CHAPTER IV.

THE keeper of the asylum had either been convinced of Cardo's lunacy, or had been bribed to make his reports to that effect; and Hume, when he entered the poor boy's cell, had no doubt whatever that the thing was as represented; but now he was fully convinced of the contrary, and proceeded without delay loudly to challenge the wicked or foolish affair. Had the first movers of it thought that he was to be in the country so soon, they would probably have taken care not to let him visit Antonio privately; and they were not a little startled when Hume entered his strong remonstrance, and declared that the boy had been most unjustifiably confined. As for Romelli, his ends were already in a great measure served, and he cared not much farther about the thing. Stewart, who was jealous of Hume's professional character and his present interference, made a show as if he would gainsay Frederick's opinion to the very utmost. The other consulting phy

grave wisdom should be

sicians, nettled, no doubt, that their impugned by a stripling, were in a disposition sooner to fortify themselves in injustice, than to see and acknowledge the truth, were it made as plain to them as day. When they heard, however, that Hume was determined to make a representation of the case to the magistrates of the place, and to visit the asylum again ere long, with one or two of the principal Edinburgh physicians, they were a little alarmed; and Stewart, particularly, from his consciousness of the truth of what Frederick had stated, determined that Cardo should have an opportunity of making his escape, which would save himself the shame of being publicly obliged to yield to Hume's interference.

About a week after the above interview betwixt Antonio and our young doctor, Miss Pearce, Signor Romelli, and his daughter, (for the Signor had excused himself pretty well to Frederick,) and two or three more, were sitting one evening in Mrs Mather's parlour, The candles had just been lighted. Immediately the door opened, and admitted a young man bare-headed, and in worn attire. As he came slowly forward, he waved his hand mournfully, and attempted to speak, but seemed, from emotion, unable for the task. He was now seen to be Antonio Cardo, though he had grown so tall of late, and was so very pale, that he was not so easily recognized. There was a tear in his eye, a slight dilatation of his nostril, and a quivering all round his mouth, like one whose honour has been doubted, and who has just come from trial and danger, and indignant victory. Were an idiot to gain reason and high intellect, and to be seen walking stately with wise men, who would not weep at

the sublime sight? Nor is it without awful interest that we behold a man composed and serene, after coming out of a dark dream of insanity, the fine light of reason exhaling from the unsettled chaos of his eye, and a tear there, the last witness of the unaccountable struggle. Some of the young ladies who now saw Antonio Cardo lately recovered, as they had heard, from such a fit, had been talking of him a little before, and styling him, "poor unhappy creature;" but no sooner did he appear before them, redeemed, as they thought him to be, graceful and beautifully pale as he was, than he gained the yearning respect of all, and was a prouder object to every heart than a bridegroom from his chamber. He advanced slowly without speaking, and sat down on a sofa like a wayfaring man wearied out with his journey. Charlotte entered the room. "There he is at last!" cried she, when she saw him, and throwing herself upon his neck, she swooned away, overcome by a thrill of joy. Kindly for a while did God hold her spirit entranced, that she might not be agonized at her brother's sudden and strange departure. For Antonio at this moment observing Signor Romelli, whom his weak and dazzled eyes had not till now seen, laid his sister, like an indifferent thing, upon the sofa, started forward, and pointing with his finger to Romelli, whispered deeply, "Have I found you, mine enemy?-Take care of that man, good people, or my soul shall tear him to pieces."

Like an unreclaimed savage, the boy grinded his teeth as he hung for a moment in his threatening attitude; but he was seen to be working under some strong restraint, till all at once he rushed out of the house, and was lost in the dark night. Days, weeks, and months passed, and still he came not, nor had his friends heard any thing of him. During the summer, every young beggar lad that came to Greenwells Cottage, was keenly scrutinized by poor Charlotte Cardo; and every day she went to the top of a green hill in the neighbourhood, to look for travellers along the road, or coming over the open moor. But all her anxiety was in vain; Antonio came not, and she began to droop. In the house, she walked softly with downcast eyes; she was silent and kind, and very shy, though every one loved her. Amidst gay company, she scarcely seemed to know where she was, sitting motionless on her chair, or obli− gingly playing to the dance without ever seeming to be wearied. To every one that kindly requested her to take part in the amusement, she answered by a shake of the head and a faint smile.

Besides sorrow for her brother's unaccountable absence, another passion, which no one suspected, was beginning to prey upon the heart of this Italian maiden; and no sooner did she hear Frederick Hume, about the beginning of autumn, propose to go in a few

weeks to Paris, there to remain during the winter, than she declined so fast in her health, that in a few days she could scarcely walk about the house. Observing with infinite regret her increasing feebleness, Frederick humanely resolved to defer his journey till he should see the issue of her illness; and, in the meantime, he procured for her the best medical attendance, determined to do every thing which human skill could do for the beautiful alien. By the advice of his medical friends, in accordance with his own view of the case, he would have sent her to her native Italy; but this she over-ruled, declaring she would be buried in Mrs Mather's own aisle.

"what

"Can none of you tell me," said she, one day to Frederick, who was alone with her in the room, as she sat upon the sofa, has become of my poor harper ?" "To be sure, Charlotte," he answered; "I know very well where he is. He is off to Italy for a while, and will take care of himself, for your sake, you may be assured." "You are a kind gentleman, sir,” returned the maiden; but it will not do. Yet what boots such a life as mine? Let me die. You will be happy with the beautiful Signora Romelli when I am gone, and then she will be assured that I cannot envy her."

As she said this, she covered her face with one hand, whilst she extended the other. It was pale as a lily bleached with rains; and well could Frederick see that the narrow blue rings of Death, her bridegroom, were on the attenuated fingers. He took the hand and gently kissed it, bidding her take courage, and saying, that she must take care of her life for her brother's sake. At this the maiden, not without a little irritable violence, hastily withdrew her hand, and used it to assist in hiding the tears which began to burst through between the fingers of the other. Trembling succeeded, and a violent heaving of heart, such as threatened to rend her beautiful body to pieces. At this delicate moment Mrs Mather entered the room, and hastened to her assistance.

One afternoon about a week after this, an eminent doctor from the neighbouring town, who generally attended the maiden, took Frederick Hume aside, and in answer to his inquiries regarding her appearance that day, said, "There is but one possible way, Hume, of saving that girl's life." "For God's sake, name it, sir," returned Frederick. "You will be surprised, perhaps, shocked, Dr Hume," continued the other physician; " but it is my duty to tell it to you. Well, then, that Italian girl is dying of love for you." "Whom do you mean, sir? Not Charlotte Cardo ?" said Frederick, afraid of the conviction which had flashed upon him. "I cannot be wrong, Frederick," replied the other; "Mrs Mather

"You

"But

hinted the thing to me some time ago. I have seen it from the manner of the girl, and her emotion in your presence, compared with her manner when I visited her without your being with me. To-day she spoke of you under a slight degree of delirium, and when she recovered, I made her confess the whole to me." have at least done well to tell me," said Hume, anxiously. what must be done?" "Why, sir, as the mere physician in this case, my opinion generally, and without any reference to other circumstances, is, that you must formally make the girl your bride this very night, if you would give her a chance for life. To remove her preying suspense, and dread of losing you, may calm her spirit, and lead to ultimate recovery." "You are an honest, but severe counsellor," said Frederick, shaking his medical friend by the hand with desperate energy; "but, for God's sake, sir, go not away till you tell me again what must be done. Were myself merely the sacrifice, I should not hesitate one moment,-nor perhaps think it a sacrifice. But, good God! I stand pledged to another lady-to Miss Romelli. And now, how can I act? Can there not be at least a little delay-say for a week?” "I think not, sir. No, assuredly. But—” "Sir?" demanded Frederick, eagerly, interrupting him; "speak to me, sir, and propose something. I have entire confidence in your wisdom." "I was merely about to remark," continued the uncompromising physician, "that it is indeed a puzzling case.' "The worst of it is," said Hume," that Miss Romelli at least fifty miles hence, with her father, at bathing-quarters; and I ought, by all means, to see her and be ruled by her in this matter. Such is certainly my duty." "Much may be said on both sides,” briefly remarked the physician, who, most abstractly conscientious in his professional character, would not advise against the means of saving his patient's life. "I will bear the blame then," said Hume, after a short but intense pause. "I cannot see that orphan-child perish, without my attempting to save her. Miss Romelli, I trust, will either be proud or magnanimous, and so the sooner, sir, the ceremony is performed, the better."

The next point was to break the proposal to Mrs Mather; but besides her wish to see Miss Romelli become the wife of Frederick, she was scandalized at the idea of his marrying a girl, whom, despite of her affection for Charlotte, she hesitated not at this time to style a wandering gipsy. "Prithee, madam," said Frederick, bitterly, "do not so speak of my wife that is to be; but go prepare for this strange wedding." Never, never," replied the old lady; "it is all vile art in the huzzy to inveigle you into a snare; I can see that." "Nevertheless, the thing shall be done," re

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turned Hume, firmly. "And I must tell you, madam, without any reference to my interest in her, that you are doing gross injustice to the poor girl, and mocking a bruised heart." "It may be so, sir," said the lady, haughtily; "and, moreover, you may do as you list; but you shall not have my countenance at least."

Accordingly, the old lady left the cottage without delay, and took refuge at the house of a friend, about six miles off, determined there to stay till bridegroom and bride should leave her own dwelling. Meanwhile, Frederick was not disconcerted;, but with almost unnatural decision, summoned Miss Pearce, and one or two maids from the neighbouring village, to prepare his bride, and attend her at the strange nuptials. He was too manly and magnanimous to fulfil the letter, without regarding the fine spirit of his sacrifice, and, accordingly, he took every precaution not to hurt or challenge Charlotte's delicacy of feeling; and, particularly, he strictly enjoined every one of the above attendants not to mention that Mrs Mather had left the house, because the thing was utterly against her wish, but that she was kept by indisposition from being present at the ceremony, which on the contrary, it was to be stated, was all to her mind. Miss Pearce, when she learned the flight of her patroness, began to remonstrate against taking any part in the transaction; but Hume drew her aside, and spoke to her emphatically, as follows:-" Why, Miss Pearce, what means this? You know you have been a very obliging madam for a score of years or so, d-——d obliging indeed, never wanting for a moment with your excellent suppliance, a most discreet time-server. You know, too, very well, what reason I have to dislike you. I shall soon control Mrs Mather. By my soul, then, you shall now do as I bid you, or be cashiered for ever. Moreover, a word to the wise: you are getting very sharp in the elbows now, you know, and ought to be very thankful for one chance more. So you shall be bride'smaid this evening, and if you enact the thing discreetly, and catch every little prophetic omen or rite by the forelock, why then you know your turn may be next. Think of the late luck of your next neighbour, that great fat overwhelming sexagenarian, like the National Debt, and do not despair. I am peremptory, Miss Pearce, if you please."

The poor creature had not spirit to resist the determined manner of Hume, which she easily recognised through his moody and (but that he knew her to be Miss Pearce) insolent address. She prepared to obey him, yet making, like a staunch Jesuit, her mental reservations, and storing up his obnoxious language to be avenged, should an opportunity ever occur.

And now the small company of bridal guests were assembled in