The Man-at-Arms; or, Henry De Cerons. Volumes I and II. G. P. R. James

the small but united party which then tenanted the chateau of Blancford.

      Such was the state of all things till Louise reached the age of fifteen; and I feel confident that I could have gone on with the same feelings towards her perfectly unchanged, and looking upon her merely as a sister, had not other events intervened which soon separated us from each other.

      At this point may be said to end the period of my early life, which--like an old picture, painted at first in vivid colours, soon loses the brightness of its hues, becomes mellower but less distinct to the eye, then grows gray and dim, and then is almost obscured altogether--has now greatly faded away from memory, though the impressions were then as bright and vivid as perhaps any that I have received since.

      Two days before the period at which Louise concluded her fifteenth year, messengers from her father, whom they left at no greater distance than Barbesieux, announced his sudden return. His letter contained merely intelligence of the fact, that he would be at the chateau of Blancford at supper-time on the ensuing day. I shall not easily forget the anxiety with which we all waited his appearance, the messenger having informed us of more than the letter that he bore, namely, that the baron had wedded another bride, whom he was now bringing home from the capital, where she had remained, while the wife of another, somewhat too long for her own honour, for the baron's reputation, and for the peace of a husband whom she speedily ceased to mourn.

      Hitherto I have given but a general view of all that passed during my early years, but I must now give a more minute account of the event that followed; for, from the day in which my cousin's new bride set her foot within those doors, my fate underwent a greater change than any to which it had yet been subject.

      CHAPTER II.

      It may well be believed that we counted the minutes as the evening of the second day went by. Every one there present felt that there was a book to be opened before them that night, on the pages of which the future destiny of all was more or less distinctly written. The two boys felt it much, but they felt it with some sort of eagerness, and some anticipations of pleasure. Old Monsieur la Tour looked grave and thoughtful, as well he might; for he was the only one there present who was fully aware of the character and previous history of the person about to be added to the domestic circle at Blancford. I had heard something, indeed, but not all; but, to counterbalance any painful reflections, I had the prospect before me of entering upon a new and more active course of being, and fulfilling the destinies to which the spirit within my bosom called me.

      The person who felt the most on the occasion was Louise de Blancford; and nobody could doubt that--though a portion of the happiness of every one there present was in some way to be affected--it was her whole fate, peace, comfort, and tranquillity which then trembled in the balance. The boys would soon naturally seek the tented field, or plunge into the occupations of the city or the court; but she was to remain alone, with the happiness of every moment in the hands and at the disposal of another.

      She was at that time as beautiful as a young rose, with a countenance upon which all the emotions of her pure heart traced themselves in an instant as they arose in her bosom; and I could see her eye turn towards me from time to time with an anxious and inquiring glance, which showed me at once the feelings that were going on within, and told me all she would have asked, although no words were spoken. I did my best to comfort her, and to raise up hope of bright and happy things. Perhaps I did so hypocritically; but surely it was pardonable, when I found that cheerful moments were passing away, perhaps for ever, to give her as many as I could till the power of so doing was absolutely taken from me.

      It was a bright and beautiful summer's evening; and going out upon the sloping hill which was crowned by the castle, we looked in the direction where we expected to see the cavalcade appear, and watched anxiously for the first spear-head rising above the distant trees.

      We waited long, however; the sun descended to the horizon in splendour; the whole sky was rosy with his light; the very air itself seemed to be filled with purple rays; and the woods, and villages, and towers around were all steeped in the same rich and glowing hue. It seemed to speak of hope and bright days to come; and yet, though we were all young, and under the soft guardianship of kind inexperience, our hearts refused to receive the colouring of the bright scene without, and the sweetness of the evening seemed rather to make us more melancholy than to raise our expectations.

      The sun went down slowly; the distant lines of the country assumed the most intense blue; the last rays of the setting orb poured through hollow way in the deep masses of the forest, and caught upon a large piece of water at the foot of the hill, rendering one part like a sea of liquid gold, while the other remained shadowed by a wood as black as night. The moon, too, was coming up in the western sky, together with a single star, so pure, so soft, so full of pale light, that it seemed like a drop fallen from the eyes of the departing sun.

      Louise's hand rested sisterly upon my arm; we gazed upon the glowing west and the deep blue lines beyond; we gazed upon the pale pure east, with the moon and the stars; and we gazed upon the golden water, and the shadowy wood, and the higher towers of the castle, partly lighted up, as if on fire, with beams that we could no longer behold, and partly buried in profound shadow. We then turned our eyes upon each other; and oh! how I wished at that moment that it had been in my power to command the fate of that sweet girl, and by my will alone to ensure that she should be happy.

      At that moment we heard the distant sound of a trumpet; but it was far, far off, borne upon the wings of the soft westerly wind. Neither banner, nor spear, nor cavalcade could be seen as far as the eye could reach; and, after gazing for a few minutes longer, we re-entered the castle, and waited there till we heard the sound of horses coming up the hill.

      All ran down at once from the room where we had been sitting; Louise and the old clergyman to the great hall, I and my two young cousins to welcome the baron at the drawbridge. He came, accompanied by a long train of retainers, with a carriage and a horse litter containing his new wife and her manifold attendants. The torches and lanterns showed us a countenance much changed since we had last seen him, older in appearance than in reality, thinner, and more harsh than ever. There was a heavy frown, too, upon his brow, and it was evident that something had gone wrong on the road.

      To me he spoke but one word in answer to my inquiries after his health, and the boys, who were pressing round him with the eagerness of natural affection, he pushed roughly away, telling them that they encumbered him. He then approached the side of the carriage and handed out the lady, who, being of course masked for the journey, did not suffer her face to appear. He led her at once into the hall, where Louise and the old clergyman had remained; and his daughter, who was the only person that seemed to shrink back from himself and his new wife, was the only one to whom he spoke kindly and tenderly.

      There, sheltered from the wind, and with plenty of light around, the lady took of her velvet mask; and oh, how every idea which I had previously formed of what her person was likely to present, vanished in a single instant! As she lifted that mask from her face, the imagination of memory conjured up in a moment the beautiful form of the first wife, and set it beside the new one. Certainly I had expected to find transcendent beauty in the being who had lured the heart of the husband away from such a lovely and amiable being; and who, after having made her miserable through life, had taken her place when dead.

      The figure of the new baroness was fine, it is true; tall, commanding, and well-proportioned; but it wanted that soft and easy grace, that flowing symmetry of every line which had distinguished her predecessor; and if there was a difference and an inferiority in figure, what was there not in countenance? She was no longer young; the features were large and strongly marked, the eyes bright, indeed, and full of fire, but that was the fire of a harsh and domineering temper; and they were only softened, if at all, by a look of wanton meaning which sometimes came across them. The lips were thin, and generally closely shut, though the teeth were fine which they concealed; the chin was rounded, but somewhat projecting; the cheek bones were high, and the skin, though not brown, was coarse. There was a good deal of colour in the face; so much, indeed, that I should have supposed it not altogether natural, had it not been roughly scattered over the cheek with a sort of mottled appearance, which