The Eve of All-Hallows; Or, Adelaide of Tyrconnel, v. 3 of 3Hartstonge, Matthew Weld
General
The Eve of All-Hallows; Or, Adelaide of Tyrconnel, v. 3 of 3
Hartstonge, Matthew Weld
Fiction
He sat for some time reading and writing, for the papers were of
importance. He now arose from his chair, and was about to retire to his
happy chamber, when a loud and hollow knock was heard at the portal
gates; the watch dogs were aroused, and loudly and deeply barked. The
old porter cautiously and slowly opened the lattice peep-hole of the
gate to ask, who at this unseasonable hour of the night it was that
would fain demand admittance? The answer given was, that he was a
king's messenger bearing despatches of importance for Sir David Bruce,
and as the glimmering lamp was held forth, he showed the silver badge,
the insignia of his office. The wicket-gate was instantly unbarred, and
he was accordingly admitted. The messenger was shown into the servants'
hall, where supper and refreshments were immediately brought him; and
while he was regaling upon the hospitable cheer of the castle, a bed
was put in readiness for him. Sir David Bruce having seen that all was
as it should be, retired to his chamber.
It was midnight, the fire in the bridal chamber brightly blazed, and
the wax-lights shot forth their brilliant beams. Sir David seated
himself on a chair beside the bed, and having gently drawn aside the
curtain, he affectionately embraced his bride, while he kindly said,
"My dear Adelaide, I always have been of opinion that no secret nor
mystery should ever exist between man and wife. I know, my love, that
your understanding ranks too high, your love for me is too great,
and your opinion of my character is too elevated ever to induce you,
in any shape or form, to pry into what I may not think necessary to
disclose. For indeed _you_ do not aspire to that _superior wisdom_
which some of your sex rather somewhat too confidently and arrogantly
assume; the true term and appellation of which properly should be
called _not_ wisdom, but _superior curiosity_! But, my dear love, in
strictest verity I may say of thee, before our happy union, in foreign
realms, and in perilous tracts over land and ocean, that I have ever
witnessed thy equanimity of temper, and always have found thee one and
the same;--ever unchanged and unchangeable! and indeed I know no one
(not even your noble and highly gifted mother) who could, with more
propriety than yourself, assume the motto of the virgin queen--
'Semper eadem!'"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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