The countenance of Attila himself was now cleared of the clouds which had obscured it; but still, the joy with which it beamed as plainly testified the change which his nature had lately undergone as the frowns that had hung upon it before. In former days, the countenance of Attila had been a stranger to both frowns and smiles. The stern passions which moved him then had wrought and struggled within the secret chambers of his breast alone, and no light emotions had seemed to affect his outward bearing. Now he was moved by many things; and, in spite of all his efforts to seem what he had been, the emotions of his heart thrilled through his bodily frame, and made themselves seen upon the surface.
"Where are the Christian priests?" demanded the voice of the monarch, as soon as he had spoken a few words to Valamir and Ardaric, in a tone evidently intended to soften the harsh impression produced by his ill-humour of the morning--"where are the Christian priests?"
"None have been found in the camp, oh mighty king," said Edicon, coming forward. "I have inquired in every quarter, and none have been found."
"None!" exclaimed Attila; "none! Where is that rash priest Mizetus; he who by a few empty words provoked the wrath of so many mighty chiefs. I have seen him since in the camp. I saw him no later than yesterday. Let him be sent for; and tell the bride that Attila waits her coming, as the spring-earth waits for the rising of the morning sun."
The messengers departed; and then came a pause, dead and silent, and painful to all but those common spirits who saw nothing in the scene they were called to behold but the common festivity of a day. Ardaric and Valamir gazed upon each other, but they spoke not, till some casual movement caused a murmur to run through the hall. Then, in a low voice, the latter asked the former, "What, think you, will be the result?"
"I know not," answered Ardaric; "but, from what I hear, she is not unwilling. Yet, from some chance words dropped in my wife's presence, either her mind wanders as that of one deprived of reason, or else deeper thoughts than we know of are at work within her brain. But lo, they come!"
As he spoke the door of the hall was thrown open, and a bevy of fair young girls, strewing the way with flowers, entered the hall, and wound round towards the altar. Following them, and leaning on the arm of Neva, appeared the Dalmatian bride, clothed in robes of white.
No fear, no agitation was in her step; but firmly and easily she moved along the hall, beauty and grace shining like a glory from every limb and every feature. Neva was far more moved than Ildica; but the countenances of both were paler than the Parian stone; while from those fair, colourless faces beamed forth the beautiful eyes of each--the deep, devoted, dark-blue eyes of Neva, the large, lustrous, liquid eyes of Ildica, shining like brilliant lamps from out a marble tomb.
They took but one gaze around the hall as they entered; but that gaze had a different effect upon each. With Neva it seemed to bewilder and confound: she dropped her eyes again instantly, and advanced with a wavering and uncertain step. The gaze of Ildica was firm and calm; though, as she beheld the scene of barbaric splendour that surrounded her, her brow slightly contracted; her eye flashed for an instant with a wilder, perhaps a brighter fire. Slowly she turned her gaze towards the altar; and, without noticing any one in the hall, approached deliberately the spot where the sacrifice of herself was to be completed.
A number of matrons followed; and behind them again came the hermit Mizetus, clad in the same wild robes which he wore in the desert and on the mountain. Attila turned to approach the altar; but the hermit advanced towards him, saying boldly, "Thou hast sent for me. I am here. What wouldst thou with me!"