60 Gothic Classics. Эдгар Аллан По

where Albert had asked permission to go to. After a tedious and painful journey we got safe to Lucerne. Alas! how great was our disappointment; this sister, on whose protection I relied, had been dead three weeks, and her little shop and stock given to a young woman who lived with her, and only a small legacy left to Albert. What now was to be done? The mistress of the house humanely offered me a bed for a night or two; vexation and fatigue compelled me to accept the offer: my poor fellow traveller was more affected than myself. We consulted what was next to be done; he then recollected he had a relation at Zurich, and proposed my going on there. He said it was a good city, and some way or other, doubtless, I might procure a living by my talents. Small as this hope was I had no alternative but to embrace it, and the next morning we pursued our journey; the day before yesterday was the second day of our travelling from Zurich. The storm came on just before our entrance into the wood, we took shelter for some time, but the trees getting thoroughly wet, and the night setting in, we rode through it, in the hope of meeting some friendly cottage; we were fortunate to our wishes, and by the inhabitants of that cottage we were conducted to this castle.'

      She then proceeded to relate the conversation she had heard, relative to its being haunted, with her terror of the preceding night, and determination to explore every apartment in the castle. 'I hope, madam,' added Matilda, 'the relation I have given, though tedious and little interesting to you, will apologize for my abrupt intrusion here.' 'Dearest madam,' answered the Lady of the Castle, 'can you think it possible I should be uninterested for a situation like yours? Young, new to the world, with uncommon attractions, without friends or protectors, surely misfortunes have taken an early hold in your destiny; but do not despair, my good young lady, Providence never forsakes the virtuous, but in its own good time will relieve us from every difficulty; an assurance of that truth has supported me under the bitterest calamities, and though I am at present dead to the world, I flatter myself I may be of some service to you, but do not think of quitting this castle yet; happy should I think myself if I could enjoy your society always, but 'tis a selfish wish and shall not be indulged, however our confidence ought to be reciprocal, and you shall know, in part, the peculiar distresses which have driven me to this asylum, though my confidence must be limited from restrictions I dare not break through.' 'I fear, madam,' answered Matilda, 'however eager my curiosity and anxiety may be awakened by your uncommon situation, I must for the present postpone the gratification of it; my long absense will, I am sure, cause much trouble to my hospitable entertainers, and therefore 'tis time I should return.' 'Well then,' said the lady 'when may I hope to see you again?' 'After dinner madam, I will attend you.' 'I shall think every minute an hour till then replied the lady. They parted with mutual regret. Matilda carefully shut the doors, and returned to Bertha's apartments, with a lighter heart and a dawn of hope.

      On her entrance into the kitchen the good creature clasped her hands and shouted for joy; 'O good God be thanked,' said she, 'that I see you once again; my dear lady, where have you been and what have you seen?' 'An excellent library of books,' replied Matilda. 'And did you see no ghosts, nor hear no noises?' 'I saw no ghosts, but I certainly did hear noises.' 'Lord have mercy upon us! and so, had you courage to stay?' 'Yes, I stayed to view the apartments, but I was a little frightened I must confess.' 'O, dear heart, but I hope you won't go again indeed I shall,' said Matilda, 'I intend to sit there very often, and shall borrow some books to bring home with me.' 'O, madam, don't be so hardy, who knows what mischief may come of it one day,' 'I have no fears, good Bertha; if we perform our duties towards God and man, Providence will always preserve us from evil.' Ah! Lord, madam, you talk so good; I am sure I never did hurt to any body, nor Joseph neither, and when no company comes here we be as quiet as lambs, and yet methinks I do wish for folks sometimes, because you know 'tis very lonely - but will you have your bed made below stairs to night?' 'No,' replied Matilda, 'I will sleep in the same room, I have no apprehensions at all now.' Bertha wondered at the lady's courage, but said nothing.

      Albert had before this requested to sleep below, for as they were ghosts of quality, who never condescended to visit kitchens, he thought himself perfectly safe, on the ground floor.

      When dinner was over, Matilda said she should go to the library and fetch some books. Bertha looked quite woe begone, but was silent: not so Albert, who had been informed of the perilous adventure his young mistress had undergone in the morning; he besought her, with tears in his eyes, not to trust herself again in the haunted rooms. 'If any harm betides you, madam, I shall be a poor miserable fellow for the short remnant of my days.' 'Be not uneasy, my friend Albert, no ghosts can hurt me; 'tis the living only I fear, not the dead; assure yourself I shall return in perfect safety.'

      Saying this she went up stairs, leaving Bertha and Albert under great consternation. 'Well, the Lord love her,' said the former, 'she must be a pure good creature to have so much courage - I hope no harm will come on't.' 'I hope so too,' cried Albert, wiping his eyes. 'She is the best sweetest tempered young lady that ever lived; - ah! I little thought to have seen such a day as this for her.'

      Whilst these two worthy creatures were expatiating upon her praise, Matilda pursued her way to the Lady of the Castle, who was expecting her with impatience, and warmly embraced her upon her entrance. 'How mortifying the reflection,' said the lady, leading her visitant to a chair, 'that the unexpected happiness I enjoy must be purchased so dearly as by your peace of mind; what delight should I feel in your society, if distress and misfortune had not driven you here!' 'Believe me, madam,' answered Matilda, 'your presence and conversation has greatly alleviated those sorrows which oppress my heart; and if my company should be productive of pleasure to you, I shall feel much less regret for the causes which compelled me to seek this castle as an asylum for an unhappy orphan, though but a temporary one only.' 'Ah! my dear young lady,' replied the other, 'you are but young in the school of affliction; you can look forward with hope, you can feel only for yourself, and, God forbid, you should ever know the sorrows of a wife and mother, who knows not but that she is childless and cut off for ever from those endearing ties.' 'O, madam,' cried Matilda, interrupting her, 'forgive me that I have revived such terrible images to your mind; let not my curiosity occasion such painful ideas, at least we will enjoy the present hour with mutual satisfaction, and defer your painful recital 'till another day.' 'Charming girl,' said the lady, 'I accept the delay you offer me, and am happy that I can assure you of an asylum whenever you grow tired of this castle. I have a sister in France, married to the Marquis de Melfort, she is one of the best of women; she is no stranger to my situation and has repeatedly wished me to come into the world and reside with her, but I have powerful reasons for refusing, though she is the dearest friend I have on earth, and I am certain will rejoice to offer you an accommodation in her house, and a place in her heart, as she has no children to engage her attention.' Matilda made the warmest acknowledgements for this kind offer, but said, unaccustomed as she was to the busy world, she was apprehensive Paris would be the last place she ought to reside in, particularly as her uncle might go there, having property and friends in that city, and she might run the hazard of being discovered.

      Whilst she was speaking, the lady's attendant entered with a letter, 'Joseph has just brought this, my lady.' 'Joseph!' repeated Matilda, involuntarily 'Yes,' said the lady, smiling, 'your friend Joseph is my friend also; this letter is from my sister - but bid our old friend step in.' Joseph entered but started back with surprise when he beheld Matilda seated quietly in the room, - 'Good Lord!' cried he 'how came young madam here?' 'This lady's courage, you see, has penetrated through our secret and now we have no occasion for any reserve before her, she will as carefully guard it from your wife as you do.' 'Lord! I am sure,' answered Joseph, 'it goes to my heart to keep any thing from poor Bertha, she is such a good creature, but women's tongues will blab sometimes, to be sure, and as I have sworn to your ladyship, God forbid I should break my oath, though often and often I have longed to tell my wife.' 'However, Joseph,' said the lady, gravely, 'I depend upon your honesty and oath.' 'You have nothing to fear, my lady, eighteen years practice has learnt me to hold my tongue; have you any further commands?' The lady replying in the negative, he made his bow and retired.

      'That man is a faithful good creature, I owe my life to him; I know nothing of his wife, though I am told she is a worthy woman; but as a secret should never, if possible, be trusted to chance or accident, I made him swear not to reveal mine, without permission from me.' Matilda exprest her satisfaction that the lady had such a faithful servant, and taking a book from the table, requested she would open