I have related this adventure at length, Lorenzo, that you might understand the means by which “The adventurer, Alphonso d’Alvarada got introduced into the castle of Lindenberg.” Judge from this specimen how much faith should be given to your aunt’s assertions!
IV
Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!
Macbeth
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold!
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with! Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery hence!
Continuation of the history of Don Raymond.
My journey was uncommonly agreeable: I found the Baron a man of some sense, but little knowledge of the world. He had passed a great part of his life without stirring beyond the precincts of his own domains, and consequently his manners were far from being the most polished: but he was hearty, good-humoured, and friendly. His attention to me was all that I could wish, and I had every reason to be satisfied with his behaviour. His ruling passion was hunting, which he had brought himself to consider as a serious occupation; and when talking over some remarkable chase, he treated the subject with as much gravity as it had been a battle on which the fate of two kingdoms was depending. I happened to be a tolerable sportsman: soon after my arrival at Lindenberg I gave some proofs of my dexterity. The Baron immediately marked me down for a man of genius, and vowed to me an eternal friendship.
That friendship was become to me by no means indifferent. At the castle of Lindenberg I beheld for the first time your sister, the lovely Agnes. For me whose heart was unoccupied, and who grieved at the void, to see her and to love her were the same. I found in Agnes all that was requisite to secure my affection. She was then scarcely sixteen; her person, light and elegant was already formed; she possessed several talents in perfection, particularly those of music and drawing: her character was gay, open, and good-humoured; and the graceful simplicity of her dress and manners formed an advantageous contrast to the art and studied coquetry of the Parisian dames, whom I had just quitted. From the moment that I beheld her, I felt the most lively interest in her fate. I made many enquiries respecting her of the Baroness.
“She is my niece,” replied that lady; “You are still ignorant, Don Alphonso, that I am your countrywoman. I am sister to the Duke of Medina Celi: Agnes is the daughter of my second brother, Don Gaston: she has been destined to the convent from her cradle, and will soon make her profession at Madrid.”
(Here Lorenzo interrupted the Marquis by an exclamation of surprise.
“Intended for the convent from her cradle?” said he; “By heaven, this is the first word that I ever heard of such a design!”
“I believe it, my dear Lorenzo,” answered Don Raymond; “but you must listen to me with patience. You will not be less surprised, when I relate some particulars of your family still unknown to you, and which I have learnt from the mouth of Agnes herself.”
He then resumed his narrative as follows.)
You cannot but be aware that your parents were unfortunately slaves to the grossest superstition: when this foible was called into play, their every other sentiment, their every other passion yielded to its irresistible strength. While she was big with Agnes, your mother was seized by a dangerous illness, and given over by her physicians. In this situation, Donna Inesilla vowed, that if she recovered from her malady, the child then living in her bosom if a girl should be dedicated to St. Clare, if a boy to St. Benedict. Her prayers were heard; she got rid of her complaint; Agnes entered the world alive, and was immediately destined to the service of St. Clare.
Don Gaston readily chimed in with his lady’s wishes: but knowing the sentiments of the duke, his brother, respecting a monastic life, it was determined that your sister’s destination should be carefully concealed from him. The better to guard the secret, it was resolved that Agnes should accompany her aunt, Donna Rodolpha into Germany, whither that lady was on the point of following her new-married husband, Baron Lindenberg. On her arrival at that estate, the young Agnes was put into a convent, situated but a few miles from the castle. The nuns to whom her education was confided performed their charge with exactitude: they made her a perfect mistress of many talents, and strove to infuse into her mind a taste for the retirement and tranquil pleasures of a convent. But a secret instinct made