The young lady's eyes were fixed so intently on a little clock, that it was no wonder that she did not perceive the entrance of her two visitors.Her fair cheek rested on her white arm, and her white arm on the cushion of a great chair in which she sat, pleasantly supported by sweet thoughts and swan's down; a lute was at her side, and a book of prayers lay under the table (for piety is always modest).Like the amorous Alexander, she sighed and looked (at the clock)--and sighed for ten minutes or more, when she softly breathed the word "Edward!"At this the soul of the Baron was wroth."The jade is at her old pranks," said he to the devil; and then addressing Matilda: "I pray thee, sweet niece, turn thy thoughts for a moment from that villanous page, Edward, and give them to thine affectionate uncle."When she heard the voice, and saw the awful apparition of her uncle (for a year's sojourn in purgatory had not increased the comeliness of his appearance), she started, screamed, and of course fainted.
But the devil Mercurius soon restored her to herself."What's o'clock?" said she, as soon as she had recovered from her fit: "is he come?""Not thy lover, Maude, but thine uncle--that is, his soul.For the love of heaven, listen to me: I have been frying in purgatory for a year past, and should have been in heaven but for the want of a single ave.""I will say it for thee to-morrow, uncle.""To-night, or never."
"Well, to-night be it:" and she requested the devil Mercurius to give her the prayer-book from under the table; but he had no sooner touched the holy book than he dropped it with a shriek and a yell.
"It was hotter," he said, "than his master Sir Lucifer's own particular pitchfork." And the lady was forced to begin her ave without the aid of her missal.
At the commencement of her devotions the daemon retired, and carried with him the anxious soul of poor Sir Roger de Rollo.
The lady knelt down--she sighed deeply; she looked again at the clock, and began--"Ave Maria."
When a lute was heard under the window, and a sweet voice singing--"Hark!" said Matilda.
"Now the toils of day are over, And the sun hath sunk to rest, Seeking, like a fiery lover, The bosom of the blushing west--"The faithful night keeps watch and ward, Raising the moon, her silver shield, And summoning the stars to guard The slumbers of my fair Mathilde!""For mercy's sake!" said Sir Rollo, "the ave first, and next the song."So Matilda again dutifully betook her to her devotions, and began--"Ave Maria gratia plena!" but the music began again, and the prayer ceased of course.
"The faithful night! Now all things lie Hid by her mantle dark and dim, In pious hope I hither hie, And humbly chant mine ev'ning hymn.
"Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine!
(For never holy pilgrim kneel'd, Or wept at feet more pure than thine), My virgin love, my sweet Mathilde!""Virgin love!" said the Baron."Upon my soul, this is too bad!"and he thought of the lady's lover whom he had caused to be hanged.
But SHE only thought of him who stood singing at her window.
"Niece Matilda!" cried Sir Roger, agonizedly, "wilt thou listen to the lies of an impudent page, whilst thine uncle is waiting but a dozen words to make him happy?"At this Matilda grew angry: "Edward is neither impudent nor a liar, Sir Uncle, and I will listen to the end of the song.""Come away," said Mercurius; "he hath yet got wield, field, sealed, congealed, and a dozen other rhymes beside; and after the song will come the supper."So the poor soul was obliged to go; while the lady listened, and the page sung away till morning.
"My virtues have been my ruin," said poor Sir Rollo, as he and Mercurius slunk silently out of the window."Had I hanged that knave Edward, as I did the page his predecessor, my niece would have sung mine ave, and I should have been by this time an angel in heaven.""He is reserved for wiser purposes," responded the devil: "he will assassinate your successor, the lady Mathilde's brother; and, in consequence, will be hanged.In the love of the lady he will be succeeded by a gardener, who will be replaced by a monk, who will give way to an ostler, who will be deposed by a Jew pedler, who shall, finally, yield to a noble earl, the future husband of the fair Mathilde.So that, you see, instead of having one poor soul a-frying, we may now look forward to a goodly harvest for our lord the Devil."The soul of the Baron began to think that his companion knew too much for one who would make fair bets; but there was no help for it; he would not, and he could not, cry off: and he prayed inwardly that the brother might be found more pious than the sister.
But there seemed little chance of this.As they crossed the court, lackeys, with smoking dishes and, full jugs, passed and repassed continually, although it was long past midnight.On entering the hall, they found Sir Randal at the head of a vast table, surrounded by a fiercer and more motley collection of individuals than had congregated there even in the time of Sir Rollo.The lord of the castle had signified that "it was his royal pleasure to be drunk,"and the gentlemen of his train had obsequiously followed their master.Mercurius was delighted with the scene, and relaxed his usually rigid countenance into a bland and benevolent smile, which became him wonderfully.
The entrance of Sir Roger, who had been dead about a year, and a person with hoofs, horns, and a tail, rather disturbed the hilarity of the company.Sir Randal dropped his cup of wine; and Father Peter, the confessor, incontinently paused in the midst of a profane song, with which he was amusing the society.
"Holy Mother!" cried he, "it is Sir Roger.""Alive!" screamed Sir Randal.
