Sketches | Page 3

with her hand, and, pressing it to her bosom, answered

Martha over her shoulder. 'Did she see thee, my treasure?' continued
the agitated Imogene, 'Oh! did she see thee, my joy? Methinks we were
not discovered.' So saying, and tripping along on the lightest step
imaginable, the captive secured the door; then bringing forth the bird
from its sweet shelter, she produced a letter, which she had suddenly
detected to be fastened under its left wing, and which she had perceived,
in an instant, to be written by Lord Branchimont.
Her sight was dizzy, her cheek pale, her breath seemed to have deserted
her. She looked up to heaven, she looked down upon the letter, and
then she covered it with a thousand kisses; then, making a vigorous
effort to collect herself, she read its strange and sweet contents:--
'Lothair to Imogene.
'Soul of my existence! Mignon, in whom you may place implicit trust,
has promised me to bear you this sign of my love. Oh, I love you,
Imogene! I love you more even than this bird can the beautiful sky!
Kiss the dove a thousand times, that I may steal the kisses again from
his neck, and catch, even at this distance, your fragrant breath. My
beloved, I am planning your freedom and our happiness. Each day
Mignon shall come to tell you how we speed; each day shall he bring
back some testimony of your fidelity to your own
Lothair.'
It was read--it was read with gushing and fast-flowing tears--tears of
wild joy. A thousand times, ay, a thousand times, Imogene embraced
the faithful Mignon; nor could she indeed have ever again parted with
him, had she not remembered that all this time her Lothair was
anxiously awaiting the return of his messenger. So she tore a leaf from
her tablets and inscribed her devotion; then, fastening it with care under
the wing, she bore Mignon to the window, and, bestowing upon him a
last embrace, permitted him to extend his beautiful wings and launch
into the air.
Bright in the sun glanced the white bird as it darted into the deep-blue
sky. Imogene watched it until the sparkling form changed into a dusky

shade, and the dusky shade vanished into the blending distance.
CHAPTER IV.
A Cruel Dart
IT WAS now a principal object with the fair captive of Charolois, that
her unsympathising attendant should enter her chamber as little as
possible, and only at seasons when there was no chance of a visit from
Mignon. Faithful was the beautiful bird in these daily visits of
consolation; and by his assistance, the correspondence with Lothair
respecting her escape was actively maintained. A thousand plans were
formed by the sanguine lovers-a thousand plans were canvassed, and
then decided to be impracticable. One day, Martha was to be bribed;
another, young Theodore was to re-enter the castle disguised as a girl,
and become, by some contrivance, her attendant; but reflection ever
proved that these were as wild as lovers' plans are wont to be; and
another week stole away without anything being settled. Yet this
second week was not so desolate as the first. On the contrary, it was
full of exciting hope; and each day to hear that Lothair still adored her,
and each day to be enabled to breathe back to him her own adoration,
solaced the hours of her captivity. But Fate, that will often frown upon
the fortunes of true love, decided that this sweet source of consolation
should flow on no longer. Rufus, the huntsman, who was ever prowling
about, and who at all times had a terribly quick eye for a bird, one day
observed the carrier-pigeon sallying forth from the window of the
tower. His practised sense instantly assured him that the bird was
trained, and he resolved to watch its course.
'Hah, hah!' said Rufus, the huntsman, 'is Branchimont thy dovecot?
Methinks, my little rover, thou bearest news I long to read.'
Another and another day passed, and again and again Rufus observed
the visits of Mignon; so, taking his cross-bow one fair morning, ere the
dew had left the flowers, he wandered forth in the direction of
Branchimont. True to his mission, Mignon soon appears, skimming
along the sky. Beautiful, beautiful bird! Fond, faithful messenger of

love! Who can doubt that thou well comprehendest the kindly purpose
of thy consoling visits! Thou bringest joy to the unhappy, and hope to
the despairing! She shall kiss thee, bright Mignon! Yes! an embrace
from lips sweeter than the scented dawn in which thou revelest, shall
repay thee for all thy fidelity! And already the Lady Imogene is at her
post, gazing upon the unclouded sky, and straining her beautiful eyes,
as it were, to anticipate the slight and gladsome form, whose first
presence ever