Eliza Fenwick - Secresy; or, Ruin on the Rock

'Fair philosopher,' he exclaimed, 'teach me how you preserve such vigour, such animation, where you have neither rivalship to sustain, nor admiration to excite? Are you secluded by injustice from the world? Or, do you willingly forsake its delights, to live the life of hopeless recollection? Say, does the beloved of your soul sleep in that monument?'

The supposition, Caroline, was for an instant too agonizing; and I called twice on the name of Clement, with a vehemence that made this man start. His face flushed with colour; he retreated a few steps, and looked every way around him.

'No,' said I, as he again approached, 'my beloved lives. Our beings are incorporate as our wishes. The sepulchre need not open twice. No tyranny could separate us in death. But who are you,' I added, 'that come hither to snatch from me the moments I would dedicate to remembrances of past pleasure, and to promising expectation?'

'Is then your heart so narrowed by love, that it can admit neither friendship nor benevolence?'

I answered, 'To my friendship you have no claim; for, we are not equal. You wear a mask. Esteem and unreserved confidence are the only foundations of friendship.'

As he had done on the former day, he again intercepted my path; for I was going to quit the wood.

'Stay,' he said, 'and hear me patiently; or I may cast a spell around you!'

He interrupted the reply I was beginning to make, thus – 'I do not bid you fear me. My power is not terrible, but it is mighty. Tell me, then,' he added, 'have you no sense of the blessings of intercourse? Have you never reflected on the selfishness of solitude, on the negative virtues of the recluse?'

'I find you here,' said I, 'in Mr. Valmont's wood; and I expect, therefore, that you already know my seclusion is not the effect of my choice.'

'But from whom, other than yourself, am I to learn why it is the effect of your submission?'

This was a question, Caroline, which I had never steadily put to myself; and I stood silent some moments before I found my answer.

I said, 'I am not yet convinced that the time is arrived when my submission ought to cease.'

'Ah, rather, honestly confess,' he replied, 'that you shun a stern contention with that power which here detains you. But there are other means. A secret escape. If you resolve to exert yourself for that purpose – '

'No,' I said, 'I am not weak enough to descend to artifice. Did I think it right to go, I should go openly. Then might Mr. Valmont try his opposing strength. But he would find, I could leap, swim, or dive; and that moats and walls are feeble barriers to a determined will.'

'Oh, stay, stay in these woods for ever!' he vehemently exclaimed. 'Go not into the world, where artifice might assail and example corrupt that noble sincerity. Or if, as I think, your courage, your integrity, are incorruptible. Oh yet, go not into the world! View not its disgusting follies! Taste not its chilling disappointments!'

My answer was: 'I am accustomed to listen to inconsistencies. You just now, spoke of the pleasures and blessings of society.'

As he did not reply, but stood as though he was musing, I thought I could pass him, which I attempted to do. He immediately knelt on one knee before me; spread one hand on his bosom, and said —

'You are above my controul. I would not dare profane you, by the single touch of my finger. But I beseech you, by that firmness, that innocence which holds distrust and danger at defiance, I beseech you listen to me a few short moments longer.'

'Have you any thing to impart which can interest me?' I asked him.

'I have that which ought to interest you.' – He rose from his kneeling posture, and appeared to hesitate. 'Alas,' he then added, 'I have many many faults! I am unstable in wise resolutions; and yielding, as childhood, to temptation. I wanted a guide, a monitor. I sought one in the world, and found only tempters. I have quitted the world. I have chosen my abode in that Ruin. There I would fain learn to amend myself. I want to learn to be happy. But I come not to that Ruin, to banish you from this wood. This is your selected spot; and that is mine. Only a few paces divides them. Yet, if you say it must be so, the distance shall be as impassable as though entire kingdoms lay between us. Ah, reflect a moment before your single word forms this immense barrier! – A moment did I say? – No: reflect a day. Leave me now in silence; and return to-morrow, the next day, when you will, and then tell me, if you could not sometimes find me a more sympathizing auditor than trees and marble, when you would breathe complaint, or utter joy. Go then. But – '

A second time he hesitated; and, when he spoke again, his articulation was changed from its clear decisive character to a thicker lower utterance.

'Be aware,' he said, 'that there are certain requisites necessary to form the utility of my solitude: Uninterrupted retirement, and perfect secresy.'

Was I unjust, Caroline? but his mention of secresy instantly filled my mind with a supposition that his words wore one form, and his intentions another. I warned him to depart. I told him, I despised concealment; that I had ever scorned to separate my wishes from my acts, or my actions from my words. I said, his caution pointed out my duty. I bade him, as I then thought a final adieu.

I proceeded immediately to the library, to relate this conversation to my uncle. There I was told, that my uncle was gone from the castle, not to return till four days were past. I then requested to be admitted into Mrs. Valmont's dressing room, and she received me.

Her conduct disgusted me extremely at the time; and I have since thought it very extraordinary, that Mrs. Valmont should doubt my veracity. Scarcely had I described the manner in which the person in the wood first came to me, than Mrs. Valmont broke my narration by asking me over and over again, I know not how many times – 'Had I indeed seen a hermit come out of the Ruin? – Was I quite sure I had seen him? – Could it really be true!' Not disposed to hear such offensive repetitions, I declined entering any further into the story; and merely said, that, if the person was a visitor in the castle, it might be proper for her to signify to him that his intrusion in the Rock and wood would be displeasing to my uncle, and highly inconvenient to me.

I went to my own apartments.

On the next morning, I rose as I frequently do, at the first dawn of day – Do you recollect the situation of my apartments? You will certainly remember, that the south-west wing is rather distant from that part of the body of the castle where most of the family inhabit. You know too that my rooms open into a long gallery; but you never explored this gallery. My hours with you were rich in pleasure and variety; and I thought not then of the solitary haunts to which I fly, when I seek amusement and find none.

This gallery, at the remote end from the body of the castle, closes with a stair case. These stairs descend into a narrow and winding passage of the West Tower, and lead to the door of the Armoury. It is probable you never saw either the West Tower or the Armoury. They are both out of repair, and altogether out of use; nor do I recollect any that I ever saw one of the family enter them but Clement and myself.

In very tempestuous weather, the Armoury was a favourite place of resort for us. The various implements and cases of steel with which it is furnished, were subjects of wonder and conjecture; besides, it is a hall of large dimensions, and we possessed it so free of interruptions, that it served better for play and recreation than any other apartment we were allowed to frequent within the castle.

At a very early hour on the succeeding morning, as I before said, I rose and left my chamber, to walk in the Armoury. After I had gone down the stairs, and as I had nearly reached the end of the dark stone passage, I heard a sudden creaking noise; but whether or not it proceeded from the Armoury I could not be certain. I entered the Armoury. The door closed heavily after me. There was scarcely light enough to distinguish the surrounding objects. – I stood still. – But all was silent.