A Sicilian Romance | Page 6

in this world, and I fear will be without
pardon in the next; I therefore hope little from confession even to a
priest. Yet some good it is still in my power to do; let me disclose to
you that secret which is so mysteriously connected with the southern
apartments of this castle.'--'What of them!' exclaimed madame, with
impatience. Vincent returned no answer; exhausted by the effort of
speaking, he had fainted. Madame rung for assistance, and by proper
applications, his senses were recalled. He was, however, entirely
speechless, and in this state he remained till he expired, which was
about an hour after he had conversed with madame.
The perplexity and astonishment of madame, were by the late scene

heightened to a very painful degree. She recollected the various
particulars relative to the southern division of the castle, the many years
it had stood uninhabited--the silence which had been observed
concerning it--the appearance of the light and the figure--the fruitless
search for the keys, and the reports so generally believed; and thus
remembrance presented her with a combination of circumstances,
which served only to increase her wonder, and heighten her curiosity. A
veil of mystery enveloped that part of the castle, which it now seemed
impossible should ever be penetrated, since the only person who could
have removed it, was no more.
The marquis arrived on the day after that on which Vincent had expired.
He came attended by servants only, and alighted at the gates of the
castle with an air of impatience, and a countenance expressive of strong
emotion. Madame, with the young ladies, received him in the hall. He
hastily saluted his daughters, and passed on to the oak parlour, desiring
madame to follow him. She obeyed, and the marquis enquired with
great agitation after Vincent. When told of his death, he paced the room
with hurried steps, and was for some time silent. At length seating
himself, and surveying madame with a scrutinizing eye, he asked some
questions concerning the particulars of Vincent's death. She mentioned
his earnest desire to see the marquis, and repeated his last words. The
marquis remained silent, and madame proceeded to mention those
circumstances relative to the southern division of the castle, which she
thought it of so much importance to discover. He treated the affair very
lightly, laughed at her conjectures, represented the appearances she
described as the illusions of a weak and timid mind, and broke up the
conversation, by going to visit the chamber of Vincent, in which he
remained a considerable time.
On the following day Emilia and Julia dined with the marquis. He was
gloomy and silent; their efforts to amuse him seemed to excite
displeasure rather than kindness; and when the repast was concluded,
he withdrew to his own apartment, leaving his daughters in a state of
sorrow and surprise.
Vincent was to be interred, according to his own desire, in the church

belonging to the convent of St Nicholas. One of the servants, after
receiving some necessary orders concerning the funeral, ventured to
inform the marquis of the appearance of the lights in the south tower.
He mentioned the superstitious reports that prevailed amongst the
household, and complained that the servants would not cross the courts
after it was dark. 'And who is he that has commissioned you with this
story?' said the marquis, in a tone of displeasure; 'are the weak and
ridiculous fancies of women and servants to be obtruded upon my
notice? Away--appear no more before me, till you have learned to
speak what it is proper for me to hear.' Robert withdrew abashed, and it
was some time before any person ventured to renew the subject with
the marquis.
The majority of young Ferdinand now drew near, and the marquis
determined to celebrate the occasion with festive magnificence at the
castle of Mazzini. He, therefore, summoned the marchioness and his
son from Naples, and very splendid preparations were ordered to be
made. Emilia and Julia dreaded the arrival of the marchioness, whose
influence they had long been sensible of, and from whose presence they
anticipated a painful restraint. Beneath the gentle guidance of Madame
de Menon, their hours had passed in happy tranquillity, for they were
ignorant alike of the sorrows and the pleasures of the world. Those did
not oppress, and these did not inflame them. Engaged in the pursuits of
knowledge, and in the attainment of elegant accomplishments, their
moments flew lightly away, and the flight of time was marked only by
improvement. In madame was united the tenderness of the mother, with
the sympathy of a friend; and they loved her with a warm and
inviolable affection.
The purposed visit of their brother, whom they had not seen for several
years, gave them great pleasure. Although their minds