# Duty and Inclination/Chapter 65

CHAPTER XXII.
It may be well supposed that the General, communicative as he was in character, as soon as he left London and its suburbs behind him, rejoiced to unburthen his mind upon the pleasing subject which engrossed it,—and which naturally continued the chief topic of discussion between father and daughter until they entered Glamorganshire, every object of which county affected Oriana with the pleasing but mournful recollections of the past.
The road through which they travelled lay not very far distant from the residence of Mrs. Boville, and as the last accounts received by the General from Mrs. De Brooke had been directed thence,—from the probability of his wife and Rosilia being prevailed upon to remain there during his absence, and as, at any rate, it would not lead him far from his direct route to the Bower, he determined to make a call there, to introduce Oriana to Mrs. Melbourne, with whom he was better acquainted than with her sister,—having, of course, no idea of what had happened during his absence.
​ "I have already spoken to you of Douglas," said the General to Oriana on the way to Mrs. Boville's, "the old suitor of your sister; for whom, notwithstanding his rejection, I could never divest myself of the idea she has ever since retained a penchant, although constantly endeavouring to surmount it. He has returned home a most finished gentleman,—an honour to any court, where his merits would shine in their proper lustre. I should heartily rejoice did he propose a second time for your sister; for all I can say falls short of the praise you will hear of him from Mrs. Melbourne; even our good Lovesworth has caught the infection, for from the time he made acquaintance with Douglas he could talk of nothing else; and let me tell you, Lovesworth is no superficial observer. I related to him the cause of Rosilia's formerly declining his addresses, to which he made answer, it was what might have been expected on her part; admitting that she had authentic reason to accuse him of irregularities of conduct, an ample motive on her side to preclude any congenial intercourse. 'General,' added he, 'his intrinsic worth lay hidden under a heap of embers, to burst out with an increased, vivid, and lasting splendour. That a partiality still exists in each for the other is very obvious, notwithstanding their mutual efforts to conceal it. And I never saw two minds calculated to assimilate in conjugal harmony and unison more completely than that of my dear Rosilia and the accomplished Douglas.' I must ​confess, since that conversation with the penetrating Lovesworth, I have been anxiously desirous of an opportunity to join their hands, feeling assured that motives of delicacy alone keep Douglas from approaching."
The house as they drew near presented an appearance of quietude unusual for the season; the General therefore concluded his wife and daughter had returned to the Bower, and that the ladies inhabiting the place were absent from home: the door was opened by a female servant, whose looks might have foreboded bad intelligence had she not suddenly disappeared to inform her mistress, as the General supposed, of his being there. He meant but to stay half an hour, which would afford Oriana not only an introduction to the ladies but a salutary rest, ere he proceeded to rejoin his family at the Bower. The servant returning, with an air still involving mystery, conducted the General and Oriana into a large dining parlour, on the ground floor, saying one of the ladies would shortly attend them.
A quarter of an hour elapsed and no one had yet appeared; a sort of melancholy presentiment took possession of the General, which he tried to dissipate by viewing objects from the window: another long interval having passed, he feared, on account of Oriana's health, the night dews might fall ere he reached the Bower.
As he was thus reflecting, the door at last opened, and Mrs. Melbourne advanced. Her aspect, and the ​accent in which she accosted him, were dejected in the extreme. He was about presenting Oriana to her, but anticipating his design, with a tender yet sorrowful air, she walked towards her, and taking her by the hand, she seated herself beside her.
"Your daughter, General," said she, "(as I doubt not this young lady is,) from the delicacy of her appearance, is doubtless suffering under the fatigue of her journey." Then casting a look of strong sympathy on Oriana, her countenance relapsed into abstraction; and soon after, rising suddenly from her seat, "General," said she, "will you do me the favour of a moment's conference in another apartment?" when leading the way, the General followed, fully convinced that it was to be a participator with her in some disastrous calamity.
"For Heaven's sake, Mrs. Melbourne," exclaimed he, "what has happened? Speak, tell me! Is it you or myself who is to be condoled with? am I sent here to sympathize with you in affliction, or is it myself who am the object of it? My wife! my child, Rosilia—what of them?"
Though Mrs. Melbourne in her looks and manner expressed the utmost compassion, she did not let one word drop that could lessen the fearful anticipations of the General, who, with a suspense nearly frantic, awaited her further utterance.
"One or the other is lost to me for ever! "exclaimed he; "either dead or dying!"
"No, General," returned she, recovering her ​speech, "it is not as you suppose. Mrs. De Brooke truly has undergone a great shock; she is happily with us, and Mrs. Boville is now endeavouring to console her, being even at this time in the greatest anguish on account of—" Mrs. Melbourne found herself at a loss to proceed, but gathering breath, she added, "the sudden disappearance of her daughter."
"Of my Rosilia!" exclaimed the distracted father; "where?—how long?—at what time?"
"She went in the afternoon to ramble amidst the grounds, and we have not seen her since. Every servant, male and female, in and out of the house, has been sent in various directions in search of her, but without success. We were fearful she might have fallen into a sheet of water beyond the shrubbery: it has been dragged, but to no purpose."
"My dear Mrs. Melbourne," added the General, "excuse the former bluntness of my words and actions; but, as you now represent the matter, I do not see but that this apparent evil admits of hope, knowing the turn of my daughter's mind: beguiled by her love for natural objects, taught by the Doctor, she has wandered on, heedless of the hours, and has doubtless lost her way. Will you have the goodness to lead me to my wife, and in the meanwhile prepare Oriana for seeing her mother without her sister, using what discretion you may think proper to quiet her fears and to console her for the disappointment?"
In ascending to meet Mrs. De Brooke, the General thought, "What an eventful journey has this been ​to me! what good news was I bringing home—and how little did I anticipate my joy was to receive so cruel a check! Could I really believe Fate intended me such a blow as the final loss of my child, how readily would I throw up fortune, all that Robert has given me, and even all that I possess in the world, for the restoration of my child!"
On being admitted to his wife, the General was soon apprised of the dreadful surmises she herself entertained,—that it was Melliphant in reality whom her child had seen; and that he had conveyed her away, was a supposition that had taken complete possession of her.
Ever fond of wandering alone, as her father had hinted, to indulge in all the romantic luxuriance of her taste, she had gone forth, carrying with her a small portfolio, inclosing paper and materials for designing, with a heart perfectly at rest, and unapprehensive of danger of any sort. She proceeded on her way, meditating upon the singular discovery just made with regard to her mother's new-found relatives in Mrs. Boville and her excellent Dr. Lovesworth,—the former connected merely by marriage; and the latter, whom she so greatly revered, for whom she had ever borne so great a partiality,—how rejoiced was she to think she might claim kindred with him even by the nearer tie of consanguinity!
She thus pursued her way, occasionally stopping to see whether she could discover the monument she had heard described by Mrs. Boville, and which had ​been raised by that friend upon whose virtues she had been meditating, the filial Dr. Lovesworth, to the memory of his father, her mother's uncle,—the hope of discovering which had tempted her to bend her footsteps so far alone, for the purpose of transmitting the interesting epitaph as well as the monument to her sketch-book.
Having at length discovered the object of her search, she boldly drew near, read the inscription, and insensibly gave way to that tender melancholy a scene so solemn might inspire. Retreating to a little distance, she seated herself in a situation the most convenient for executing the drawing she was about to make. After a little interval, becoming deeply intent upon her work, somebody from behind, as with electric swiftness, sprung violently upon her, cast rapidly a bandage around her sight, lifted her from the ground, and running with her a few paces, stopped for an instant, and descended, to all appearance, into some dark cavity or hollow place. The terrified girl, paralysed, uttered but one shriek, and fainting away, became lost for an interval to all that passed around her.
In a word, it was Melliphant himself who had descended that vault of death, with the unhappy Rosilia, experiencing the utmost excess of savage joy at having at last effected his long-planned infamous project. Rosilia was now completely delivered into his power, and such a moment made ample amends ​to him for months of restless and impatient watchfulness.
Provided with materials to procure a light, the gleams of the lamp, spreading its pale rays over the gloomy and comfortless habitation of the dead, with the cold damp exhalations, served to recall to existence Melliphant's defenceless victim, when, it not being his design to make himself instantly known, he sprung upwards, carefully closing after him the tomb which inclosed his treasure.
Finding an unearthly stillness reign, not even a breath denoting a living creature near, Rosilia tore the bandage from her temples and attempted to rise, when what amazement, what horror filled her breast, upon casting her eyes around, to find she was a prisoner in a remote sepulchre, amid the ashes of the departed!
Her first object was to seek whether any means were afforded for her escape. She ascended to the door of the vault, and made use of all the force she was mistress of to remove the obstacles which shut from her the light of day: every effort proved in vain, and served but to exhaust the more her feeble powers. She called, she exerted to its utmost the strength of her voice, sending forth repeated and loud exclamations, which she hoped might reach the ear of some distant passer-by; nought, however, met her ear in reply, but the reverberation through the vault of each piercing shriek she uttered. Aware of ​the superstitious fears entertained by the domestics of Mrs. Boville, she feared she had no chance of being extricated from her dismal situation through their means, since they would doubtless diligently keep themselves far beyond the sound of her cries.
Dreading the probability of having fallen into the hands of Melliphant, she would rather by far continue to support a captivity, dreary and dismal as it was, than be rescued by one for whom at that moment she felt the most unconquerable antipathy. "From the remains of the silent dead," thought she, "in this lone sepulchre, what have I to fear? how preferable to the company of him who could act towards me in so outrageous and brutal a manner!"
Resigning herself to the situation in which she was placed, her soul insensibly, by inward prayer, acquired strength. The Deity was not invoked in vain; His strong arm could yet sustain her, His powerful spirit could infuse her with courage to bear and surmount the dark and wicked purposes that might be planning against her.
Having thus secured his prize, beyond the possibility of discovery, we will take up the history of Melliphant, to account for the dreadful assault he had been thus led to commit against the then hapless and ill-fated Rosilia. He had announced among her acquaintance, and even to Sir Howard, that he was on the eve of flying the kingdom, as the only means to secure his safety and elude the vigilance of his creditors,—an artifice merely to conceal ​his real intentions, which were to avail himself of the opportunity offered by his cousin Sir Arthur Melliphant's estate in Wales, for the double purpose of screening himself from the laws of his country, and of frequenting a neighbourhood inhabited by Rosilia, who had made upon him so singular and fatal an impression. Tormented by the fire of lawless love, and terrified by the dread of being confined within a noxious prison for life, his soul became as it were the habitation of demons, starting at every shadow, and supposing that every one who accidentally crossed his path was a bailiff laying snares to entrap him. He rarely permitted himself to leave the close shelter given by some small, obscure apartments in his cousin's spacious and elegant mansion, determined there to live a voluntary prisoner until circumstances might occur to favour the execution of a plot he had formed to obtain Rosilia, and secrete her in the mansion of Sir Arthur, and afterwards to fly with her to another kingdom.
A thousand schemes were suggested to him for the accomplishment of such a project, but a thousand times were they rejected as impracticable; until at length a report circulated around the neighbourhood reached his ear also, that General De Brooke was in want of a male servant, who as occasion required might act as coachman. Perfectly well acquainted with a young man in the service of Sir Arthur, of a bold and enterprising temper, whom upon many occasions he had found very useful to himself, it ​immediately struck him that for a powerful bribe he might be made a willing tool to serve him in the capacity desired by the General. The young man having been bought over accordingly, repaired to the Bower, and was hired as we have seen by Mrs. De Brooke;—his looks and manners having terrified and prepossessed Rosilia, not without reason, against him.
This agent had no sooner set down Mrs. De Brooke and her daughter at the house of Mrs. Boville than he hastened to give due information of it to his nefarious employer.
"'Tis well," answered he; "return to your post, I may soon require your services."
Melliphant was well acquainted with every part of the grounds belonging to the house but recently occupied by Mrs. Boville. Whilst undergoing repair he had wandered over them repeatedly. There was not a winding alley or turning that was unknown to him. The isolated situation in which the vault entombing the ancient inhabitants of the dwelling lay, he also knew.
It had been discovered to him by Sir Howard Sinclair, whose misanthropic propensity to the visitation of tombs, or to wander amidst churchyard graves, we have already noticed, and who, on a visit to Sir Arthur, in passing near the house now in the occupation of Mrs. Boville, would, in company with Melliphant, often alight from his horse or curricle to make a descent to the sepulchre—amidst those ​remains, which divested of their life-giving principles, were mouldering into dust! It was there, like the vulture seeking for its food, Sir Howard loved to hover, and indulge his gloomy taste in meditations suited to it.
Thus the spot had become familiar to Melliphant, who, since the residence of Rosilia at the neighbouring mansion, had never ceased to wander in its vicinity, like an evil and disturbed spirit, viewing the tomb as an asylum in cases of necessity; leaving it at times to take only a hasty circuit amidst the interior of the grounds, under the shade of those groves, whose avenues could offer so many escapes, to ward off that attention he was so fearful of attracting.
It was thus that Rosilia had chanced to see him. He had passed her, as we have described, not being able to deny himself the supreme felicity of gratifying awhile his senses; burning with the desire of feasting his eyes once more upon a form, so long withheld from his outward vision—admitted to his mental but through the medium of a delirious and frenzied fancy.