The Old Gentlemen at last meeting with a Servant of the House, were directed to Signior Claudio's Chamber, where they were no sooner entered but Aurelian came into the House. A Servant who had skulk'd for him by Hippolito's Order, followed him up into the Chamber, and told him who was with Claudio then making Enquiry for him. He thought that to be no Place for him, since Claudio must needs discover all the Truth to his Father; wherefore he left Directions with the Servant, where Hippolito should meet him in the Morning. As he was going out of the Room he espied the torn Paper, which the Lady had thrown upon the Floor: The first piece he took up had Incognita written upon it; the sight of which so Alarum'd him, he scarce knew what he was about; but hearing a Noise of a Door opening over Head, with as much Care as was consistent with the haste he was then in, he gathered up scattered pieces of Paper, and betook himself to a Ramble.
Coming by a Light which hung at the Corner of a Street, he join'd the torn Papers and collected thus much, that Incognita had Written the Note, and earnestly desired (if there were any reality in what he pretended to her) to meet her at Twelve a Clock that Night at a Convent Gate; but unluckily the Bit of Paper which should have mentioned what Convent, was broken off and lost.
Here was a large Subject for Aurelian's Passion, which he did not spare to pour forth in Abundance of Curses on his Stars. So earnest was he in the Contemplation of his Misfortunes, that he walk'd on unwittingly; till at length Silence (and such as was only to be found in that part the Town, whither his unguided Steps had carried him) surpriz'd his Attention. I say, a profound Silence rouzed him from his Thought; and a clap of Thunder could have done no more.
Now because it is possible this at some time or other may happen to be read by some Malicious or Ignorant Person, (no Reflection upon the present Reader) who will not admit, or does not understand that Silence should make a Man start; and have the same Effect, in provoking his Attention, with its opposite Noise; I will illustrate this matter, to such a diminutive Critick, by a Parallel Instance of Light; which though it does chiefly entertain the Eyes, and is indeed the prime Object of the Sight, yet should it immediately cease, to have a Man left in the Dark by a suddain deficiency of it, would make him stare with his Eyes, and though he could not see, endeavour to look about him. Why just thus did it fare with our Adventurer; who seeming to have wandred both into the Dominions of Silence and of Night, began to have some tender for his own Safety, and would willingly have groped his Way back again; when he heard a Voice, as from a Person whose Breath had been stopp'd by some forcible Oppression, and just then, by a violent Effort, was broke through the Restraint.--'Yet--Yet--(again reply'd the Voice, still struggling for Air,) 'Forbear--and I'll forgive what's past--I have done nothing yet that needs a Pardon, (says another) and what is to come, will admit of none.
Here the Person who seemed to be the Oppressed, made several Attempts to speak, but they were only inarticulate Sounds, being all interrupted and choaked in their Passage.
Aurelian was sufficiently astonish'd, and would have crept nearer to the Place whence he guessed the Voice to come; but he was got among the Runes of an Old Monastery, and could not stir so silently, but some loose Stones he met with made a rumbling. The Noise alarm'd both Parties; and as it gave Comfort to the one, it so Terrified the t'other, that he could not hinder the Oppressed from calling for help. Aurelian fancy'd it was a Woman's Voice, and immediately drawing his Sword, demanded what was the Matter; he was answered with the Appearance of a Man, who had opened a Dark Lanthorn which he had by him, and came toward him with a Pistol in his Hand ready cock'd.
Aurelian seeing the irresistable advantage his Adversary had over him, would fain have retired; and, by the greatest Providence in the World, going backwards fell down over some loose Stones that lay in his Way, just in that Instant of Time when the Villain fired his Pistol, who seeing him fall, concluded he had Shot him. The Crys of the afflicted Person were redoubled at the Tragical Sight, which made the Murderer, drawing a Poniard, to threaten him, that the next Murmur should be his last. Aurelian, who was scarce assured that he was unhurt, got softly up; and coming near enough to perceive the Violence that was used to stop the Injured Man's Mouth; (for now he saw plainly it was a Man) cry'd out,--Turn, Villain, and look upon thy Death.--The Fellow amazed at the Voice, turn'd about to have snatch'd up the Lanthorn from the Ground; either to have given Light only to himself, or to have put out the Candle, that he might have made his Escape; but which of the Two he designed, no Body could tell but himself: and if the Reader have a Curiosity to know, he must blame Aurelian; who thinking there could be no foul play offered to such a Villain, ran him immediately through the Heart, so that he drop'd down Dead at his Feet, without speaking a Word. He would have seen who the Person was he had thus happily delivered, but the Dead Body had fallen upon the Lanthorn, which put out the Candle: However coming up toward him, he ask'd him how he did, and bid him be of good Heart; he was answered with nothing but Prayers, Blessings and Thanks, called a Thousand Deliverers, good Genius's and Guardian Angels. And the Rescued would certainly have gone upon his Knees to have worshipped him, had he not been bound Hand and Foot; which Aurelian understanding, groped for the Knots, and either untied them or cut them asunder; but 'tis more probable the latter, because more expeditious.
They took little heed what became of the Body which they left behind them, and Aurelian was conducted from out the Ruins by the Hand of him he had delivered. By a faint light issuing from the just rising Moon, he could discern that it was a Youth; but coming into a more frequented part of the Town, where several Lights were hung out, he was amaz'd at the extream Beauty which appeared in his Face, though a little pale and disordered with his late fright. Aurelian longed to hear the Story of so odd an adventure, and entreated his Charge to tell it him by the way; but he desired him to forbear till they were come into some House or other, where he might rest and recover his tired Spirits, for yet he was so faint he was unable to look up. Aurelian thought these last words were delivered in a Voice, whose accent was not new to him. That thought made him look earnestly in the Youth's Face, which he now was sure he had somewhere seen before, and thereupon asked him if he had never been at Siena? That Question made the young Gentleman look up, and something of a Joy appeared in his Countenance, which yet he endeavoured to smother; so praying Aurelian to conduct him to his Lodging, he promised him that as soon as they should come thither, he would acquaint him with any thing he desired to know. Aurelian would rather have gone any where else than to his own Lodging; but being so very late he was at a loss, and so forced to be contented.
As soon as they were come into his Chamber, and that Lights were brought them and the Servant dismissed, the paleness which so visibly before had usurped the sweet Countenance of the afflicted Youth vanished, and gave place to a more lively Flood of Crimson, which with a modest heat glow'd freshly on his Cheeks. Aurelian waited with a pleasing Admiration the discovery promised him, when the Youth still struggling with his Resolution, with a timorous haste, pulled off a Peruke which had concealed the most beautiful abundance of Hair that ever graced one Female Head; those dishevelled spreading tresses, as at first they made a discovery of, so at last they served for a veil to the modest lovely blushes of the fair Incognita; for she it was and none other. But Oh! the inexpressible, inconceivable joy and amazement of Aurelian! As soon as he durst venture to think, he concluded it to be all Vision, and never doubted so much of any thing in his Life as of his being then awake. But she taking him by the Hand, and desiring him to sit down by her, partly convinced him of the reality of her presence.
'This is the second time, Don Hippolito, (said she to him) 'that I have been here this Night. What the occasion was of my seeking you out, and how by miracle you preserved me, would add too much to the surprize I perceive you to be already in should I tell you: Nor will I make any further discovery, till I know what censure you pass upon the confidence which I have put in you, and the strange Circumstances in which you find me at this time. I am sensible they are such, that I shall not blame your severest Conjectures; but I hope to convince you, when you shall hear what I have to say in justification of my Vertue.
'Justification! (cry'd Aurelian) what Infidel dares doubt it! Then kneeling down, and taking her Hand, 'Ah Madam (says he) would Heaven would no other ways look upon, than I behold your Perfections--Wrong not your Creature with a Thought, he can be guilty of that horrid Impiety as once to doubt your Vertue--Heavens! (cry'd he, starting up) 'am I so really blessed to see you once again! May I trust my Sight?--Or does my fancy now only more strongly work?--For still I did preserve your Image in my Heart, and you were ever present to my dearest Thoughts.--
'Enough Hippolito, enough of Rapture (said she) you cannot much accuse me of Ingratitude; for you see I have not been unmindful of you; but moderate your Joy till I have told you my Condition, and if for my sake you are raised to this Delight, it is not of a long continuance.
At that (as Aurelian tells the Story) a Sigh diffused a mournful sweetness through the Air, and liquid grief fell gently from her Eyes, triumphant sadness sat upon her Brow, and even sorrow seem'd delighted with the Conquest he had made. See what a change Aurelian felt! His Heart bled Tears, and trembled in his Breast; Sighs struggling for a vent had choaked each others passage up: His Floods of Joys were all supprest; cold doubts and fears had chill'd 'em with a sudden Frost, and he was troubled to excess; yet knew not why. Well, the Learned say it was Sympathy; and I am always of the Opinion with the Learned, if they speak first.
After a World of Condoleance had passed between them, he prevailed with her to tell him her Story. So having put all her Sighs into one great Sigh, she discharged her self of 'em all at once, and formed the Relation you are just about to Read.
'Having been in my Infancy Contracted to a Man I could never endure, and now by my Parents being likely to be forced to Marry him, is in short, the great occasion of my grief. I fansy'd (continued she) something so Generous in your Countenance, and uncommon in your Behaviour, while you were diverting your self, and rallying me with Expressions of Gallantry, at the Ball, as induced me to hold Conference with you. I now freely confess to you, out of design, That if things should happen as I then feared, and as now they are come to pass, I might rely upon your assistance in a matter of Concern; and in which I would sooner chuse to depend upon a generous Stranger, than any Acquaintance I have. What Mirth and Freedom I then put on, were, I can assure you, far distant from my Heart; but I did violence to my self out of Complaisance to your Temper.--I knew you at the Tilting, and wished you might come off as you did; though I do not doubt, but you would have had as good Success had it been opposite to my Inclinations.--Not to detain you by too tedious a Relation, every day my Friends urged me to the Match they had agreed upon for me, before I was capable of Consenting; at last their importunities grew to that degree, that I found I must either consent, which would make me miserable, or be miserable by perpetually enduring to be baited by my Father, Brother and other Relations. I resolved yesterday, on a suddain to give firm Faith to the Opinion I had conceived of you; and accordingly came in the Evening to request your assistance, in delivering me from my Tormentors, by a safe and private conveyance of me to a Monastery about four Leagues hence, where I have an Aunt who would receive me, and is the only Relation I have averse to the Match. I was surprized at the appearance of some Company I did not expect at your Lodgings; which made me in haste tear a Paper which I had written to you with Directions where to find me, and get speedily away in my Coach to an old Servant's House, whom I acquainted with my purpose: By my Order she provided me of this Habit which I now wear; I ventured to trust my self with her Brother, and resolved to go under his Conduct to the Monastery; he proved to be a Villain, and Pretending to take me a short and private way to the place where he was to take up a Hackney Coach (for that which I came in was broke some where or other with the haste it made to carry me from your Lodging) led me into an old ruined Monastery, where it pleased Heaven, by what Accident I know not, to direct you. I need not tell you how you saved my Life and my Honour, by revenging me with the Death of my Perfidious Guide. This is the summ of my present Condition, bating the apprehensions I am in of being taken by some of my Relations, and forced to a thing so quite contrary to my Inclinations.
Aurelian was confounded at the Relation she had made, and began to fear his own Estate to be more desperate than ever he had imagined. He made her a very Passionate and Eloquent Speech in behalf of himself (much better than I intend to insert here) and expressed a mighty concern that she should look upon his ardent Affection to be only Rallery or Gallantry. He was very free of his Oaths to confirm the Truth of what he pretended, nor I believe did she doubt it, or at least was unwilling so to do: For I would Caution the Reader by the bye, not to believe every word which she told him, nor that admirable sorrow which she counterfeited to be accurately true. It was indeed truth so cunningly intermingled with Fiction, that it required no less Wit and Presence of Mind than she was endowed with so to acquit her self on the suddain. She had entrusted her self indeed with a Fellow who proved a Villain, to conduct her to a Monastery; but one which was in the Town, and where she intended only to lie concealed for his sake; as the Reader shall understand ere long: For we have another Discovery to make to him, if he have not found it out of himself already.
After Aurelian had said what he was able upon the Subject in hand, with a mournful tone and dejected look, he demanded his Doom. She asked him if he would endeavour to convey her to the Monastery she had told him of? 'Your commands, Madam, (replied he) 'are Sacred to me; and were they to lay down my Life I would obey them. With that he would have gone out of the Room, to have given order for his Horses to be got ready immediately; but with a Countenance so full of sorrow as moved Compassion in the tender hearted Incognita. 'Stay a little Don Hippolito (said she) I fear I shall not be able to undergo the Fatigue of a Journey this Night.--Stay and give me your Advice how I shall conceal my self if I continue to morrow in this Town. Aurelian could have satisfied her she was not then in a place to avoid discovery: But he must also have told her then the reason of it, viz. whom he was, and who were in quest of him, which he did not think convenient to declare till necessity should urge him; for he feared least her knowledge of those designs which were in agitation between him and Juliana, might deter her more from giving her consent. At last he resolved to try his utmost perswasions to gain her, and told her accordingly, he was afraid she would be disturbed there in the Morning, and he knew no other way (if she had not as great an aversion for him as the Man whom she now endeavour'd to avoid) than by making him happy to make her self secure. He demonstrated to her,--that the disobligation to her Parents would be greater by going to a Monastery, since it was only to avoid a choice which they had made for her, and which she could not have so just a pretence to do till she had made one for her self.
A World of other Arguments he used, which she contradicted as long as she was able, or at least willing. At last she told him, she would consult her Pillow, and in the Morning conclude what was fit to be done. He thought it convenient to leave her to her rest, and having lock'd her up in his Room, went himself to repose upon a Pallat by Signior Claudio.
In the mean time, it may be convenient to enquire what became of Hippolito. He had wandered much in pursuit of Aurelian, though Leonora equally took up his Thoughts; He was reflecting upon the oddness and extravagance of his Circumstances, the Continuation of which had doubtless created in him a great uneasiness, when it was interrupted with the noise of opening the Gates of the Convent of St. Lawrence, whither he was arrived sooner than he thought for, being the place Aurelian had appointed by the Lacquey to meet him in. He wondered to see the Gates opened at so unseasonable an hour, and went to enquire the reason of it from them who were employ'd; but they proved to be Novices, and made him signs to go in, where he might meet with some body allow'd to answer him. He found the Religious Men all up, and Tapers lighting every where: at last he follow'd a Friar who was going into the Garden, and asking him the cause of these Preparations, he was answered, That they were entreated to pray for the Soul of a Cavalier, who was just departing or departed this Life, and whom upon farther talk with him, he found to be the same Lorenzo so often mentioned. Don Mario, it seems Uncle to Lorenzo and Father to Leonora, had a private Door out of the Garden belonging to his House into that of the Convent, which Door this Father was now a going to open, that he and his Family might come and offer up their Oraisons for the Soul of their Kinsman. Hippolito having informed himself of as much as he could ask without suspicion, took his leave of the Friar, not a little joyful at the Hopes he had by such unexpected Means, of seeing his Beautiful Leonora: As soon as he was got at convenient Distance from the Friar, (who 'tis like thought he had return'd into the Convent to his Devotion) he turned back through a close Walk which led him with a little Compass, to the same private Door, where just before he had left the Friar, who now he saw was gone, and the Door open.
He went into Don Mario's Garden, and walk'd round with much Caution and Circumspection; for the Moon was then about to rise, and had already diffused a glimmering Light, sufficient to distinguish a Man from a Tree. By Computation now (which is a very remarkable Circumstance) Hippolito entred this Garden near upon the same Instant, when Aurelian wandred into the Old Monastery and found his Incognita in Distress. He was pretty well acquainted with the Platform, and Sight of the Garden; for he had formerly surveyed the Outside, and knew what part to make to if he should be surpriz'd and driven to a precipitate Escape. He took his Stand behind a well grown Bush of Myrtle, which, should the Moon shine brighter than was required, had the Advantage to be shaded by the Indulgent Boughs of an ancient Bay-Tree. He was delighted with the Choice he had made, for he found a Hollow in the Myrtle, as if purposely contriv'd for the Reception of one Person, who might undiscovered perceive all about him. He looked upon it as a good Omen, that the Tree Consecrated to Venus was so propitious to him in his Amorous Distress. The Consideration of that, together with the Obligation he lay under to the Muses, for sheltering him also with so large a Crown of Bays, had like to have set him a Rhyming.
He was, to tell the Truth, naturally addicted to Madrigal, and we should undoubtedly have had a small desert of Numbers to have pick'd and Criticiz'd upon, had he not been interrupted just upon his Delivery; nay, after the Preliminary Sigh had made Way for his Utterance. But so was his Fortune, Don Mario was coming towards the Door at that very nick of Time, where he met with a Priest just out of Breath, who told him that Lorenzo was just breathing his last, and desired to know if he would come and take his final Leave before they were to administer the Extream Unction. Don Mario, who had been at some Difference with his Nephew, now thought it his Duty to be reconciled to him; so calling to Leonora, who was coming after him, he bid her go to her Devotions in the Chappel, and told her where he was going.
He went on with the Priest, while Hippolito saw Leonora come forward, only accompanied by her Woman. She was in an undress, and by reason of a Melancholy visible in her Face, more Careless than usual in her Attire, which he thought added as much as was possible to the abundance of her Charms. He had not much Time to Contemplate this Beauteous Vision, for she soon passed into the Garden of the Convent, leaving him Confounded with Love, Admiration, Joy, Hope, Fear, and all the Train of Passions, which seize upon Men in his Condition, all at once. He was so teazed with this Variety of Torment, that he never missed the Two Hours that had slipped away during his Automachy and Intestine Conflict. Leonora's Return settled his Spirits, at least united them, and he had now no other Thought but how he should present himself before her. When she calling her Woman, bid her bolt the Garden Door on the Inside, that she might not be Surpriz'd by her Father, if he returned through the Convent, which done, she ordered her to bring down her Lute, and leave her to her self in the Garden.