The time was so near at hand now, I felt, when I could claim my own from Bainrothe, and cast off all shackles of guardianship and minority, that I no longer feared the consequences of this revelation. In September we should meet on new ground. I, no more a minor, would be beyond the reach of his subtle mastery; and, until then--the time assigned for the expiration of his year of trust--he would remain in Europe, with the wide sea between us, and little probability of information through the medium of public rumor.
I would be secret, cautious, abide in the shadow, until the hour arrived to emerge therefrom, and, with the aid of God and Wardour Wentworth, defeat his schemes and vindicate the truth!
[Footnote 1: Pronounced popularly "_Less der-neer_."]
"No fears hath she! Her giant form Majestically calm would go O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, 'Mid the deep darkness, white as snow! So stately her bearing, so proud her array, The main she will traverse forever and aye! Many ports shall exult in the gleam of her mast-- Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer, this hour is her last!"
"Then hold her Strictly confined in sombre banishment, And doubt not but she will ere long, full gladly, Her freedom purchase at the price you name."
"No, subtle snake! It is the baseness of thy selfish mind, Full of all guile, and cunning, and deceit, That severs us so far, and shall do _ever_."
"Despair shall give me strength--where is the door? Mine eyes are dark! I cannot find it now. O God! protect me in this awful pass!"
It was a calm and hazy morning of Southern summer that on which I turned my face seaward from the "keep" of Beauseincourt, never, I knew, to see its time-stained walls again, save through the mirage of memory. There is an awe almost as solemn to me in a consciousness like this as that which attends the death-bed parting, and my straining eye takes in its last look of a familiar scene as it might do the ever-to-be-averted face of friendship.
The refrain of Poe's even then celebrated poem was ringing through my brain on that sultry August day, I remember, like a tolling bell, as I looked my last on the gloomy abode of the La Vignes; but I only said aloud, in answer to the sympathizing glances of one who sat before me--the gentle and quiet Marion--who had suddenly determined to accompany me to Savannah, nerved with unwonted impulse: