Alroy Part 46

'She speaks again. Is she mad, as I am, that thus she plays with agony?'

'Sire,' said Honain advancing, and laying his hand gently on the arm of the captive, 'I pray thee moderate this pa.s.sion. Thou hast some faithful friends here, who would fain commune in calmness for thy lasting welfare.'

'Welfare! He mocks me.'

'I beseech, thee, Sire, be calm. If, indeed, I speak unto that great Alroy whom all men fear and still may fear, I pray remember, 'tis not in palaces or in the battle-field alone that the heroic soul can conquer and command. Scenes like these are the great proof of a superior soul.

While we live, our body is a temple where our genius pours forth its G.o.dlike inspiration, and while the altar is not overthrown, the deity may still work marvels. Then rouse thyself, great Sire; bethink thee that, a Caliph or a captive, there is no man within this breathing world like to Alroy. Shall such a being fall without a struggle, like some poor felon, who has naught to trust to but the dull shuffling accident of Chance? I, too, am a prophet, and I feel thou still wilt conquer.'

'Give me my sceptre, then, give me the sceptre! I speak to the wrong brother! It was not thou, it was not thou that gavest it me.'

'Gain it once more. The Lord deserted David for a time; still he pardoned him, and still he died a king.'

'A woman worked his fall.'

'But thee a woman raises. This great Princess, has she not suffered too?

Yet her spirit is still unbroken. List to her counsel: it is deep and fond.'

'So was our love.'

'And is, my Alroy!' exclaimed the Princess. 'Be calm, I pray thee! For my sake be calm; I am calm for thine. Thou hast listened to all Honain has told thee, that wise man, my Alroy, who never erred.

'Tis but a word he counsels, an empty word, a most unmeaning form. But speak it, and thou art free, and Alroy and Schirene may blend again their glorious careers and lives of sweet fruition. Dost thou not remember when, walking in the garden of our joy, and palled with empire, how often hast thou sighed for some sweet isle unknown to man, where thou mightst pa.s.s thy days with no companion but my faithful self, and no adventures but our constant loves? O my beloved, that life may still be thine! And dost thou falter? Dost call thyself forlorn with such fidelity, and deem thyself a wretch, when Paradise with all its beauteous gates but woos thy entrance? Oh! no, no, no, no! thou hast forgot Schirene: I fear me much, thy over-fond Schirene, who doats upon thy image in thy chains more than she did when those sweet hands of thine were bound with gems and played with her bright locks!'

'She speaks of another world. I do remember something. Who has sent this music to a dungeon? My spirit softens with her melting words. My eyes are moist. I weep! 'Tis pleasant. Sorrow is joy compared with my despair. I never thought to shed a tear again. My brain is cooler.'

'Weep, weep, I pray thee weep; but let me kiss away thy tears, my soul!

Didst think thy Schirene had deserted thee? Ah! that was it that made my bird so sad. It shall be free, and fly in a sweet sky, and feed on flowers with its faithful mate. Ah me! I am once more happy with my boy.

There was no misery but thy absence, sweet! Methinks this dungeon is our bright kiosk! Is that the sunbeam, or thy smile, my love, that makes the walls so joyful?'

'Did I smile? I'll not believe it.'

'Indeed you did. Ah! see he smiles again. Why this is freedom! There is no such thing as sorrow. Tis a lie to frighten fools!'

'Why, Honain, what's this? 'Twould seem I am really joyful. There's inspiration in her very breath. I am another being. Nay! waste not kisses on those ugly fetters.'

'Methinks they are gold.'

They were silent. Schirene drew Alroy to his rough seat, and gently placing herself on his knees, threw her arms round his neck, and buried her face in his breast. After a few minutes she raised her head, and whispered in his ear in irresistible accents of sweet exultation, 'We shall be free to-morrow!'

'To-morrow! is the trial so near?' exclaimed the captive, with an agitated voice and changing countenance. 'To-morrow!' He threw Schirene aside somewhat hastily, and sprang from his seat. 'To-morrow! would it were over! To-morrow! Methinks there is within that single word the fate of ages! Shall it be said to-morrow that Alroy---- Hah! what art thou that risest now before me? Dread, mighty spirit, thou hast come in time to save me from perdition. Take me to thy bosom, 'tis not stabbed. They did not stab thee. Thou seest me here communing with thy murderers. What then? I am innocent. Ask them, dread ghost, and call upon their fiendish souls to say I am pure. They would make me dark as themselves, but shall not.'

'Honain, Honain!' exclaimed the Princess in a terrible whisper as she flew to the Physician. 'He is wild again. Calm him, calm him. Mark! how he stands with his extended arms, and fixed vacant eyes, muttering most awful words! My spirit fails me. It is too fearful.'

The Physician advanced and stood by the side of Alroy, but in vain attempted to catch his attention. He ventured to touch his arm. The Prince started, turned round, and recognising him, exclaimed in a shrieking voice, 'Off, fratricide!'

Honain recoiled, pale and quivering. Schirene sprang to his arm. 'What said he, Honain? Thou dost not speak. I never saw thee pale before. Art thou, too, mad?'

'Would I were!'

'All men are growing wild. I am sure he said something. I pray thee tell me what was it?'

'Ask him.'

'I dare not. Tell me, tell me, Honain!'

'That I dare not.'

'Was it a word?'

'Ay! a word to wake the dead. Let us begone.'

'Without our end? Coward! I'll speak to him. My own Alroy,' sweetly whispered the Princess, as she advanced before him.

'What, has the fox left the tigress! Is't so, eh? Are there no judgments? Are the innocent only haunted? I am innocent! I did not strangle thee! He said rightly, "Beware, beware! they who did this may do even feller deeds." And here they are quick at their d.a.m.ned work.

Thy body suffered, great Jabaster, but me they would strangle body and soul!'

The Princess shrieked, and fell into the arms of the advancing Honain, who bore her out of the dungeon.

After the fall of Hamadan, Bostenay and Miriam had been carried prisoners to Bagdad. Through the interference of Honain, their imprisonment had been exempted from the usual hards.h.i.+ps, but they were still confined to their chambers in the citadel. Hitherto all the endeavours of Miriam to visit her brother had been fruitless. Honain was the only person to whom she could apply for a.s.sistance, and he, in answer to her importunities, only regretted his want of power to aid her. In vain had she attempted, by the offer of some remaining jewels, to secure the co-operation of her guards, with whom her loveliness and the softness of her manners had already ingratiated her. She had not succeeded even in communicating with Alroy. But after the unsuccessful mission of Honain to the dungeon, the late Vizier visited the sister of the captive, and, breaking to her with delicate skill the intelligence of the impending catastrophe, he announced that he had at length succeeded in obtaining for her the desired permission to visit her brother; and, while she shuddered at the proximity of an event for which she had long attempted to prepare herself, Honain, with some modifications, whispered the means by which he flattered himself that it might yet be averted. Miriam listened to him in silence, nor could he, with all his consummate art, succeed in extracting from her the slightest indication of her own opinion as to their expediency. They parted, Honain as sanguine as the wicked ever are.

As Miriam dreaded, both for herself and for Alroy, the shock of an unexpected meeting, she availed herself of the influence of Honain to send Caleb to her brother, to prepare him for her presence, and to consult him as to the desirable moment. Caleb found his late master lying exhausted on the floor of his dungeon. At first he would not speak or even raise his head, nor did he for a long time apparently recognise the faithful retainer of his uncle. But at length he grew milder, and when he fully comprehended who the messenger was, and the object of his mission, he at first seemed altogether disinclined to see his sister, but in the end postponed their meeting for the present, and, pleading great exhaustion, fixed for that sad interview the first hour of dawn.

The venerable Bostenay had scarcely ever spoken since the fall of his nephew; indeed it was but too evident that his faculties, even if they had not entirely deserted him, were at least greatly impaired. He never quitted his couch; he took no notice of what occurred. He evinced no curiosity, scarcely any feeling. If indeed he occasionally did mutter an observation, it was generally of an irritable character, nor truly did he appear satisfied if anyone approached him, save Miriam, from whom alone he would accept the scanty viands which he ever appeared disinclined to touch. But his devoted niece, amid all her harrowing affliction, could ever spare to the protector of her youth a placid countenance, a watchful eye, a gentle voice, and a ready hand. Her religion and her virtue, the strength of her faith, and the inspiration of her innocence, supported this pure and hapless lady amid all her undeserved and unparalleled sorrows.

It was long past midnight; the young widow of Abner reposed upon a couch in a soft slumber. The amiable Beruna and the beautiful Bathsheba, the curtains drawn, watched the progress of the night.

'Shall I wake her?' said the beautiful Bathsheba. 'Methinks the stars are paler! She bade me rouse her long before the dawn.'

'Her sleep is too benign! Let us not wake her,' replied the amiable Beruna. 'We rouse her only to sorrow.'

'May her dreams at least be happy;' rejoined the beautiful Bathsheba.

'She sleeps tranquilly, as a flower.'

'The veil has fallen from her head,' said the amiable Beruna. 'I will replace it lightly on her brow. Is that well, my Bathsheba?'

'It is well, sweet Beruna. Her face shrouded by the shawl is like a pearl in its sh.e.l.l. See! she moves!'

'Bathsheba!'

'I am here, sweet lady.'

'Is it near dawn?'

'Not yet, sweet lady; it is yet night. It is long past the noon of night, sweet lady; methinks I scent the rising breath of morn; but still 'tis night, and the young moon s.h.i.+nes like a sickle in the heavenly field, amid the starry harvest.'

'Beruna, gentle girl, give me thy arm. I'll rise.'

The maidens advanced, and gently raising their mistress, supported her to the window.