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  Unable to ascertain the distance from Ruydvellin, and unacquainted with the features of the country, Henry now rode impatiently forward, in hopes of discovering some road or track which might lead him to a cottage, and give him a chance for enquiry. The strangeness of the preceding incident too had occasioned some uneasiness in his bosom, and he more than once adverted to the arts and designs of Walleran; the night also was approaching, and threatened to be stormy, and he dwelt upon the anxiety of his female friends. Whilst thus meditating, he had reached a spot where several rugged paths seemed to stretch across the heath, and one appearing more beaten than the rest, he was about to enter upon it, when he thought he beheld, at a distance, a human figure, as of a man wrapped in dark garments, and walking swiftly on. Highly pleased with the circumstance, and anticipating ample information, he immediately quitted the track, and pushed after him. As he drew near, the figure, which appeared to dilate into more than common proportion, had the garb and aspect of a monk, and glided on with such rapidity, that Henry found it necessary to quicken his pace, when the plain gradually contracting, and some trees shooting up in the horizon, afforded him hopes of its termination. He now called loudly to the monk, requesting him to stop, but no answer was returned, and his form, dimly seen through the increasing gloom, still glided noiseless along the heath, till having reached its verge, where rose the skirts of a pine forest, he, for several minutes, hurried along its border, and then suddenly disappeared. Henry was, by this time, convinced that the being he had so long endeavoured to overtake, was nothing human, and resolving, if possible, to return to the track he had so rashly quitted, was wheeling round, when a light not far distant glimmered among some trees, and though nearly in the same direction the delusive monk had taken, yet once more animated with the hopes of obtaining a guide, he again ventured to trust his senses, and made immediately for the spot whence the rays appeared to stream.

  The light, as he advanced, glowed steady and brilliant, but required more time and effort to attain than he expected, for having left the common, he was now amid cultivated land, which consequently opposed many an obstacle to his progress. At length, however, he approached within a few hundred yards of it, still flattering himself it issued from some neighbouring hamlet, when, rising slowly from the ground, it began to expand and yield a very vivid light, then diffusing itself, and melting into air, it gradually assumed a paler tint, and disappeared.

  The night now became extremely dark, the thunder growled at a distance, and the rain fell heavy, whilst Henry, shocked at the delusions he had been subjected to, and tormented with apprehension for the safety of his beloved Adeline, wandered from field to field, his imagination busy in suggesting the most dreadful events, and filled with horror and resentment as he called to mind the wild and lawless character of Walleran, to whose infernal machinations he could not avoid attributing the singular incidents which had lately befallen him.

  Whilst thus situated, and in little hope of receiving either information or shelter until break of day, his attention was aroused by the barking of dogs, and making up to the sound with as much precision as the storm would permit, to his great joy he discovered a farm-house, whose inhabitants welcomed him with the utmost promptitude and kindness. Here he learnt that he was better than twenty miles from Ruydvellin, and that it wanted scarce an hour of midnight, but that the principal road, and which would soon lead him into that which went direct for his castle, ran within two miles of their cottage. Highly delighted with this last piece of intelligence, and extremely anxious to hasten forward, he engaged one of the farmer’s sons to conduct him to the road, and then partaking of some refreshment, and heartily regaling his steed, he made many acknowledgments to his host for his well-timed hospitality, and departed.

  The rain beat furiously on our travellers, and the lightning played strongly in the horizon, whilst the thunder continually muttering, and pealing louder as they advanced, gave token of a dreadful tempest. The road, however, was now before them, and the young farmer parting on his return, Henry rapidly pursued his journey, and within two hours, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, reached the border of his own domain. With a boding mind and palpitating heart he passed the well-known grounds, every now and then vividly illuminated by the glare of intense lightning, whilst the thunder rolled awfully along the vault of heaven, or burst over head in loud and repeated claps. He had now approached within view of his castle, whose numerous towers and turrets, as the lightning flashed, were distinctly seen, and made a beautiful appearance; but in the pitchy darkness which immediately succeeded, no lights could be distinguished in any part of its vast extent, a circumstance which occasioned him much surprise, and added not a little to his apprehensions. These, however, were increased to a painful degree, when, on his arrival at the fosse, no wardens were perceived on the walls, nor was any porter at the barbican, which being open, he hurried over the draw-bridge, and was about to strike upon the great gate, when, starting back with horror, he observed, as the lighting glared, that it was hung with black. This, in periods of chivalry, being a signal of misfortune, was sufficient to strike terror into the stoutest chief, when returning to his castle, he beheld the portentous monument of disaster; and Henry, whose fears had been long alive, now felt that all his hopes were blasted; for that some dreadful event had taken place he well knew, and the uncertainty of the moment giving full scope to the powers of imagination, it came forward wrapt in the most tremendous colouring.

  When the agitation of his frame, however, had somewhat subsided, he again drew near, and, lifting the massy knocker, was going to strike, when the gate yielded to the impulse, being left a little open, a circumstance which its sable covering, and the momentary light of heaven, had not before given him an opportunity of perceiving. He now, therefore, entered the outer ballium, and was slowly and cautiously proceeding, when a deep groan, as from one in acute pain, struck his ear, and the lightning, at that instant, glancing across him, he beheld the ground moistened with blood, and two of his servants stretched dead at his feet. A sight so shocking, fixed him for some moments to the spot, but the groan being repeated, he started, and advanced to the place whence it issued, when a voice, whose tones he well recollected as those of an old and faithful domestic, in tremulous accents implored his mercy. Henry, to the infinite joy of the poor man, immediately discovered himself, and, impatient to learn the cause of events so horrible, urged him to an explanation. Faint, however, with the loss of blood, racked with pain, and overwhelmed with the most tumultuous sensations on recognising his beloved master, he was unable to articulate a word, but grasping Henry’s hand, as he stooped to assist him, he pressed it with convulsive energy, and, uttering a deep sigh, reclined upon his master, and expired.

  The most acute anguish now seized the unhappy Henry, who called down the bitterest imprecations on the author of his misfortunes; but conscious that all now depended upon his personal activity, and tortured with anxiety for those he held most dear, he once more endeavoured to proceed, for the darkness was so profound, that, except when the lightning streamed, not a single object could be discerned. From his knowledge of the place, however, he contrived to pass into the inner ballium, and then soon reaching the keep, entered his great hall, which he found completely deserted, not a single being returning his repeated calls; yet at intervals he thought he could distinguish low groans, which seemed to issue from a considerable distance. Crossing the hall he now ascended the winding staircase, and, having attained the gallery, perceived a light which glimmered through the crevice at the bottom of a door, and making the castle again re-echo with the names of Adeline and Clara, was at last answered by the shrill tones of the women, who, with rapture almost too great for utterance, had now, for the first time, recollected his voice. Rushing to the door, therefore, he made every exertion to open it, but the lock being strong and massy, it resisted, for some time, his utmost efforts, though assisted by those within. At length, however, it did yield, and, the next moment, Clara Fitzowe
n was in his arms; but in vain did he look round for Adeline, and dreading even the result of inquiry, sank into a chair, silent, and racked with anxiety and disappointment; a few minutes, however, gave him the information he apprehended, for her mother, in an agony of distress, which drew tears from all present, soon accounted for the loss of her beloved child.

  It appeared from her relation that, about the dusk of the evening, a party of armed men, their features concealed in masks, had surprised the castle, a circumstance of easy occurrence when no hostile attempt was suspected, and entering the great hall, where the females were then assembled, seized upon Adeline, and were forcing her away, when some of the servants interfered, and a severe struggle took place, but which, as the ruffians were prepared for opposition, soon terminated in their favour. They then bound the men they had subdued, and threw them into the dungeon of the keep, and compelling the women, and their servants, to go up stairs, locked them in an inner room, though with a light, and carried off Adeline in triumph.

  This event, though it had frequently occurred to the mind of Henry since his approach to the castle, yet now that it was fully ascertained, occasioned him as much distress as if it had not been for a moment apprehended. As soon, however, as the violence of his emotion had, in some degree, abated, he accused Walleran as the author of the atrocious deed, and proposed an immediate expedition to, and attack upon, his castle; then presently recollecting the dreadful scenes he had witnessed at the great gate, he requested an explanation of his sister; but Clara being totally ignorant of the circumstances he alluded to, he lighted a torch, and descended to release his servants from their dungeon, which he effected through the medium of a private passage, the principal entrance being left too well secured for their efforts to overcome. He found several of them wounded, but so rejoiced at seeing their master again, that for some minutes they completely forgot their situation and sufferings. Many, however, were still absent; and he learnt that whilst those who had been confined were still contending with the villains, a party of their fellow servants had gone round to secure the great gate, but of their fate they knew nothing. Henry now requesting those who were able to follow him, procured some more torches, and issued forth to search the outer ballium. Here weltering in their blood were found slain the two men whom he had seen by the glare of the lightning, and, a little further, his old steward, who had expired in his arms. Close by the gate, also wounded, and on the ground, they discovered the porter and his assistant; these, on receiving some refreshment, and due attention to their injuries, speedily revived, and had soon strength enough to inform Henry, that when the struggle commenced in the great hall, they had flown to the support of their friends, but perceiving it would be vain to continue the contest without better arms, they, with three or four others, separated to procure them, and to secure the great gate and barbican, which, in their hurry and alarm they had left open and unguarded. Hither, however, they had not arrived many moments before the ruffians, having subdued opposition in the hall, approached with the unhappy Adeline, whose prayers and entreaties were in vain addressed to beings who knew no touch of pity. A severe engagement now took place, but the numbers proving very unequal, and themselves and their companions shortly either wounded or slain, the villains, with their helpless charge, passed on, nor could it be ascertained in what direction they travelled. The porter, however, it seems, had sufficient strength remaining to crawl to the lodge, where seizing the black mantle, the omen of disaster, he had just power to suspend it on the gate, and then dropt exhausted by its side. This he did, with a view to alarm any passenger, or pilgrim, who might in the morning be journeying that way, and induce him to inquiry, and the offer of assistance.

  The thunder had by this time passed off; twilight began to dawn, and Henry, notwithstanding the fatigues of the preceding day, determined to push forward immediately to the castle of Walleran, in hopes of taking him by surprise. Accordingly, arming those of his servants who had not been injured in the previous contest, and entrusting the wounded to the care of the women, he clothed himself in mail, and mounting a fresh steed, reached the magnificent halls of Walleran in little more than an hour. Here, however, to his great disappointment, he learnt, that Walleran had not returned from the chase, but that about two hours after noon, a man, who to them was a stranger, and mounted on a horse bathed in foam, had arrived to say, that the Earl would not revisit his castle for some weeks, but refused to give them any information with regard to his present place of residence.

  Henry, oppressed in body and mind, now slowly returned to Ruydvellin, pondering on the plan he should pursue; and on his arrival at the castle, hastened to consult his sister, and the mother of his Adeline.

  II

  What is this so wither’d, and so wild in its attire;

  That looks not like an inhabitant o’ the earth,

  And yet is on ’t? - SHAKESPEARE

  Though no present intelligence could be obtained relative to the abode of Walleran, yet as it was most probable that where he was, there Adeline would be found, Henry determined, with the concurrence of his family, to spare no effort in detecting his residence. After a few hours’ rest, therefore, he armed himself completely, and bidding adieu to his disconsolate friends, to whom, assuming a cheerful tone, he promised the speedy restoration of Adeline, he mounted his favourite roan, and issued from the great gate, whilst the sun, now verging towards noon, smote full upon his plumed casque.

  Not willing, however, to alarm the neighbouring country, where his person and accoutrements would be known wherever he should stop for inquiry, and secrecy being likewise necessary toward the completion of his views, he carefully concealed his features beneath his visor, assumed unusual arms, took a different device, and no retinue whatever, resolved, should he find Walleran surrounded by his myrmidons, to hasten back to Ruydvellin, and collecting his faithful followers, return and attack him in full force, placing no confidence in his honour, should a single combat ensue, when thus supported by banditti. That no time might be lost in the pursuit, he dismissed two of his confidential servants on different routes, and under similar precautions.

  These measures being taken, Henry carried his researches through the neighbouring seats, and made every inquiry that could lead to detection, but in vain; striking further into the country, therefore, he unexpectedly came into very wild scenery, and it was with difficulty he could procure the most homely provision in a tract so thinly inhabited, and where a shepherd’s hut, or the cottage of a peasant, proved his only places of rest. Some weeks had thus passed, when toward the sunset of a very fine day, after having traversed a lone and unfrequented part, he arrived at the edge of a thick and dark forest; the sky became suddenly overcast, and it began to rain; the thunder rolled at a distance, and sheets of livid lightning flashed across the heath. Overcome with fatigue and hunger, he rode impatiently along the border of the forest, in hopes of discovering an entrance, but none was to be found. At length, just as he was about to dismount with an intention of breaking the fence, he discerned, as he thought, something moving upon the heath, and upon advancing towards it, it proved to be an old woman gathering peat, and who, overtaken by the storm, was hurrying home as fast as her infirm limbs could carry her. The sight of a human creature filled the heart of Fitzowen with joy, and, hastily riding up, he inquired how far he had deviated from the right road, and where he could procure a night’s lodging. The old woman now slowly lifting up her palsied head, discovered a set of features which could scarcely be called human, her eyes were red, piercing and distorted, and rolling horribly, glanced upon every object but the person by whom she was addressed, and, at intervals, they emitted a fiery disagreeable light; her hair, of a dirty gray, hung matted in large masses upon her shoulders, and a few thin portions rushed abrupt and horizontally from the upper part of her forehead, which was much wrinkled, and of a parchment hue; her cheeks were hollow, withered, and red with a quantity of acrid rheum; her nose was large, prominent, and sharp; her lips thin, skinny,
and livid; her few teeth black; and her chin long and peaked, with a number of bushy hairs depending from its extremity; her nails also were acute, crooked, and bent over her fingers; and her garments, ragged and fluttering in the wind, displayed every possible variety of colour. Henry was a little daunted: but, the old woman having mentioned a dwelling at some distance, and offering to lead the way, the pleasure received from this piece of intelligence effaced the former impression, and, alighting from his horse, he laid hold of the bridle, and they slowly moved over the heath.