User:Urve/The Castle of La Roche

The CASTLE of LA ROCHE; A TALE. BY A LADY. "A woman's ſtory at a winter fire."

CHAPTER I.

n a romantic ſituation on the banks of the Garonne, in the province of Gaſcony, ſtood a caſtle which for many centuries had been in the family of the marquis de Netterville. In the year 1642, he married the daughter and ſole hereiſs of the noble houſe of Beaulieu, by whom he had a ſon and daughter. The former died at the age of four years; and all the hopes of the marquis and his amiable wife were centered in the beautiful accompliſhed Alemeria, who had now juſt attained her eighteenth year. Tall and finely proportioned, ſhe would not have diſgraced the pencil of a Guido. Her features were perfectly regular, and her dark-blue eyes full of vivancy.

The neighbourhood in which the caſtle of La Roche was ſituated conſiſted only of a few ſimple ruſtics, who were chiefly employed in the ſerivce of the marquis, and fed from his table. To the poor and needy, indeed, the gates of the caſtle were ever open as the owner's heart. Lady Almeria was fond of the rural beauties of the country, and thoſe hours which ſhe allowed herſelf from her ſeverer ſtudies ſhe filled up in the contemplating the works of the Creator. Often would ſhe wander, at the cloſe of a fine ſummer evening, to the moſt romantic parts of the fine old park; where, ſeating herſelf on a ruſtic bench, ſhe would watch the ſun as it ſlowly declined behind the weſtern mountains, and the blue waters of the Garonne reflecting the ſcene in its ſcarcely undulating waves, while the higheſt points of the landſcape around her were touched with a roſeate hue no hand but that of nature could ever equal.

Lady Almeria was one evening ſo inſenſibly enchanted by the proſpect, that ſhe forgot her diſtance from the caſtle and the lateneſs of the hour, and fell into a profound reverie. She was at length rouſed by a ſervant, whom the marchioneſs had ſent in ſearch of her, with the intelligence that the count and conteſs Moralvo were arrived at the caſtle of La Roche.

Henry count Moralvo was by birth the ſecond ſon of an Italian nobleman of that name. In his perſon he was ungraceful, and his countenance was forbidding; it bore too the traces of deceit and cunning. The fortune his father was able to give him, without injuring his elder brother, was moderate; and he was, therefore, obliged to ſeek a profeſſion.

His brother Charles naturally preferred a military life to one of idleneſs; and Henry, who alſo liked that employment better than any other, determined to accompany him.

They had not been gone many months, when the old count Moralvo received an account that the amiable Charles had fallen in an engagement, and that Henry was then on his journey home, to take poſſeſſion of the title and eſtates of his brother. All the hopes of the poor old count, ſince the death of a wife he tenderly loved, were centered in Charles; and, in loſing him, he conſidered that he was deprived of all his earthly happineſs.

Henry was of a four and revengeful temper, haughty and impatient of controul. His feelings (if he had any) were only for himſelf; and he ſeemed to think, like a ſecond Alexander, the whole world was created only to ſubmit to him. His brother's death ſeemed to affect him only as it was the means of increaſing his rank and fortune; and when grief in a ſhort time carried his aged father to the grave, he put himſelf in poſſeſſion of the family manſion, a few miles from Naples, with as much compoſure as if his father had ſtill exiſted.

Shut up in the gloomy retirement of his own chateau, the count had leiſure to ruminate on his paſt conduct, which he too well knew would not bear ſtrict inquiry. Often would he ſit over the fire wrapped in thought, then ſuddenly ſtart up, pace the room in ſeeming agony, knit his brows, and again fall into fits of abſtraction, from which his domeſtics could ſcarcely rouſe him. His valet, who had attended him in his childhood, and when his brother and himſelf were engaged in the war, knew too well the reaſon of his lord's diſquiet, but never divulged the ſecret to the reſt of the ſervants; who were left to their own conjectures.

Some time after the old count's deceaſe, he married a lady every way the reverſe of himſelf in point of diſpoſition. She had ſecretly admired his deſerving brother; and, in giving him her hand, ſhe obeyed the commands of her father, but ſhe followed not the dictates of her own heart.

The counteſs was diſtantly related to lady Netterville, and had always been her moſt intimate friend.—They had not met for ſeveral years, and lady Moralvo had ſome difficulty in prevailing on her huſband to accept the invitation from her relations, to ſpend a few weeks at the caſtle of La Roche. The count received the welcome of the marquis and marchioneſs with haught reſerve; and, during the whole of the evening, preſerved a chilling ſilence, which threw ſuch a damp over the ſpirits of the reſt of the party that they very ſoon retired to their apartments.

Lady Almeria diſmiſſed her maid, and ſat down to ruminate on the ſtrange and unaccountable conduct of lord Moralvo. She took up a book, and determined, by peruſing it, to endeavour to drive him from her thoughts. She had not, however, been ſo engaged above half an hour, when ſhe thought ſhe heard a noiſe under her window. She roſe, and, uncloſing the ſaſh, liſtened attentively for a return of the ſound; but all was ſtill.

The ſky, however, ſeemed gathering for a ſtorm; which, indeed, Almeria perceived but too quickly approaching. The thunder now rolled at a diſtance, gradually getting louder, and at length burſt in tremendous peals over the caſtle.

Almeria had no idea of fear, but ſhe felt unpleaſant to be alone, and was on the point of calling her maid Agatha, who ſlept in an adjoining chamber, when ſhe again thought, between the claps of thunder, ſhe heard a noiſe under her window. Again ſhe liſtened, and diſtinctly ſaw two men with dark lanthorns, who were muffled up and concealed in long black cloaks, turn the weſt wing of the caſtle. She thought the figure of one of them not unlike count Moralvo; but what could be his buſineſs at that hour ſhe could not poſſibly conjecture.

The ſtorm had now ceaſed, and preſently all was ſtill. The perſons, whoever they were, returned no more, and Almeria deſiſted from awakening Agatha. She, however, determined to acquaint her father with the circumſtances of the preceding night, when they ſhould all be aſſembled at breakfaſt the next morning.

She repoſed but little that night; the figures of the men were impreſſed on her imagination, and ſhe could not eraſe from her ideas that one of them was the count. When ſhe communicated the intelligence before him, ſhe could not help obſerving his change of countenance.

"They were ſmugglers, lady Almeria," ſaid he, "depend upon it. I know they particularly infeſt this part of the province, and have, doubtleſs, hiding-places where they depoſit contraband goods."

This ſpeech almoſt brought conviction to the mind of Almeria that it was the count ſhe had ſeen. He had never adreſſed himself to her in ſo marked a manner before.—"Nor would he," ſhe thought, "have done ſo now, had he not been fearful of incurring ſuſpicion." No farther notice, however, was taken of the affair.

(To be continued.)