near the fire; I next to Eugene, and my father, our guest, on the other side of me, with his long gray hair, and his good, fine face, with a tear of kind feeling in his eye: you know that look he has whenever he is affected. And at a little distance on the other side of the hearth will be you and-and Walter-I suppose we must make room for him. And Eugene, who will be then the liveliest of you all, shall read to us with his soft clear voice, or tell us all about the birds and flowers, and strange things in other countries. And then after supper we will walk half-way home across that beautiful valley, beautiful even in winter, with my father and Walter, and count the stars, and take new lessons in astronomy, and hear tales about the astrologers and the alchymists, with their fine old dreams. Ah! it will be such a happy Christmas, Ellinor! And then when spring comes, some fine morning-finer than this, when the birds are about, and the leaves getting green, and the flowers springing up every day, I shall be called in to help your toilet, as you have helped mine, and to go with you to church, though not, alas! as your bridesmaid! Ah! whom shall we have for that duty?" "Pshaw!" said Ellinor, smiling through her tears. While the sisters were thus engaged, and Madeline was trying with her innocent kindness of heart to exhilarate the spirits, so naturally depressed, of her doting sister, the sound of carriage-wheels was heard in the distance; nearer, nearer, now the sound stopped, as at the gate; -now fast, faster, fast as the postillions could ply whip and the horses tear along, while the groups in the churchyard ran forth to gaze, and the bells rang merrily all the while, two chaises whirled by Madeline's window, and stopped at the porch of the house: the sisters had flown in surprise to the casement. "It is it is-good God! it is Walter," cried Ellinor;' "but how pale he looks!" "And who are those strange men with him?" faltered Madeline, alarmed, though she knew not why. VOL. II.-L CHAPTER II. THE STUDENT ALONE IN HIS CHAMBER-THE INTERRUPTIONFAITHFUL LOVE, "Nequicquam thalamo graves Hastas Vitabis, strepitumque, et celerem sequi HORAT. Od. xv. lib. 1. ALONE in his favourite chamber, the instruments of science around him, and books, some of astronomical research, some of less lofty but yet abstruser lore, scat, tered on the tables as wont, Eugene Aram indulged the last meditation he believed likely to absorb his thoughts before that great change of life which was to bless solitude with a companion, 66 "Yes," said he, pacing the apartment with folded arms, yes, all is safe! He will not again return; the dead sleeps now without a witness. I may lay this working brain upon the bosom that loves me, and not start at night, and think that the soft hand around my neck is the hangman's gripe. Back to thyself, henceforth and for ever, my busy heart! Let not thy secret stir from its gloomy depth !-the seal is on the tomb,henceforth be the spectre laid.—Yes, I must smooth my brow, and teach my lip restraint, and smile and talk like other men. I have taken to my hearth a watch, tender, faithful, anxious, but a watch. Farewell the unguarded hour!-the soul's relief in speech-the dark and broken, yet how grateful! confidence with self-farewell! And come, thou veil! subtle, close, unvarying, the everlasting curse of entire hypocrisy, that under thee, as night, the vexed world within may sleep, and stir not! and all, in truth concealment, may seem repose!" As he uttered these thoughts, the student paused and looked on the extended landscape that lay below. A heavy, chill, and comfortless mist sat saddening over the earth. Not a leaf stirred on the autumnal trees, but the moist damps fell slowly and with a mournful murmur upon the unwaving grass. The outline of the morning sun was visible, but it gave forth no lustre; a ring of watery and dark vapour girded the melancholy orb. Far at the entrance of the valley, the wild fern showed red and faded, and the first march of the deadly winter was already heralded by that drear and silent desolation which cradles the winds and storms. But amid this cheerless scene, the distant note of the merry marriagebell floated by, like the good spirit of the wilderness, and the student rather paused to hearken to the note than to survey the scene. "My marriage-bell!" said he, "could I two shor years Lack have ever dreamed of this! my marriagebell! How fondly used my poor mother, when first she learned pride for her young scholar, to predict this day, and blend its festivities with the honour and the wealth her son was to acquire. Alas! can we have no science to count the stars and forebode the black eclipse of the future? But peace! peace! peace! I am, I will, I shall be happy now! Memory, I defy thee!" He uttered the last words in a deep and intense tone, and turning away as the joyful peal again broke distinctly on his ear, "My marriage-bell! oh, Madeline! how wondrously beloved! how unspeakably dear thou art to me! What hast thou conquered? how many reasons for resolve! how vast an army in the past has thy bright and tender purity overthrown! But thou, no never shalt thou repent!" and for several minutes the sole thought of the soliloquist was love. But scarce consciously to him self, a spirit not, to all seeming, befitted to that bridalday,-vague, restless, impressed with the dark and fluttering shadow of coming change,—had taken possession of his breast, and did not long yield the mastery to any brighter and more serene emotion. "And why," he said, as this spirit regained its empire over him, and he paused before the "starred tubes" of his beloved science-" and why this chill, this shiver, in the midst of hope? Can the mere breath of the seasons, the weight or lightness of the atmosphere, the outward gloom or smile of the brute mass called nature, affect us thus? Out on this empty science, this vain knowledge, this little lore, if we are so fooled by the vile clay and the common air from our one great empire -self! Great God! hast thou made us in mercy or in disdain? Placed in this narrow world, darkness and cloud around us-no fixed rule for men-creeds, morals, changing in every clime, and growing, like herbs, upon the mere soil-we struggle to dispel the shadows; we grope around; from our own heart and our sharp and hard endurance we strike our only light,-for what? to show us what dupes we are! creatures of accident, tools of circumstance, blind instruments of the scorner Fate; the very mind, the very reason a bound slave to the desires, the weakness of the clay;-affected by a cloud, dulled by the damps of the foul marsh ;-stricken from power to weakness, from sense to madness,-to gaping idiocy, or delirious raving,-by a putrid exhalation!-a rheum, a chill, and Cæsar trembles! The world's gods, that slay or enlighten millions-poor puppets to the same rank imp which calls up the fungus or breeds the worm,--pah! How little worth is it in this life to be wise! Strange, strange, how my heart sinks.--Well, the better sign, the better sign! in danger it never sank.” Absorbed in these reflections, Aram had not for some minutes noticed the sudden ceasing of the bell; but now, as he again paused from his irregular and abrupt pacings along the chamber, the silence struck him, and looking forth, and striving again to catch the note, he saw a little group of men, among whom he marked the erect and comely form of Rowland Lester, approaching towards the house. "What!" he thought," do they come for me? Is it so late? Have I played the laggard? Nay, it yet wants near an hour to the time they expected me. Well, some kindness--some attention from my good father-in-law; I must thank him for it. What! my hand trembles; how weak are these poor nerves; I must rest and recall my mind to itself!" And, indeed, whether or not from the novelty and importance of the event he was about to celebrate, or from some less reasonable presentiment, occasioned, as he would fain believe, by the mournful and sudden change in the atmosphere, an embarrassment, a wavering, a fear, very unwonted to the calm and stately self-possession of Eugene Aram, made itself painfully felt throughout his frame. He sank down in his chair and strove to recollect himself; it was an effort in which he had just succeeded, when a loud knocking was heard at the outer door, it swung open,-several voices were heard. Aram sprang up, pale, breathless, his lips apart. "Great God!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands. "Murderer-was that the word I heard shouted forth? -The voice, too, is Walter Lester's. Has he returned? -can he have learned ?" To rush to the door, to throw across it a long, heavy iron bar, which would resist assaults of no common strength, was his first impulse. Thus enabled to gain time for reflection, his active and alarmed mind ran over the whole field of expedient and conjecture. Again, "Murderer,"—"Stay me not," cried Walter, from below, "my hand shall seize the murderer!" Guess was now over; danger and death were marching on him. Escape !--how ?--whither? the height forbade the thought of flight from the casement!--the door?-he heard loud steps already hurrying up the stairs;-his hands clutched convulsively at his breast, where his firearms were generally concealed-they were left below; that to his resolute and brave spirit was the bitterest thought of all. He glanced one lightning glance round the room, no weapon of any kind was at hand. His brain reeled for a moment, his breath gasped, a mortal sickness passed over his heart, and then the MIND triumphed over all. He drew up to his full height, folded his arms doggedly on his breast, and muttering,- "The accuser comes,-I have it still to refute the charge," he stood prepared to meet, nor despairing to evade, the worst. As waters close over the object which divided them, all these thoughts, these fears, and this resolution had been but the work, the agitation, and the succeeding calm of the moment; that moment was past. "Admit us," cried the voice of Walter Lester, knocking fiercely at the door. "Not so fervently, boy," said Lester, laying his hand on his nephew's shoulder; "your tale is yet to be proved -I believe it not; treat him as innocent, I pray, I command, till you have shown him guilty." 66 Away, uncle," said the fiery Walter, "he is my father's murderer. God hath given justice to my hands." These words, uttered in a lower key than before, were but indistinctly heard by Aram through the massy door. "Open, or we force our entrance!" shouted Walter again; and Aram, speaking for the first time, replied in a clear and sonorous voice, so that an angel, had one spoken, could not have more deeply impressed the heart |