursion. The motion of the boat, too, would be easy for George, and he might there unrestrainedly give way to his excited feelings, or commune ungazed on, with the current of his thoughts.
A thin crescent of a moon had risen. It was silvering the tops of the overhanging boughs, and was quiveringly mirrored on the light ripple.
George leant against the side of the boat, and listened to the liquid music, as the broad paddle threw back the resisting waters.
How soothing is the hour of night to the wounded spirit!
The obscurity which shrouds nature, seems to veil even man's woes--the harsh outline of his sufferings is discerned no more. Grief takes the place of despair--pensive melancholy of sorrow.
As we gaze around, and feel the chill air damp each ringlet on the pallid brow; know that _that_ hour hath cast a shade on each inanimate thing around us; we feel resigned to our bereavements, and confess, in our heart's humility, that no changes _should_ overwhelm, and that no grief _should_ awaken repinings.
To many a bruised and stricken spirit, night imparts a grateful balm.
In the morning, the feelings are too fresh;--oblivion is exchanged for conscious suffering;--the merriment of the feathered songsters seems to us as a taunt;--our sympathies are not with waking nature. The glare and splendour of noon, bid us recal _our_ hopes, and their signal overthrow.
The zenith of day's l.u.s.tre meets us as a wilful mockery.
Eve may bring rest, but on her breast is memory. But at night! when the mental and bodily energies are alike worn out by the internal struggle;--when hushed is each sound--softened each feature--dimmed each glaring hue;--a calm which is not deceptive, steals over us, and we regard our woes as the exacted penalty of our erring humanity.
Calumniated night! to one revelling in the full noon-tide of hope and gladness:--to the one, to whom a guilty conscience incessantly whispers, ”Think! but sleep not!”--to such as these, horrors may appear to bound thy reign!--but to him who hath loved, and who hath lost,--to many a gentle but tried spirit, thou comest in the guise of a sober, and true friend.
The boat for some time, kept by the steep bank, under the shadows of the trees. As it emerged from this, towards where the moon-beams cast their light on the water, the night breeze rustled through the foliage, and swept a yet green leaf from one of the drooping boughs.
It fell on the surface of the lake, and George's eye quickly followed it.
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