Of the six lunatics who were in the madhouse, five were already saved; there now only remained the sixth who was chained.  Oswald loosened his irons, and endeavoured to make him take the same means of escaping as his companions had done; but it was a poor young man, whose reason was entirely destroyed, and, finding himself at liberty, after being chained for two years, he darted about the room with an extravagant joy.  This joy rose to fury, when Oswald tried to make him go out at the window.  Lord Nelville perceiving that it was impossible to prevail upon this maniac to save himself, though the flames increased around them, seized him in his arms, in spite of the efforts of the unhappy wretch, who struggled against his benefactor.  He carried him off, without knowing where he placed his feet, so much was his sight obscured by the smoke; he leaped from nearly the middle of the ladder, and consigned the lunatic, who loaded him with curses, to some people whom he made promise to take care of him.

Oswald, animated by the danger he had just run, his hair dishevelled, his look so proud yet so mild, struck the crowd who beheld him with admiration, and almost with fanaticism; the women, above all, expressed themselves with that imagination which is an almost universal gift in Italy, and even gives a nobleness to the conversation of the common people.  They threw themselves on their knees before him, and cried, “You are surely St Michael, the patron of our city; display thy wings most holy saint! but do not quit us:  deign to ascend the steeple of the cathedral, that all the city may behold, and pray to thee.” “My child is sick,” said one, “heal him.” “Tell me,” said another, “where my husband is, who has been absent several years?” Oswald sought a means of escape.  The Count d’Erfeuil arrived, and said to him, pressing his hand, “My dear Nelville, we ought to share all things with our friends; it is unkind of you thus to monopolise all the danger.”  “Release me from these people,” said Oswald to him, in a low voice.  A moment of darkness favoured their flight, and both of them went in haste to get post horses.

Lord Nelville experienced, at first, some pleasure from the good action he had just performed, but with whom could he enjoy it now that his best friend was no more?  How unhappy is the lot of orphans!  The most fortunate events, as well as the most painful, make them feel alike the solitude of the heart.  How is it possible, in effect, ever to replace that affection which is born with us, that intelligence, that sympathy of blood, that friendship prepared by heaven between the child and the father?  We may still, it is true, find an object of love; but one in whom we can confide our whole soul is a happiness which can never be found again.

FOOTNOTE: 

[2] Ancona is now pretty nearly in the same predicament that it was then.

Chapter v.