Читать книгу The Fate: A Tale of Stirring Times - G. P. R. James - Страница 10

They heard the cry of dogs afar. They saw hounds and mounted horsemen sweep over the distant hill. They felt little alarm; for so broad was the expanse, that it would have required long calculations to discover how many chances there were to one that the hunt would not come within seeing distance of themselves. Sometimes they walked on together; sometimes they sat side by side on the dry sandy bank. Margaret's hand rested in Ralph's, and their eyes looked into each others'.

"You will not forget me, Margaret, among all the gay, and proud, and high who throng your father's dwelling?"

"Can I forget myself, Ralph, and all the memories of which my existence is made up? But will you not forget me? You are going forth from me into a giddy world, where all is new and untried to you; where thousands of sights, and feelings, and hopes, and passions, and efforts, and changes, may well wipe away Margaret's image from your heart."

"Do you believe it, Margaret? Do you think that in aught I meet with I shall ever forget for one moment the object of my going forth? What will be to me all that the world can give or show--what haughty grandeur--what supple flattery--what upstart wealth--what official insolence--what eager, hasty business--what cunning policy and low cabal--what lordly halls and crowded courts, and glittering gems, and eager strife, without the hope, the one bright leading hope, which, like the mariner's star, may lead me away but to guide me surely home again? Oh no, these things form but the waves of a sea through which my bark must steer; but if they once break in, then I am wrecked indeed. Would, dear Margaret, while I am gone, that you could see every thought and feeling of my heart--behold, as in a glass, every act in which I am engaged."

Margaret mused. "Would we could both know the future," she said, "at least as far as our own fate is concerned; would we could see how all this will end. They tell me there is a man lives yonder, down by those few scattered houses on the moor, who can read horoscopes, and tell by various means the destiny of those who will consult him freely. What think you, Ralph," she asked, with a laugh and a blush; "shall we go and ask him our fate? What if he were to say you would prove untrue, and love some fair lady of the court, and forget Margaret? Are you afraid to inquire?"

"Not in the least," he replied; "for I should give no weight to his words, Margaret, whatever he said. The stars tell us of God's might, and every thing throughout nature of his love and bounty; but man's fate is a sealed book, which no stars, nor aught else in the great creation, can aid us in reading. Had the Almighty ever designed that the destiny even of the next coming hour should be known to us, he would have given us clear means of learning it; for the same Being who has taught us all that is necessary for us to know for our conduct here below, and for our salvation hereafter, would not have left us ignorant of any thing that could be beneficial to us to comprehend in our after destiny. However, I have no fear, so let us go."

It may be a question whether Ralph really felt the full amount of skepticism in regard to arts, which obtained almost universal credence in those days, which he assumed. Reason is a fine thing; but alas for poor human nature! reason but too often fails to convince. There would seem to be intuitive convictions, against which argument the most logical fails to operate. Ralph had a thousand times pondered and discussed with himself all the points of superstition that affected the age in which he lived. He had proved to his own satisfaction that the calculations of the astrologer, and all the terrors of supernatural visitants, were either impostures or dreams--to his own satisfaction, I have said, but not to his own conviction, and the two are very distinct. However, he did not suffer the lingering feelings of unwilling belief, in that which his reason rejected, ever to affect him in his conduct, and he again expressed his willingness to go.

Margaret, on the other hand, had never argued the question with herself at all. Not that she gave full credence to all the wilder and grosser superstitions of the day; for a mind naturally strong and bright had guarded her against much, though not against all. She had heard with horror and indignation of the trial, condemnation, and execution of some unfortunate persons for witchcraft not very long before the period of which I speak; but yet, when we remember that Sir Thomas Brown himself, the great reformer of "vulgar errors," could not free his mind entirely from the superstitions of his day, it was not to be expected that a young girl of Margaret's age should be entirely devoid of them.

She went on, then, with her lover, with more faith in the experiment they were about to make, and of course with more eagerness also; but, at the same time, her fears and agitation were naturally greater likewise, and before they had taken a hundred steps she almost regretted having made the proposal. Curiosity, however, was stronger than apprehension--perhaps I might say, hope was stronger; for undoubtedly one great motive of the inquiry she was about to make was to strengthen her own heart in the coming hours of trial by the assurances of after happiness which she fondly trusted to receive.

The scene around as they advanced, and the way that they took, were well calculated to impress the mind with that feeling of awe which was a good preparation for that which was to follow. The base of all superstition is awe at the thought of some great unknown thing, and whatever tends to impress the mind with grand and solemn fancies naturally aids in that direction. I never saw the cause of superstitious fears, so universal in the mind of man, clearly and rightly reasoned but once, and that was in the work of an American writer less generally known, at least in England, than he ought to be. He makes one of his characters speak as follows: "Fear is not cowardice. You may encounter unmoved the greatest danger that can threaten you, as death in any shape, and yet be frightened at a trifle merely because its exact magnitude is unknown to you. And this convinces me that there is something somewhere in the universe more terrible than death, or any ill that we know of, or whence comes this all-pervading instinct of fear, which begins in the cradle, and follows us to the grave? There is some undeveloped cause of fear somewhere, some terrible evil which the imaginations of men have not been able to find a shape for."

Any thing that strikes the mind and produces sensations of awe, even of sublimity or grandeur, has a powerful effect in rousing up all that is superstitious in our nature, and the scene through which the two wandered on was well calculated to have that effect. I know nothing more solemn and impressive than a wide, far-extended, uncultivated moor upon a dim day, when no bright gleams of sunshine diversify the expanse with catches of golden light, when the sky above is all gray, and the eye rests upon nothing but long lines of brown and purple heath, like a broad, desolate ocean spreading every where around. Such was the scene which presented itself to the eyes of Ralph and Margaret ere they had gone a quarter of a mile. The undulations of the ground had by that time hidden the plowed fields and meadows around. The Grange, the hedgerows, and tall trees were no longer seen; the church, and the village, and her father's hall were shut out from sight, and the only part to be discovered of the higher country to the south and west was a dark, greenish-black line of hill covered with somber wood. The small, scattered houses toward which they wended their way, and which were to be seen distinctly when they stood upon the upland, were now lost to the view; and not a trace of man's habitation or his industrious hand greeted the eye to relieve the prospect from its air of utter desolation. Even the path--if path it could be called--which they followed to arrive at their object, showed none of the rich coloring which could relieve the general somber tints of the view; but, formed of the dark gray sand of a peaty soil, harmonized well with, but enlivened not at all, the black and swampy ground that lay on either side. Here and there a pool lay glistening upon the moor, but the effect was not cheerful, for it reflected nothing but the gray sky above; and round the edge, where the grass and heath had rotted under the action of the water, the dark tangled roots and dull brown moss, ragged and tufted, gave a more dreary look to the ground.

The distance was greater than Margaret had supposed; for the cottagers, who were, in reality, intruders on another man's land, had taken care to build at some distance from the cultivated ground, not, indeed, in the hope of escaping observation, but in order to render it not worth while to dispossess them. The solitary man, too, who had established himself at no great distance from them, was not inclined to court the proximity of the gay general world, and he had planted his dwelling even some four or five hundred yards further in the moor than the cottagers themselves.

Thus the walk was nearly two miles in length, and the ever-recurring sameness of the view--its vastness--its desolation--sunk more and more heavily upon Margaret's spirits as she and her lover walked slowly on over the numerous slopes of ground, where the prospect was only varied by a different arrangement of the same monotonous materials and hues; and she literally trembled as she approached the lonely dwelling, where, she more than half believed, her future fate might be made known to her.

The house itself was a sad and solemn looking one; not a mere clay hovel, like those which had been passed before, but a tall dwelling of rough stone, with a perpendicular row of four windows, and two low and narrow doors. It had evidently been built a long time, for moss and lichen clung about it, and a thick stem of ivy rose at one corner, and sent out its matted foliage of dark green over the greater part of two sides of the building. It might have been a tower, erected in times of trouble for watching the fens; and if a lodge in a garden of cucumbers afforded to a Hebrew a good image of desolation, an Englishman could conceive no habitation much more gloomy and dreary than a solitary stone house in the midst of the marshes of Lincolnshire. In one respect it had the advantage over the little hamlet situated near. It was placed upon the top of the highest elevation of the low grounds, probably for the purpose of descrying afar off any object that moved across the fens. It was on a little mound, rising about some twenty feet above the general level of the moor, and, consequently, the situation was drier and more secure than could have been found any where else in the neighborhood. But still it looked damp, and cold, and miserable enough.

At the door which the two young people approached hung a large bell, and laying his hand upon the pulley, Ralph drew it sharply down. It gave forth a dull, melancholy sound, which made Margaret start. No one appeared, however, at the door, although they waited for several minutes in expectation. At the end of that time Ralph rang again, but still no one appeared, and at length he lifted the latch and opened the door. As he did so, he saw the foot of a tall stone stair-case before him, and at the same moment a loud, deep voice called from above, "Come up!"

When the young man turned toward Margaret, he saw that her blooming cheek had become very pale, and that she was evidently much agitated.

"Shall we go on, dearest Margaret?" he said, taking her hand tenderly in his.

"Oh yes, yes, let us go on now," replied Margaret, in a low voice; "perhaps if I had known I should be so frightened I might not have asked this, but I will not turn back now."

"There is no occasion for alarm, dear girl," rejoined Ralph; "I will go first; but let me have your hand, Margaret;" and thus, hand in hand, they ascended the long stair-case, while the voice from above repeated, in a tone of command, the words "Come up!"

They passed two doors, one at the top of the first, and one at the top of the second flight of steps; but Ralph judged that the voice sounded from a place higher up still, and went on. The stair-case was very dark, only illuminated by a narrow loop-hole here and there; but in the middle of the third flight a brighter light began to shine upon the steps, and Margaret detained her lover for a moment to recover breath and courage, saying, "Stay a moment, Ralph. Let me stop my heart from beating so;" then, after a short pause, she added, "Now let us go on; I am ready."