Part 43 (1/2)

”You forget that De Chemerant's escort is considerable; the negro fishermen have gone--there are not more than four or five men here.

Violent means are impossible. Providence doubtless wills that I shall expiate a great crime. I will be resigned.”

”A crime, James? guilty of a great crime? I will never believe it!”

cried Angela.

”If my crime was involuntary, it was none the less horrible. Angela, it is now my duty to tell you what I owe to Sidney, your n.o.ble relative who took such care of you in your infancy, poor orphan! While you were receiving your education in France, where he had himself taken you, Sidney, whom I had seen in Holland, attached himself to my fortunes; a singular similarity of tastes, of principles and thoughts, had drawn us together; but he was so proud that I was obliged to make the advances.

How happy I was at having first pressed his hand! Never was there a living soul as beautiful as Sidney's. Never was there a n.o.bler character or a more generous and ardent heart! Dreaming of the happiness of the people, deceived as I was myself as to the true end of my plans, he believed that he was serving the holy cause of humanity, when he was in reality only serving the fatal ambition of a man! While the conspiracy was organizing, he was my most active emissary and my most intimate confidant. To describe to you, my child, the profound, blind attachment of Sidney for myself would be impossible; one affection only struggled in his heart with that which he had vowed to me; it was his tenderness for you--you, his distant relative of whom he had a.s.sumed the care. Oh!

how he cherished you! Through all the agitations, and the perils of his life as a soldier and conspirator, he always found some moments in which to visit his Angela. There were ever tears in his eyes when he spoke to me of you. Yes, this man, of intrepid courage and indomitable energy, wept like a child in speaking of your tender grace, the qualities of your heart, and your sad and studious youth, poor little abandoned one, for you had no one in the world but Sidney. On that fatal day at Bridgewater he commanded my cavalry. After prodigies of valor, he was left for dead on the battlefield; as for me, carried away in a rush of flying troops, grievously wounded, it was impossible for me to find him.”

”Was not that the day when he died?” said Angela, wiping her eyes.

”Listen, Angela; oh, you do not know how these sad memories break my heart!”

”And ours also,” said Croustillac. ”Brave Sidney! I do not know what it is that tells me that he did not die that day at Bridgewater, and that we shall hear of him again.”

Monmouth trembled, remained silent a moment, and then continued: ”I must have courage. I will tell you all. Sidney was left for dead on the battlefield; I was arrested, condemned to death, and my execution fixed for the 15th of July, 1685. When they told me I was to be executed the following day, I was alone in my prison.

”In the midst of the terrible thoughts to which I was a prey during those dreadful hours that preceded the moment of my execution, I swear to you, Angela, before the G.o.d that hears me, if I had any sweet and consoling thoughts to calm me, they were those I gave to Sidney, in recalling the beautiful days of our friends.h.i.+p. I believed him dead and I said, 'In a few hours I shall be united to him forever.' All at once the door of my cell opened and Sidney appeared!”

”Zounds! so much the better! I was sure he was not dead,” exclaimed Croustillac.

”No, he was not dead,” replied the duke with a sigh. ”Would to G.o.d he had died as a soldier on the field of battle.”

Angela and Croustillac looked at Monmouth in astonishment. He continued: ”At the sight of Sidney I believed myself the dupe of a fancy conjured up by my extreme agitation; but I soon felt his tears on my cheek, and myself pressed within his arms. 'Saved! you are saved!' he said, through his tears. 'Saved?' said I, gazing at him stupidly. 'Saved, yes; listen to me,' said he, and this was what he told me: My uncle the king could not openly show me mercy; policy forbade; but he did not wish his brother's son to perish on the scaffold. Informed by one of his courtiers who was, notwithstanding, one of my friends, of the resemblance between Sidney and myself, a resemblance which so struck you the first time you saw me,” said Monmouth to Angela, ”King James had secretly provided Sidney with means to get into my prison. This devoted friend was to a.s.sume my clothes, and I to put on his, and go out of the Tower by means of this strategy. The next day, learning of my escape and the devotion of Sidney remaining prisoner in my stead, the king would put him at liberty and give orders to seek me out; but these orders would only be in appearance. He favored, secretly, my departure for France. I was only to write to the king and give him my word to never return to England.”

”Ah, well,” said Angela, interested to the last degree by this recital; ”you accepted Sidney's offer, and he remained a prisoner in your stead?”

”Alas! yes, I accepted it, for all that Sidney said to me seemed so probable; his presence at that hour in the prison, in spite of the severe watch to which I was subjected, made me believe that an all-powerful will aided mysteriously in my flight.”

”It was not so, then?” cried Angela.

”Nothing could be more naturally arranged, it seems to me,” said Croustillac.

”In effect,” said Monmouth, smiling bitterly, ”nothing was more naturally arranged; it was only too easy for Sidney to persuade me, to turn aside my objections.”

”And what objections could you make?” said Angela. ”What was there astonis.h.i.+ng in that King James, not wis.h.i.+ng to shed your blood on the scaffold, should connive at your escape?”

”And how could Sidney succeed in getting into the prison, sir, without the a.s.sistance of some powerful influence?” said the adventurer.

”Oh, is it not so?” said the duke with sad satisfaction, ”was it not that all that Sidney said to me might seem probable, possible? Was I not justified in believing him?”

”Undoubtedly,” said Angela.

”Was it not,” continued Monmouth, ”was it not possible to put faith in his words without being misled by the fear of death, without being influenced by a cowardly, horrible egotism? And still, I swear to you, I did not agree to what Sidney said to me. Before accepting life and liberty which he came to offer me in the name of my uncle, I asked myself what would happen to my friend if James did not keep his promise?

I said to myself that the greatest punishment that could befall a man who was an accomplice in aiding another to escape, was imprisonment in turn; thus, admitting this hypothesis, once free, although compelled to hide myself, I had sufficient resources at my disposal not to quit England before having, in my turn, liberated Sidney. What more can I say to you? The instinct of life, the fear of death, doubtless obscured my judgment, troubled my discernment. I accepted, for I believed everything Sidney said to me. Alas! why was I so insane?”

”Insane? Faith, you would have been insane had you not accepted!” cried Croustillac.