Bungay Castle: A Novel. v. 1/2Bonhote, Mrs. (Elizabeth)
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Bungay Castle: A Novel. v. 1/2
Bonhote, Mrs. (Elizabeth)
English fiction -- 18th century
Can it be wondered that so helpless a being should feel, on
experiencing such a change, more than mere language could express!
Liberated from misery by the benevolence of strangers,--a thousand
comforts bestowed which he had despaired of ever tasting, his
gratitude was as unlimited as his joy, and I am sure all my readers
will pardon him for still continuing to think his benefactors more
than mortal; yet at times he could recollect, with a sigh of trembling
regret, the dangers to which they exposed themselves in order to make
him happy.--Their parents, too, might shut them in a dungeon for their
disobedience. These reflections fortunately abated the fervour of this
high wrought feelings, or in all probability he would have brought on
a return of those complaints which had so much interested his young
friends in his behalf.--In a few hours he became more composed, and
endeavoured to remark every thing around him with serenity. As he was
now situated, Edwin and his sister could see him several times a day
without inconvenience or danger, and, to guard against any surprise,
they had taken care to lock the door at the foot of the stairs, strongly
fastened it within-side, and concealed the key, that none of the family
might wander that way.
In the evening, a new scene presented itself to the fight of the
prisoner, The moon and stars were pointed out to him by Edwin. At
first he mistook the moon for another sun, less brilliant, but as
beautiful. The stars he called little suns, and attempted to count
their number; and, while his eyes were raised in silent rapture to
the spangled firmament, he inquired why so much more pains had been
taken to decorate the heavens for the night, when mortals slept, than
for the day, when all nature was awake to wonder and adore. So delighted
was he with the sombre beauties of this all astonishing scene, that
it was with the utmost difficulty, after Edwin left him, that Albert
could prevail upon him to think of retiring to rest. No sooner however
was he convinced that his faithful attendant had lost in the arms of
sleep all remembrance of those scenes which kept him waking, than
her softly stole to the window, where he remained till the dews of
night and the cold blasts of an easterly wind drove him again to
his bed.
The few necessary articles which had been allowed him in his former
abode were now removed to his present one, and such added as would
tend to his comfort and convevience. As his food in the dungeon had
been conveyed to him by means of a turning cupboard, his having vacated
it could not be known so long as Albert attended at the proper times
to receive it; and, Edwin having shewn him another secret way, which
led from under the stairs in the South tower to his old habitation,
he would be able to go as often as he pleased, without any danger
of being discovered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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