In the recess of the lofty casement, with the sunshine falling all around, and the shadow of her slender figure thrown like a belt of gloom over the mosaic floor, stood the Ladye Annabel, silent and motionless; her rounded arms half raised, with the slender hands crossed over her bosom, her robe of pale blue velvet, with the inner vest of undimmed white made radiant by the sunbeams; while, swept aside from her features, the golden hair fell with a floating motion down over her shoulders, and along the breast of snow.
And as she stood thus still and immovable, gazing with one unvarying glance along the courtyard, the sunshine revealed her face of beauty, every lineament and feature disclosed in the golden light, seeming more like the face of a dream-spirit, than the countenance of a mortal maiden. The soul shone from her face. The eyes full, large, and lustrous with their undimmed blue, dilating and enlarging with one wild glance; the cheek white as alabaster, yet tinted by the bloom, and swelled with the fullness of the budding rose; the lips small, and curvingly shaped, slightly parted, revealing a glimpse of the ivory teeth; the chin, with its dimple; the brow, with its clear surface, marked by the parted hair, waving aside like clustered sunbeams—such was the face of the Ladye Annabel, all vision, all loveliness, and soul.
“He is bound; yes, bound with the cord and thong! They gather around him with looks of insult; they place him on the steed; they move—oh, mother of Heaven!—they move toward the castle gate! And shall I never see him again—never, never? It is a dream; it is no reality. It is a dream! Was it a dream, yesterday, when he stood in this recess, his hand clasped in mine, his eyes calm and eloquent, gazing in mine, while his voice spoke of the sunset glories of the summer sky?”
One long, wild glance at the scene in the courtyard, and then veiling her eyes from the sight, she started wildly from the window.
“It is a dream,” murmured the Ladye Annabel, as she hurriedly glided from the room, and the echoes returned her whisper. “It is, it is a dream!”
Her footsteps had scarce ceased to echo along the ante-chamber, when another footstep was heard, and ere a moment passed, Aldarin stood in the recess of the lofty window of the Red Chamber. His face was agitated by strange and varying expressions, as with a keen and anxious eye he glanced over the spears and pennons of along line of men-at-arms, passing under the raised portcullis of the castle gate.
The portcullis was lowered with a thundering clang, the spears and pennons, the gallant steeds and their stalwart riders, were lost to sight, but presently came bursting into view again, beyond the castle gate, where the highway to Florence, appearing from amid surrounding woods, led up a steep and precipitous hill. And there, flashing with gold and glowing with embroidery, the broad banner of the Duke of Florence was borne in the van of the cavalcade. Then came four men-at-arms, in armor of blazing gold; and then, distinguished by his rich array, rode the Duke, mounted upon a snow-white charger, and behind him, environed by guards, his arms lashed behind his back, came Lord Adrian Di Albarone, accused of the most foul and atrocious murder of his sire. Beside her son, her face closely veiled, and her form bowed low, the Countess rode; and in the rear, their steeds gaily prancing, their spears flashing, and their pennons glancing in the sun, came the men-at-arms in long and gallant array.
With parted lips and strained eyes did Signior Aldarin watch the movements of this company.
As the steed of the last man-at-arms was lost in the shades of the forest, Aldarin smiled grimly, and, extended his shrivelled hand, shouted in tones of exultation:
“One hour ago, I was the stooping scholar,—The Signior Aldarin. Now!” full boldly did he swell that little word; “Now, I am the Count Aldarin Di Albarone, lord of the wide domains of Albarone!”