But there was a footstep on the stair. Turning, Randolph beheld Eleanor, who was slowly descending the stairs. She was clad in her bridal dress. The light shone full upon her; she was radiantly beautiful. She wore a robe of snow-white satin, girdled lightly to her waist by a string of pearls, and over this a robe of green velvet, veined with flowers of gold, and open in front from her bosom to her feet. Her hair was disposed in rich masses about her face, and from its glossy blackness, and from the pure white of her forehead, a circlet of diamonds shone dazzlingly in the light. She saw Randolph, and her eyes spoke although her lips were silent.
That moment decided her fate and his own.
As she was halfway down the stairs, he sprang to meet her.
"Randolph! how pale you are," and she started as she saw his face.
"Dearest, I must speak with you a moment," he whispered.—"To the library."
He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs, and along a corridor; she noticed that his hand was hot and cold by turns, and she began to tremble in sympathy with his agitation.
They came to the door of the library. The lock was turned from the outside by a key, but when the door was closed it locked itself. Randolph found the key in the lock; he turned it; the door opened; he placed the key in his pocket; they crossed the threshold. The door closed behind them, and was locked at once. Eleanor was ignorant of this fact.
The library was a spacious apartment, with two windows opening to the east, and a ceiling which resembled a dome. The light came dimly through the closed curtains, but a wood-fire, smouldering on the broad hearth, which now flamed up, and as suddenly died away, served to disclose the high walls, lined with shelves, the table in the center overspread with books and papers, and the picture above the mantle, framed in dark wood. Two antique arm-chairs stood beside the table; there was a sofa between the windows, and in each corner of the room, a statue was placed on a pedestal. The shelves were crowded with huge volumes, whose gilt bindings, though faded by time, glittered in the uncertain light. Altogether, as the light now flashed up and died away again, it was an apartment reminding you of old times,—of ghosts and specters, may be,—but of anything save the present century.
"What a ghost-like place!" said Eleanor.
Randolph led her in silence to the sofa, and seated himself by her side.