CHAPTER I.
IN THE TEMPLE—THE CENTRAL CHAMBER.
It was two o'clock on the morning of the 24th of December, 1844, when Frank led Nameless over the threshold of a magnificent but dimly-lighted hall.
Attired in black velvet, the golden cross upon her breast, and with a white vail falling like a snowflake over her face and raven hair, she pressed his hand and led him forward to the light. You cannot, by the changes of his countenance, trace the emotions now busy at his heart; for his face is concealed by a mask; a cap, with a drooping plume, shades his brow; his form is attired in a tunic of black velvet, gathered to his waist by a scarlet sash; a falling collar discloses his throat; and there is a white cross upon his breast, suspended from his neck by a golden chain. His brown hair, no longer wild and matted, but carefully arranged by a woman's hand, falls in glossy masses to his shoulders.
"Stand here, my knight of the white cross, and observe some of the mysteries of our Temple."
For a moment she raised her vail, and her dark eyes emitted rays of magnetic fire, and the pressure of her hand made the blood bound in every vein.
They stood by a marble pillar, near a table on which was placed a lamp with a clouded shade,—a table loaded with fruits and flowers, with goblets and with bottles of rich old wine.
Nameless could not repress an ejaculation as he surveyed the scene.
"I am in a dream!" he said.