The Romance of the Forest | Page 4

and grief.
"Ah, Sir," said she, "Heaven has sent you to my relief, and will surely
reward you for your protection: I have no friend in the world, if I do not
find one in you."

La Motte assured her of his kindness, when he was interrupted by the
entrance of the ruffian. He desired to be conducted to his family. "All
in good time," replied the latter; "I have taken care of one of them, and
will of you, please St. Peter; so be comforted." These comfortable
words renewed the terror of La Motte, who now earnestly begged to
know if his family were safe. "O! as for that matter they are safe
enough, and you will be with them presently; but don't stand parlying
here all night. Do you chuse to go or stay? you know the conditions."
They now bound the eyes of La Motte and of the young lady, whom
terror had hitherto kept silent, and then placing them on two horses, a
man mounted behind each, and they immediately gallopped off. They
had proceeded in this way near half an hour, when La Motte entreated
to know wither he was going? "You will know that bye and bye," said
the ruffian, "so be at peace." Finding interrogatories useless, La Motte
resumed silence till the horses stopped. His conductor then hallooed,
and being answered by voices at some distance, in a few moments the
sound of carriage wheels was heard, and, presently after, the words of a
man directing Peter which way to drive. As the carriage approached, La
Motte called, and, to his inexpressible joy, was answered by his wife.
"You are now beyond the borders of the heath, and may go which way
you will," said the ruffian; "if you return within an hour, you will be
welcomed by a brace of bullets." This was a very unnecessary caution
to La Motte, whom they now released. The young stranger sighed
deeply, as she entered the carriage; and the ruffian, having bestowed
upon Peter some directions and more threats, waited to see him drive
off. They did not wait long.
La Motte immediately gave a short relation of what had passed at the
house, including an account of the manner in which the young stranger
had been introduced to him. During this narrative, her deep convulsive
sighs frequently drew the attention of Madame La Motte, whose
compassion became gradually interested in her behalf, and who now
endeavoured to tranquillize her spirits. The unhappy girl answered her
kindness in artless and simple expressions, and then relapsed into tears
and silence. Madame forbore for the present to ask any questions that
might lead to a discovery of her connections, or seem to require an

explanation of the late adventure, which now furnishing her with a new
subject of reflection, the sense of her own misfortunes pressed less
heavily upon her mind. The distress of La Motte was even for a while
suspended; he ruminated on the late scene, and it appeared like a vision,
or one of those improbable fictions that sometimes are exhibited in a
romance: he could reduce it to no principles of probability, or render it
comprehensible by any endeavour to analize it. The present charge, and
the chance of future trouble brought upon him by this adventure,
occasioned some dissatisfaction; but the beauty and seeming innocence
of Adeline, united with the pleadings of humanity in her favour, and he
determined to protect her.
The tumult of emotions which had passed in the bosom of Adeline,
began now to subside; terror was softened into anxiety, and despair into
grief. The sympathy so evident in the manners of her companions,
particularly in those of Madame La Motte, soothed her heart and
encouraged her to hope for better days.
Dismally and silently the night passed on, for the minds of the
travellers were too much occupied by their several sufferings to admit
of conversation. The dawn, so anxiously watched for at length appeared,
and introduced the strangers more fully to each other. Adeline derived
comfort from the looks of Madame La Motte, who gazed frequently
and attentively at her, and thought she had seldom seen a countenance
so interesting, or a form so striking. The languor of sorrow threw a
melancholy grace upon her features, that appealed immediately to the
heart; and there was a penetrating sweetness in her blue eyes, which
indicated an intelligent and amiable mind.
La Motte now looked anxiously from the coach window, that he might
judge of their situation, and observe whether he was followed. The
obscurity of the dawn confined his views, but no person appeared. The
sun at length tinted the eastern clouds and the tops of the highest hills,
and soon after burst in full splendour on the scene. The