A LEGEND OF CASTLE GAVESTON.

Colonist, Volume IV, Issue 347, 15 February 1861, Page 4

A LEGEND OF CASTLE GAVESTON.

In one of our beautiful northern counties, the situation of which many of our readers-will not fail to recognise, although we shall avoid mentioning it by name, stands the ancient Castle Gaveston. Aye, it is there now, to tbis day, and has been, for ages and ages gone, until every stone has grown rife with sad and haunting memories of the past. In the olden times what revelry there was in that fast mouldering hall—what gathering together of the noble and the brave—what minstrelsy and merry laughter —what vows sworn and broken—what gorgeous wedding feasts when, generation after generation, ■ the heir of Gaveston brought home his bride, followed all too rapidly by funeral honors, scarcely less magnificent! How, looking back, it seems one glorious and mocking pageant of bridals, and christenings, and deaths—of earthly love, and hope, and the grave ! The very pictures and tapestry upon the walls are all gone, and the veil of oblivion fallen like a dreary pa.ll over that which has been! It was a bright cummer day, with all its accompaniments of sunshine and flowers. The old Castle of Gaveston looked still more gloomy in the light, with the curious sun searching every nook and corner—the melancholy wind sighing, as it were, for its desolation. The young heir of Gaveston stood before his fast fading possessions ; but not in eadaess, for it was a favorite haunt with him and his sister. He had just returned from a ride; and Constance, sure of meeting him there, came smilingly forward from bent^* 0 lac shadows of the large trees, where she Jo/ readiDg, or at least holding a book in her hanu*> f°r her thoughts had wandered far away,from, ite pages. ' ' No,letter far me, Vernon ?' said' she, inquiringly. ' Wby ? hpir could ,;jqu expeot i| yhen you

know he said he should not write again ? You will see him, most likely, to-morrow.' ' Ah, I wish to-morrow was come !' exclaimed Constance, clapping her hands joyously together, just as she had done years ago when a child, and promised some particular pleasure. She was tall, and exquisitely formed, with the eyebrow and proud lip of the Gaveston family ; but tempered by such feminine beauty and gentleness, that it seemed to give,the only expression wanting to make perfect her loveliness. And then tbat brow and no shadow of care, and those lips parted oi?ly to smile* or utter sweat and merry words. The girl was passing rapidly into the woman, without losing one iota of her pure and innocent mirthfulness. Vernon Gaveston was scarcely fifteen ; careless, undaunted, and reckless, but withal aftectionate and proud, almost to a fault, of bis beautiful sister. He -did not think that there was her equal in the world, and often told her so— at which Constance would smile and blush, and say that if he and Percy Clifford always thought so, she did not care for the opinion of any one else. Percy Clifford and she had been betrothed from their very childhood : and, what was more, they loved each other with an affection that deepened every year they lived. He had been absent for some time upon the continent, and was now returning to his native land to claim his bride—handsome, ardent, and brave, as lover should be to win such a maiden as Constance Gaveston. ' Do not let us go home yet, brother,' said the girl; ' the day is so fine, and you can tie your horse up to this tree." Vernon did as she desired him j and then the brother and sister laughed and romped with one another, or told melancholy tales of the old castle, and the victims who had perished in its dungeons years ago, in the time of their stern ancestor, Hugh Gaveston, who thought nothing of disposing of his enemies thus, and was even said to have shut up his young wife there, through jealousy so that she pined away, and grew old before her time, and finally died in captivity. •To this day,' said Vernon,' her ghost is to seen, dressed all in white, hovering about the place, and praying in piteous and unceasing acaccents to be released ! I remember, when my old nurse told me the story, asking yery naturally how the lady got out, and beiug told, with a grave shake of the head, that spirits could go anywhere. Do you believe in such things Constance V . *In good spirits—nothing else; and I sometimes think the world is full of them.' The young often dream thus, and are undeceived all too soon. 1 And do you really mean to say that you should have courage to walk here after dusk, with the chance of meeting not only the lady of whom we have been speaking, but a thousand others of her shadowy companions, with whom, we are told, the old castle is thronged at night ?' ♦ You shall see, when Clifford comes back•:' and the girl thought perhaps it might be a good excuse for one of these loDg, moonlight rambles which they used to have together in old times. ' Ah, coward ! but by yourself?' * Well, I do not think even then I should be afraid. I have never harmed any of these spirits, and why should they harm me—even supposing there to be such things ? But whereabouts is the dungeon where they say the lady of Hugh Gaveston lived and died ?' ' Come aud see, if you are so brave. The stone steps are safe, although somewhat decayed, and you have little to dread, except the damp aud the vermin.' Constance had encountered these too often to fear either; and tucking up her white dress, she followed her young brother with light and [ active steps; and they passed out of the bright sunshine iuto those vaults, which for years no feet but their own had ventured to tread. But the innocent are ever fearless. 'What a capital echo !' said Constance, singiDg a few lines of some sweet melody, while the old walls which bad often rung with the sound of wild cries and groans, never, perhaps, gave back so glad a strain. 'But it strikes very cold, brother.' • Shall we go back, then ?' ' Oh, no, not now; but which way lay the dungeons ?" Aud are you sure that you can thread all these passages agaiu on your return ?' v ITo be sure; or if not, there is a shorter path which leads us out at the back. Here, we are at last!' aud the key yielded slowly to his touch, while he made his sister remain without for a few moments until some of the foul air had been permitted to escape. ' And this,' said Constance, ! was the liviDg grave of the lady of Hugh Gaveston ?' ' Yes; see here, the very marks on the stones, which are worn away*, it is said, by the uoceasingness with which she knelt and supplicated heaven for mercy. And there ia something written upon the wall, most likely by the unhappy lady herself; but it is not wholly illegible. How should you like, Constance, to be shut up here for an hour ?' ' Oh I should not mind ; I should have time to examine it well, and try and make out this mysterious writing. Poor creature I what she must have suffered, shut out from the glorious sunlight and the free air for so many years! while I, who have remained here only so short a time, already sicken for it. It must have been very terrible; hut after all, I would rather have been the lady upon her deathbed, than that stern man Hugh Gaveston.' ■~ ... 'I wonder whether she was really false to him,' said Vernon, while a fierce frown gathered darkly upon hiß young brow; 'if so, she deserved her fate.' * No matter for that, now—let us hope not; or, if it was so, that her sufferings atoned for her crimes.' And as she stood in that lonely place, with her white garments, and bright, radiant face, one might almost have taken her for. an angel. Vernon was standing upon the green sward in front of the castle, -about half-an-hour after the conversation above narrated had taken place,—when a man on horseback passed rapidly along the road in the direction of Gaveston House, the modem residence of the family; but on catching a glimpse of the young heir, he paused suddenly, and saluted him by name. ' Thank goodness I have been fortunate enough to meet you, Mr. Gaveston.' i • What, Mostyn !' said the boy. ' And your master, Percy Clifford—is he already arrived ?* ' No, nor ever will I fear; but be pleased to read this, note, here, which requires an immediate answer, 3 Veruon {ore it open ; it was dated, from * {

town about fifty miles off, where the writer lay dying, as he said, and entreated Gave3ton to Ipse no time in coining to him—but on no aocount to mention the oircumstance to Constance, as, after all, the doctor had not quite given up all hopes of his recovery, and it was useless to agitate her unnecessarily. ' This is my answer,' exclaimed Vernon, leaping on the back of his steed, which he unfastened for that purpose. "You can proceed on to the house, get some refreshment and follow me at your leasure.' But Mostyn prof<?Bsed himself not to be in the least tired; aud it was agreed that Vernon should think of some excuse to account for his absence to Constance, and write as soon as possible to prevent her feeling uneasy. Mostyn had just begun to tell his young companion some of the particulars of Clifford's illness, when he pnlled in so suddenly, that the horse reared back and had nearly thrown him.

'By Jove!' said he,' I had almost forgotten ; but she is a brave girl.' And entering the cottage of one of his tenants, he wrote a hasty billet to bis sister—and another, accompanied by a key, to Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper at Gaveston, which he charged the man to ba sure and lose no time in delivering, giving him a handsome reward for his pains; and once again they were on horseback, and rushing on like the wind;

When Vernon reached R ■ bis friend was no longer in a state to recognise him ; and as the youth sac that night by his bed-side, and heard him raving incessantly in his wanderings of Constance—his own Constance! calling upon her to be true to him; he felt glad that she was so loved and so remembered, and prayed heaven to spare him to make her happy.

For many days after this Clifford's life was despaired of; and it was not until he had been pronounced out of danger that Vernon once thought of the uneasiness which poor Constance would suffer at neither seeing or hearing from her lover for so long past the time fixed for his return. His own absence he had satisfactorily accounted for in the hasty note despatched by his tenant, Giles Staunton ; and he now proposed writing to inform her of what had taken place, and that she might expect them at Gaveston as soou as ever Clifford was strong enough to travel. ' And how long will that be, doctor ?' asked the invalid of his physiciau. ' Not much more than a week, if you take care of yourself, and suffer no relapse ; for your anxiety to reach Gaveston is likely to do you more harm than the journey itself performed by easy stages.' ' Then do not write Vernon: poor Constange will only be iancying things worse than they really are, and I should like to tell her in one breath of my danger and recovery, so that her tears may be chased away by smiles.' 'And yet, how she will wonder at your proloDged absence.' ' A week will soon be over,' said Clifford ; ' and perhaps we may be able to start even before that timo—eh, doctor?" The doctor smiled and shook his head, administered a composing draught, and before ho left them had the satisfaction of seeing his patient in a calm and tranquil slumber; while the youth, as he sat in that silent chamber, pictured to himself their blissful meeting, and how his sweet sister would hang upon his neck, and thank and bless him for his care of her dear Percy—or chide him with a smile for the first secret he had ever kept from her. And when Clifford, day by day, grew le3S and less dependent upon hu watchfulness and care, he had still enough to do in plauning everything for their journey, so that it should be as little fatiguing as possible. But the tears rushed unbidden into his eyes when he saw the pale, at tenuated form of his friend stretched languidly upon the cushions he had arranged with such tenderness, and thought how Constance would weep over the sad change in the lover of htr youth. The proposal of Doctor Garland to accompany them to Gaveston was willingly accepted ; and the whole party set out on one of those bright glorious mornings which almost defy you to feel ill at ease. Clifford's spirits rose with the excitement of the motion and the fresh, balmy air, or perhaps the thought of meeting his betrothed after their long separation; and he protested that he' felt almost as well as ever. ' Ah I Constance will chauge the almost into quite before l«ng,' said Vernon cheerfully. 1 And is she the same ?' questioned his friend, ' the very same—as gentle, and beautiful, and as joyous ?' ' Oh yes, not a bit altered from when we three used to romp and play together all day long. I was but a little thing then, but we were very happy!' • Very !' said Clifford with a smile ; • and so we shall be again,.l hope.' 'Hore! we may be sure of it. Constance has promised to come to Gavcstm every summer, and visit the old castle, and all our favorite haunts; and I can tell you that at other times I shall almost quarter myself upon you." , . Percy Clifford stretched cut his thin hand to meet the clasp of birh who was soou to be his brother; they were already brothers in affection and there was no occasion for him to speak the welcome which Vernon never for a moment doubted receiving. The doctor was an old nun, but he''iked to listen to the plans which they laid out for the future; it put him in mind, but not sadly, of bis own youth, and the hopes over which the grave had long since closed. And although he knew, that in .the natural course of things, they, could never be entirely realised, he trusted they might be as happy as he had been, which was saying much. ' Poor Constance !' said Clifford,' she is little dreaming now of the bliss in store for her; she may even be thinking me faithless and unkind !• ■ . > ; 'Oh no ! I know her better than that; not if you had stayed twice as long over your time ; she might weep and break her heart, but she would never blame you.' ' Dear girl!'—and the invalid relapsed into silence; perhaps in his mind he was thanking, heaven for having spared him, for his pale lips moved fast, but without uttering any audible sound. The journey was accomplished at length, with but little fatigue to Clifford, and Vernon pointed out joyously to him the ruined battlements of Castle Gaveston as they dashed past it. The housekeeper met them at the entrance. • Thank heaven you are returned at last!' said she, in reproachful accents, warranted by her long residence, and faithful services iv the family. •It was scarcely kir.d of you, Mr. Gaveston, to go away ua you, did without saying a word to any one,'

' I believe I am the person moßt to blame,' said Percy, bending forward, with, a languid s,mile. ~ • Ah !■: Mr. Clifford; and you have been ill too-very ill,. I fear,' added the old woman kindly. '■ This then 'accounts' For 'my yoiujg lady's absence.'- ; •' '■' ■ • Your lady 1 is she not then withiu?' "''''... "'.','. '.' ' Come, none of your nonsense, Mr, .Gaveston; but you always were a wild one, and there's no making you out.' '■■■•;'■. '.'■ ■■ ~.; . , 'Seriously,-Mrs. Brown,' said Vernon, with some anxiety,« where is my s.ister Constance' ?' • Then, seriously, sir, I have not '.seen her since she set out; I suppose, 'to help to. nurse your friend,. Mr. Clifford.'' , ■-,■;■... .;< , 'Merciful God!' said the boy, turning as white aa marble ; c and Giles Staun ton, did he not bring you a letter and message from me ?' 'No indeed; but I heard that on the very day of your departure he enlisted in a fit of intoxication, and has since left the country. But what of Miss Coustauce ?' • 1 Heaven preserve my senses!' exclaimed Vernon, in a tone so strange and hollow that all shuddered to hear it;, and then ■suddenly lifted up his bowed head he waved bis hand for them to follow him, he bounded away with rppid steps in the direction of the castle. Clifford sprang up from the cushions on which he had been reclining, and tottering as he walked, followed, with a pace scarcely less swift, through the long, damp, under-ground passages, and-down the, dark stairs, that crumbled away beneath their feet, until they stopped aC length before one of the dungeons, but the dooc wri fast locked. . * : ' ' , .; V ' She is there V said the boy, with a shriek of despair. 'But I have not Jhe key.' ' He raves,' whispered the doctor soothingly to Clifford, but giving orders nevertheless to the wondering domestics for implements withwhich to force its massive entrance. ... ' Constance 1' exclaimed Vernon in a shrill voice, while he beat his hands against the stone < doors until they were covered" with Wood. 1 'My sister! my brave —my merry-hearted Bister! Speak to me ! One word —only to save me from madness!' ' Nay, how can she be there ?' said Clifford, gently. ■ '•; •' How ? -^why I locked her up myself! She would have that she was not afraid, and I dared her to stay there half an-hour by herself. Great heaven, 1 it is better than three weeks now!' And he, cast, himself down upon his face on the damp ground, and, groaned aloud in his agony and remorse.

It was in vain that the good doctor strove to draw away his excited patient: nothing would do but he must even aid with his feeble strength in the task of battering down that massive door — and he was the first to become convinced of tbat which, after what they had heard, no one dared to doubt.1 The once beautiful Constance lay just within, her white dress torn and soiled, her little hands bruised and beaten/ in fifer'"'T&iri attempts to make herself heard; and her'pale, changed face, and unclosed and starting eyes, bearing evidence of the agony in which, she had died.

Vernon gat down,beside her upon the ground and laid ber he^d in bis lap, kissing her,cold lips and forehead wildly and repeatedly; and none but Clifford ventured to apeak to, or take her'from him. It was a very terrible scene ! No wonder that the last of the Gayestqns is to this day a raving lunatic; that the young lover should suffer a relapse, and be mercifully taken; the t the worthy housekeeper should weep ever after whenshe tells the tale; while the maidens of the district shudder to pass that doomed spot after night fall, and talk to each other with white lips of the Lady Constance and her fate.

Oh ! what that young girl must have suffered, brave; hearted as she was ! How at first, perhaps, with a half-fear, that she cared not Jo own to herself, she sang to make it the more cheerful, or tried to divine the hand-writing on the the wall, or thought sadly of the poor lady, of Gravestou, in her lonely captivity; until at last it seemed a very long half-bour; and she began to wish that Vernon would come back soon ; and as night came on—for she could see that it..was' growing dark through the narrow aperture in her gloomy dungeon— to think that it was scarcely kind to try her courage so severely ; for after all she was but a girl. And then the long, long night; and how she knelt down, eveu as though she had been in her own quiet chambeiv and said ber simple and earnest prayers; and then tried to sleep upon the.rude iron'pallet, which he had pointed out to her as the couch of her unfortunate ancestress, although the cold and damp struck to her very heart; her. wild joy to see again that little streak ef light, and to know that the day was come for Clifford's return. ' Perhaps,' tboughtshe, • Vernon calculated upon that, and fancied I should have no mind to; chidei him at such a time.' Slowly passed away the hours/heavy leade^ifooted hours,' unmarked by the chiming of bell oi* block,] but registered in her own.faat'siqkingspirits. Could anything have happened to Vernon—-to that dear, adventurous brother ? , And then she was angry with herself for having judged him harshly, and remembered with a shudder many a tot* tering arch and half-ruined stone which might have fallen upon andi orusbed him 'oV his return, burying with him the secret of her retreat; And Glifford—her own Clifford would wait, and vvonder at her strange absence, but never behold her more. . And yet he might have heard how she loved the neighborhood of that old,castle, and might seek her there j and .then in her agony and impatience the stone walls would ring with her shrieks and cries, until she sank at length exhausted on the groundi Who, even in fanoy, shall venture beyond those few first days ? shall dare attempt any description of the fierce hunger and thirst, and the mini weakened by the body; a prey, perhaps, to those very fears which she had in the pride of her youth and strength so lately laughed to scorn ! How madness might have followed, as we are told it often does, upon the heels of famine, until the bright hair—which was after-, wards found upon the floor of the dungeonhad been torn in bandfuls from her head, while she raved alternately of her brother, and Percy Clifford, and the poor Lady Gaveston ; or else lay down in a sullen and lifeless torpor, and passed away thus!

The cause of all this suffering, Giles Staunton, never returned to his native lapd, or knew of the misery he had wrought. It is generally believed that, intoxicated with the drink Veruon's money procured, he must have lost the letters: and fearing to betray his carelessness, or thinking that the old, rusty-looking key could not b3 as much consequence, neglected to bring it, as desired, to the house.

So ends our sa4 legeud, of C»atle Gaveston,