The shadow of those trees completely concealed any one who stood beneath them, and the eyes must have been very near that could have perceived Bernard de Rohan as he leaned against one of them, gazing upon a particular part of the garden wall immediately under one of the small watch-turrets. He thus waited some time, with an eagerness of expectation, it is true, which in no other situation or circumstance had he ever known before; but, at the same time, with sweet thoughts, and hopes, and happy memories, which cheered the moments, and made even the impatience that he felt appear like some of those drinks which man has invented to satisfy his thirst, and which are at once pungent and grateful to the taste. He had waited some time, we have said, when at length, as a distant snowy peak began to change its hue and turn rosy with the rays of the setting sun, the small postern door on which his eyes were fixed was seen to move upon its hinges, and then stood ajar. Bernard de Rohan sprang forward, passed the small open space in a moment, and, pushing back the door more fully, stood within the garden of the castle of Masseran.
Scarce a step from the gate, with her hand pressed upon her heart, as if to stop the palpitation of fear and agitation, stood a lady, perhaps of twenty years of age. She was certainly not more; and her beauty, like the morning sun, seemed to have the promise of a long, bright race before it. She was very graceful and very beautiful. The whole form seemed to breathe of a bright and high spirit; but even had it not been that her person so perfectly harmonized with her mind, and was, in fact—as nature probably intended should be the case—an earthly type of the soul within, yet Bernard de Rohan would still have loved her as deeply, as tenderly as he did, for he knew that spirit to be bright and beautiful; he knew the heart to be tender, and devoted, and affectionate; he knew the mind to be pure and high, and fixed in all its purposes of right.
He had been brought up with her from youth; her father had been his guardian, and a parent to him when his own parents were no more. She had fancied herself a sister to him till the hearts of both told them it was happy she was not so. No disappointments had ever befallen them in the course of their affection; no obstacles had been thrown in their way till that time; and yet, though neither opposed, nor troubled, nor disappointed, they loved each other with true and constant hearts, and feared not the result of any hour of trial.
She was very beautiful, certainly. It was not alone that all the features of her face were fine, but it was also that the form of the face itself was beautiful, and the way that the head was placed upon the neck, and the neck rose from the shoulders, all gave a peculiarity of expression, a grace, which is only to be compared to that of some ancient statue from a master's hand. The eyes, too, were very, very lovely, deep blue, and full of liquid light; with dark black eyelashes that curtained them like a dark cloud fringing the edge of the western sky, but leaving a space for the bright light of evening to gush through upon the world. Her complexion was a clear, warm brown; but now, as she stood, there was something, either in the agitation of the moment or in the cold light of the hour, which made her look as pale as marble.
She was pressing her hand upon her heart, and leaning slightly forward, with an eager look towards the door, as if prepared to fly should any one appear whom she did not expect. The instant she saw Bernard de Rohan, however, her whole face was lighted up with a glad smile, and she sprang forward to meet him with the unchecked joy of pure and high affection. They were in a moment in each other's arms.
"My Isabel! my beloved!" he said. "I thought that this man had determined to shut me out from beholding you again."
"And so he would," replied the lady. "So he would if he had the power. But oh! Bernard, I fear him—I fear him in every way: I fear him on my own account, I fear him on yours."
"Oh! fear not, fear not, Isabel," replied Bernard de Rohan. "He can but bring evil upon his own head if he attempts to wrong either you or me. Already has he placed himself in danger. But tell me, my beloved, tell me, is he really absent from the castle, or was it but a pretence to avoid seeing me when I came yesterday?"
"No, he is absent," replied Isabel de Brienne. "In that, at least, there is no deception, for I saw him ride out with but a few horses yesterday towards midday. He took the small covered way by the back of the castle and by the other side of the gardens. I saw him from the window of my chamber in the keep, and I do not believe that he has since returned."
"It must have been to avoid me," said Bernard de Rohan, thoughtfully; "and yet, how could he know that I was here? Did he ever hint at such knowledge, my Isabel?"