The Romance of the Forest, interspersed with some pieces of poetry.Radcliffe, Ann Ward
General
The Romance of the Forest, interspersed with some pieces of poetry.
Radcliffe, Ann Ward
Gothic fiction
In the transport of the moment, she forgot that its distance from the
ground might yet deny the escape she meditated. She returned to lock the
door of the closet, to prevent a surprise, which, however, was
unnecessary, that of the bed-room being already secured. She now looked
out from the window; the garden lay before her, and she perceived that
the window, which descended to the floor, was so near the ground, that
she might jump from it with ease: almost in the same moment she
perceived this, she sprang forward and alighted safely in an extensive
garden, resembling more an English pleasure ground, than a series of
French parterres.
Thence she had little doubt of escaping, either by some broken fence, or
low part of the wall; she tripped lightly along, for hope played round
her heart. The clouds of the late storm were now dispersed, and the
moonlight, which slept on the lawns and spangled the flowerets yet heavy
with rain drops, afforded her a distinct view of the surrounding
scenery; she followed the direction of the high wall that adjoined the
chateau, till it was concealed from her sight by a thick wilderness, so
entangled with boughs and obscured by darkness, that she feared to
enter, and turned aside into a walk on the right; it conducted her to
the margin of a lake overhung with lofty trees.
The moonbeams dancing upon the waters, that with gentle undulation
played along the shore, exhibited a scene of tranquil beauty, which
would have soothed a heart less agitated than was that of Adeline: she
sighed as she transiently surveyed it, and passed hastily on in search
of the garden wall, from which she had now strayed a considerable way.
After wandering for some time through alleys and over lawns, without
meeting with any thing like a boundary to the grounds, she again found
herself at the lake, and now traversed its border with the footsteps of
despair:--tears rolled down her cheeks. The scene around exhibited only
images of peace and delight; every object seemed to repose; not a breath
waved the foliage, not a sound stole through the air: it was in her
bosom only that tumult and distress prevailed. She still pursued the
windings of the shore, till an opening in the woods conducted her up a
gentle ascent: the path now wound along the side of a hill where the
gloom was so deep, that it was with some difficulty she found her way:
suddenly, however, the avenue opened to a lofty grove, and she perceived
a light issue from a recess at some distance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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