threw herself on the bed after his departure, and gave her mind up to the most melancholy reflections; 'Good heavens!' cried she, 'what scenes of murder and atrocious crimes must have been perpetrated in this castle; how great is my curiosity to know more of the unhappy Victoria so recently the cause of joy and sorrow, and her unfortunate attendant, but their fate is enveloped in mystery and horror, what mine may be, heaven only knows.'
When it grew near dark she went upstairs, but so altered by the agitations of her mind, that Bertha started and exclaimed, 'Dear, my lady, are you ill.' 'I am not very well,' replied Matilda; 'I shall take an early supper, and retire to bed.' The poor women, with great nimbleness prepared her supper, of which her guest ate but sparingly, and after sending for Albert, who appeared very sorrowful for her indisposition; she comforted him by an assurance of its being very trifling, and that she should be better after a night's rest; which was indeed verified; for having commended herself to the protection of the Father to the fatherless, she dropped into a soft slumber, and arose the following morning quite refreshed and composed.
For several days nothing particular occurred; her friends at the cottage called often to see her; Joseph visited the deserted apartments every day, all remained quiet; the uncertainty of the lady's fate gave them great disquietude, but there was no hope of obtaining any information of an event which seemed buried in obscurity. One day when Joseph returned from town, he whispered the lady to go into the garden; she walked thither it directly, he soon followed, and delivered to her the expected letter from the Marchioness; she made no scruple of opening it. After lamenting the unhappy situation of her sister, and expressing her wishes that she would quit her gloomy abode, she thanks her most cordially for her recommendation of the young lady, whose company will be highly acceptable to her, and assures her sister she will endeavour, by every kindness and attention in her power, to make the young lady's situation agreeable, and shall esteem her acceptance of their protection as a very particular favor. She admires her resolution in visiting the apartments in the castle, and is only sorry her sister cannot participate in the pleasures of society. She concludes with requesting the young lady may join them at Paris, soon as possible, within a fortnight; and assure herself that her old and faithful servant will be received and retained in the family with kindness and ease to himself. This letter, so gratifying to the wishes of Matilda, was read with transport; she determined to set forwards on her journey within two or three days. Joseph undertook to procure her a carriage from the next town, and she intended leaving the horse for his use, and take Albert in the chaise with her. The next consideration was in what manner to account to the latter for her sudden intention of going to Paris, and his reception in the family of the Marquis: after some deliberation, she returned to the kitchen, and calling Albert aside, told him, by the most fortunate and unexpected intelligence she had heard of an asylum for herself and him, at Paris, in the house of a worthy family, where she hoped they should both meet rest and happiness; and that it was her design to proceed on her journey the third day from that. Albert stared with wonder, but never interrupted her 'till she stopt speaking, then, in a hesitating manner, 'Paris is a long journey - I have no friends there; are you sure, madam?' 'Yes, Albert,' said she, 'I am very sure we shall find friends there to receive us; I cannot explain every thing to you now, some time hence perhaps you shall be informed of every thing.' 'God bless you, my dear young lady!' cried he, 'if you are satisfied I am sure I ought to be so, and will go with you when and wherever you please.' She was affected by his love and confidence; she assured him, she never should forget the obligations she owed to him, and that his ease and tranquillity would ever be her first care. The old man hurried from her with tears in his eyes. Bertha was next informed of her intended departure, and was truly sorry, because, as she said, 'twas comfortable to have some kind body in that lonely place, and because the lady having plenty of money, they had very good living now, which, to say truth, she was sorry to lose. The day previous to her departure she sent for Pierre and Jaqueline: the honest couple were vexed to hear she was about to leave them. She gave them some money, and assured both families, whenever she had it in her power, she would remember their kindness and reward it in a more ample manner than she now could do They bestowed a thousand blessings on her, and declared she had made them rich for life.
After they had left her Joseph acquainted Bertha, that a chaise would be there early the next morning, and desired she might have breakfast ready for the lady.
Matilda had but little rest; her journey, the circumstance of such an awkward situation, as a self-introduction amongst entire strangers, to one so little accustomed to company as she was, gave her much pain; yet on the other hand, she ought to consider that in her unfriended, unprotected state, an asylum, such as was now offered to her, must be desirable and advantageous; and that as in this life we seldom meet with pleasure or happiness, without some alloy, she ought to be thankful for the good, and submit to temporary inconveniences without murmuring. She arose early; her heart was depressed when she reflected on the uncertain fate of the lady to whose kindness she was indebted for her present hopes and expectations: 'Ah!' cried she, 'heaven bless you, dearest lady, wherever you are, and may Providence one day restore you to felicity and your friends.' She quitted the apartment with a flood of tears, and coming, found the breakfast ready, and soon after a chaise at the gate; Joseph conveyed her portmantua and box to the carriage; Albert stared a little at the latter, but said nothing.
She shook hands with the worthy couple, tears running down their cheeks at parting with so gentle a lady, she having liberally rewarded their kindness, and previously concerted a correspondence with Joseph, if any thing new occurred at the castle, and receiving advice from him how to manage at the post-houses about carriages and horses.
A few days after her departure, Joseph went to the neighbouring town, to procure a few necessaries, and, proud of his present, went upon the horse, instead of his old friend the ass. Whilst he was there, a gentleman came up to him, and, viewing the beast very attentively, asked him if the horse was his. Joseph answered in the affirmative. 'Will you sell it?' demanded he. 'No, Sir,' replied the other, 'I cannot sell it.' 'How long have you had it?' 'Some time,' said Joseph, roughly, and rode off, not liking the stranger's curiosity. He was however followed at a distance, and had scarcely put the horse into the stable, and entered the kitchen, before a knocking at the door was heard, and Joseph saw the same gentleman who was so inquisitive, with another, who had the appearance of a servant, enter the room. 'Do not be alarmed,' said the stranger, 'I want to ask you a few questions, which, if you answer truly, no harm shall happen to you, else you must look to the consequence; tell me from whom you had the horse I saw you ride, and how long it has been in your possession? At your peril answer me with truth.' Before Joseph could recollect himself to answer this demand Bertha fell on her knees, 'O, Sir, do not hurt my poor husband, and I will tell you all.' 'Be quiet, wife,' said Joseph, 'I will answer for myself. I had the horse from a man, a friend of mine.' 'What was his name?' 'Sir, I humbly think that is no concern of yours.' 'Villain!' cried the gentleman, 'tell me this instant, or I will send you and your wife to prison, for the horse was stolen from me.' 'O, the Lord be gracious unto us,' exclaimed Bertha, 'the man's name was Albert, Sir; we are innocent indeed we are.' 'I believe it,' said the other, very mildly; 'you look like an honest woman, and I will reward you handsomely, if you speak truth. William, take care of the man, I will go into another room with this good woman.' 'Bertha!' cried Joseph, the stranger led her away into the parlour, she crying and begging no harm might happen to Joseph. He quieted her fears on that head, and then asked if Albert was in the house. 'No, indeed, Sir,' answered she; 'he went away four days ago, in a chaise with the young lady.' 'Ah!' cried he, 'that is the very thing I wished to know; and where are they gone, my friend?' 'Alack, Sir, I believe they be gone to Parish, or some place like that.' 'The devil!' exclaimed he, 'to Paris. Well, and are they to return here?' 'O, no, Sir,' returned Bertha; 'no such good luck to us, for to be sure she was as generous as an empress.'
He then returned to the kitchen, where Joseph sat very sullen; 'I tell you what, friend, I believe you may be innocent; but the lady you have had here is my niece, who has eloped from my care, and seduced my servant to steal the horse you rode today, and go off with her; I am now in search of her, and if I can find her, and she will return, I shall receive her with kindness and joy, and forgive every thing; therefore, if you can tell me where she is, you will do her a great piece of service, I assure you; some wicked person has persuaded her to run away.' 'Sir,' said Joseph, firmly, 'I heard the lady say she was going to travel, - it was not my business