Chapter Seven.
The Shadow of Long Ago.
“’Tis a fair, fair face, in sooth:
Larger eyes and redder mouth
Than mine were in my first youth.”
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
So faithfully had the Countess adhered to her plighted word that Belasez should be seen by no one, that not one of the priests had yet beheld her except Father Nicholas, and the meeting in that case had been accidental and momentary. But when Father Bruno announced to his brother priests his intention of seeking an interview with the Jewish maiden, Father Nicholas shook his head waggishly.
“Have a care of the toils of Satan, Brother Bruno!” said he. “The maiden may have the soul of a fiend, for aught I wot, yet hath she the face of an angel.”
“I thank thee. There is no fear!” answered Bruno, with a smile which made him look sadder.
The Countess had not returned from the coronation festivities, and the girls were alone in Margaret’s bower, when Father Bruno entered, with “God save all here!”
Belasez rose hastily, and prepared to withdraw.
“Wait, my child,” said the priest, gently: “I would speak with thee.”
But when she turned in answer, and he saw her face, some strange and terrible emotion seemed to convulse his own.