In after times, some of the vassals remembered well that they observed the wild eyes of the Arabian glaring fiercely over the shoulder of the Jew, while his right hand was thrust within the folds of his coarse gaberdine, and his entire appearance denoted a mind agitated by some fierce resolve.
A low, solemn peal of music broke on the air, and a ruddy blaze of light was thrown from the recesses of the massive hall doors. In a moment a band of cavaliers, attired in all the glitter of spangled cloak and waving plume, came from the hall, and took their position on either side of the staircase, each gay cavalier holding a torch on high, while the gleaming light revealed each handsome face, wearing the polished smile, and the costumes varied with strange fancies of embroidery, and fashioned after every manner of device, were disclosed in all their luxuriance and splendor.
A murmur ran through the crowd, and the gaily-attired form of his grace of Florence issued from the hall door, followed by the slight figure of the Count Aldarin.
As they took their positions on either side of the hall door, the crowd below had time to notice the strange contrast between the Lord of Albarone and the Duke of Florence.
Aldarin, pale in face, slender in form, attired in his robes of solemn black, the cap of dark fur on his forehead, with the blaze of a single gem relieving its midnight darkness, standing silent and motionless on one side of the hall door, his keen gray eyes half hidden by his brows, as though he was absent with thoughts of more than mortal interest.
The Duke, the gallant Duke, all show, and glitter, and costume, a doublet of white satin encircling his well-proportioned form, a cloak of the most delicate crimson depending from his left shoulder, the hilt of his jeweled sword glittering in the light; while his dainty cap of pink velvet, with the snow-white plume thrown aside from its front, surmounted his vacant face, marked by the neatly circled hair, the carefully trimmed moustache and beard. His eyes glared vacantly to and fro, and it might easily be seen that his grace of Florence was on a mental excursion after his looking glass.
This flashing of torches, this gallant array, heralded the approach of the Ladye Annabel, who presently emerged from the hall door, followed by a long line of the bower maidens, arrayed, like their mistress, in flowing robes, white as the mountain snow untouched by the summer sun.
The face of the Ladye Annabel was pale as the attire that enveloped her slender form, and she leaned for support on the arm of her black-eyed cousin, the damsel Rosalind.
Pale and beautiful, the victim of the sacrifice of the morrow, neither returned the deep inclination of the head with which the Duke of Florence greeted her appearance, nor glanced upon the countenance of her father; but slowly moved down the steps of stone, her eyes downcast, and her face calm as the sculptured marble.
“She is pale,” murmured Aldarin, “pale as death! She walks with the measured step of the victim walking to the living tomb!”