Fitzalan shuddr’d at the sight; and involuntarily stooping took up the Dagger.
Page 16
SIR BERTRAND’s
ADVENTURES IN A RUINOUS CASTLE:
THE STORY OF
FITZALAN:
THE ADVENTURE
JAMES III. OF SCOTLAND
HAD WITH THE
WEIRD SISTERS,
IN THE DREADFUL
WOOD OF BIRNAN:
THE STORY OF
RAYMOND CASTLE:
THE
RUIN OF THE HOUSE OF ALBERT:
AND
MARY, A Fragment.
Third Edition, with Additions.
LONDON:
Printed and Sold by S. FISHER,
No. 10, ST. JOHN’s LANE, CLERKENWELL;
ALSO SOLD BY
T. HURST, No. 32, Paternoſter Row;
1800.
The Story of Sir Bertrand. |
3 |
The Story of Fitzalan. |
8 |
The Story of the Weird Sisters. |
20 |
The Story of Raymond Castle. |
28 |
The Ruin of the House of Albert. |
42 |
Mary; a Fragment. |
51 |
By Mrs. BARBAULD.
———Sir Bertrand turned his ſteed toward the wolds, hoping to croſs thoſe dreary moors before the curfew tolled. But ere he had proceeded half his journey, he was bewildered by the different tracts; and not being able, as far as the eye could reach, to eſpy any object but the brown heath ſurrounding him, he was at length quite uncertain which way he ſhould direct his courſe. Night overtook him in this ſituation. It was one of thoſe nights when the moon gives a faint glimmering of light through the thick black clouds of a louring ſky. Now and then ſhe ſuddenly emerged in full ſplendor from her veil; and then inſtantly retired behind it, having juſt ſerved to give the forlorn Sir Bertrand a wide-extended proſpect over the deſolate waſte. Hope and native courage a while urged him to puſh forward; but at length, the encreaſing darkneſs, and fatigue of body and mind, overcame him: he dreaded moving from the ground he flood on, for fear of unknown pits and bogs; and, alighting from his horſe in deſpair, he threw himſelf on the ground. He had not long continued in that poſture, when the ſullen toll of a diſtant bell ſtruck his ears–he ſtarted up; and, turning toward the found, diſcerned a dim twinkling light. Inſtantly he ſeized his horſe’s bridle, and with cautious ſteps advanced toward it. After a painful march, he was flopped by a moated ditch ſurrounding the place from whence the light proceeded; and, by a momentary glimpſe of moonlight, he had a full view of a large antique manſion, with turrets at the corners, and an ample porch in the centre. The injuries of time were ſtrongly marked on every thing about it. The roof in various places was fallen in, the battlements were half demoliſhed, and the windows broken and diſmantled. A draw-bridge, with a ruinous gateway at each end, led to the court before the building. He entered; and inſtantly the light, which proceeded from a window in one of the turrets, glided along, and vaniſhed: at the ſame moment the moon ſunk beneath a black cloud, and the night was darker than ever. All was ſilent. Sir Bertrand faſtened his ſteed under a ſhed; and, approaching the houſe, traverſed its whole front with light and ſlow foot-ſteps.–All was ſtill as death!–He looked in at the lower windows, but could not diſtinguish a ſingle object through the impenetrable gloom. After a ſhort parley with himſelf, he entered the porch; and, ſeizing a maſſy iron knocker at the gate, lifted it up, and, heſitating, at length ſtruck a loud ſtroke. The noiſe reſounded through the whole manſion with hollow echoes. All was ſtill again! He repeated the ſtrokes more boldly, and louder. Another interval of ſilence enſued!–A third time he knocked; and a third time all was ſtill! He then fell back to ſome diſtance, that he might diſcern whether any light could be ſeen in the whole front. It again appeared in the ſame place, and quickly glided away as before!–at the ſame inſtant, a deep, ſullen toll ſounded from the turret. Sir Bertrand’s heart made a fearful ſtop!–He was a while motionleſs; then terror impelled him to make ſome haſty ſteps toward his ſteed–but ſhame ſtopped his flight; and, urged by honour, and a reſiſtleſs deſire of finiſhing the adventure, he returned to the porch; and working up his ſoul to a full ſteadineſs of reſolution, he drew forth his ſword with one hand, and with the other lifted up the latch of the gate. The heavy door, creaking upon its hinges, reluctantly yielded to his hand:–he applied his ſhoulder to it, and forced it open. He quitted it, and ſtept forward–the door inſtantly ſhut with a thundering clap. Sir Bertrand’s blood was chilled! He turned back to find the door, and it was long ere his trembling hands could ſeize it–but his utmoſt ſtrength could not open it again. After ſeveral ineffectual attempts, he looked behind him, and beheld, acroſs a hall, upon a large ſtair-caſe, a pale bluiſh flame, which caſt a diſmal gleam of light around. He again ſummoned forth his courage, and advanced toward it–it retired. He came to the foot of the ſtairs; and, after a moment’s deliberation, aſcended. He went ſlowly up, the flame retiring before him, till he came to a wide gallery. The flame proceeded along it, and he followed in ſilent horror, treading lightly, for the echoes of his footſteps ſtartled him: It led him to the foot of another ſtair-caſe, and then vaniſhed! At the ſame inſtant another toll ſounded from the turret. Sir Bertrand felt it ſtrike upon his heart. He was now in total darkneſs; and, with his arms extended, began to aſcend the ſecond ſtair-caſe. A dead cold hand met his left hand, and firmly grafſped it, drawing him forcibly forward–he endeavoured to diſengage himſelf, but could not he made a furious blow with his ſword, and inſtantly a loud ſhriek pierced his ears, and the dead hand was left powerleſs in his–he dropped it, and ruſhed forward with a deſperate valour.
clapſed