The Romance of the Forest | Page 5

terrors of La
Motte began to subside, and the griefs of Adeline to soften. They
entered upon a lane confined by high banks and overarched by trees, on
whose branches appeared the first green buds of spring glittering with

dews. The fresh breeze of the morning animated the spirits of Adeline,
whose mind was delicately sensible to the beauties of nature. As she
viewed the flowery luxuriance of the turf, and the tender green of the
trees, or caught, between the opening banks, a glimpse of the varied
landscape, rich with wood, and fading into blue and distant mountains,
her heart expanded in momentary joy. With Adeline the charms of
external nature were heightened by those of novelty: she had seldom
seen the grandeur of an extensive prospect, or the magnificence of a
wide horizon Ñ and not often the picturesque beauties of more confined
scenery. Her mind had not lost by long oppression that elastic energy,
which resists calamity; else, however susceptible might have been her
original taste, the beauties of nature would no longer have charmed her
thus easily even to temporary repose.
The road, at length, wound down the side of a hill, and La Motte, again
looking anxiously from the window, saw before him an open
champaign country, through which the road, wholly unsheltered from
observation, extended almost in a direct line. The danger of these
circumstances alarmed him, for his flight might, without difficulty, be
traced for many leagues from the hills he was now descending. Of the
first peasant that passed, he inquired for a road among the hills, but
heard of none. La Motte now sunk into his former terrors. Madame,
notwithstanding her own apprehensions, endeavoured to re-assure him,
but, finding her efforts ineffectual, she also retired to the contemplation
of her misfortunes. Often, as they went on, did La Motte look back
upon the country they had passed, and often did imagination suggest to
him the sounds of distant pursuits.
The travellers stopped to breakfast in a village, where the road was at
length obscured by woods, and La Motte's spirits again revived.
Adeline appeared more tranquil than she had yet been, and La Motte
now asked for an explanation of the scene he had witnessed on the
preceding night. The inquiry renewed all her distress, and with tears she
entreated for the present to be spared on the subject. La Motte pressed
it no farther, but he observed that for the greater part of the day she
seemed to remember it in melancholy and dejection. They now
travelled among the hills and were, therefore, in less danger of

observation; but La Motte avoided the great towns, and stopped in
obscure ones no longer than to refresh the horses. About two hours
after noon, the road wound into a deep valley, watered by a rivulet, and
overhung with wood. La Motte called to Peter, and ordered him to
drive to a thickly embowered spot, that appeared on the left. Here he
alighted with his family, and Peter having spread the provisions on the
turf, they seated themselves and partook of a repast, which, in other
circumstances, would have been thought delicious. Adeline
endeavoured to smile, but the languor of grief was now heightened by
indisposition. The violent agitation of mind, and fatigue of body, which
she had suffered for the last twenty-four hours, had overpowered her
strength, and, when La Motte led her back to the carriage, her whole
frame trembled with illness. But she uttered no complaint, and, having
long observed the dejection of her companions, she made a feeble
effort to enliven them.
They continued to travel throughout the day without any accident or
interruption, and, about three hours after sunset, arrived at Monville, a
small town where La Motte determined to pass the night. Repose was,
indeed, necessary to the whole party, whose pale and haggard looks, as
they alighted from the carriage, were but too obvious to pass
unobserved by the people of the inn. As soon as beds could be prepared,
Adeline withdrew to her chamber, accompanied by Madame La Motte,
whose concern for the fair stranger made her exert every effort to
soothe and console her. Adeline wept in silence, and taking the hand of
Madame, pressed it to her bosom. These were not merely tears of grief
Ñ they were mingled with those which flow from the grateful heart,
when, unexpectedly, it meets with sympathy. Madame La Motte
understood them. After some momentary silence, she renewed her
assurances of kindness, and entreated Adeline to confide in her
friendship; but she carefully avoided any mention of the subject, which
had before so much affected her. Adeline at length found words to
express her sense of this goodness, which she did in a manner so
natural and sincere, that