Adrian Di Albarone drank the Bowl, and drained it to the dregs, and as he drank, the lovely face of Annabel swam round him in wild confusion, mingling with the dark countenance of Albertine, and the bronzed visage of the Sworder, while his heart seemed turning to fire, and his brain to molten lead.
He drained the bowl to the dregs, and then fell prostrate over the coffin, and then came a cold and unconscious pause, when his heart, and his brain, were wrapt in forgetfulness, covering his soul like a thick mist, or the deep darkness of midnight.
Awaking slowly from this oblivion of soul, he beheld looking him calmly, yet fixedly in the face, the countenance of his father, Lord Julian of Albarone, pale as death, and livid with the hues of corruption yet lighted by the deep glance of those shadowy eyes, that seemed to burn in their very sockets, like meteors seen through the dimness of the day-break mist.
As this face so wild, so lofty and so ghastly in its supernatural expression, faded slowly away from the vision of Adrian, his soul became the prisoner of mighty Dreams, the Spirits of the Grave, who called up before his eye, this dark and startling Mysterie.
THE MYSTERIE OF LIFE.
He stood in the court-yard of an ancient castle, with the frown of the old walls glooming over his head, while the blaze of the festal lights thrown from the lofty windows gave a ruddy light to the scene.
Gladsome strains of music, the light-hearted laugh of the reveller, the gay carol of the minstrel came echoing to his ear.
He looked around the courtyard, and beheld ranged under the shadow of the ancient wall the chariots of the great and proud, extending in long and brilliant array, as far as eye could see, each chariot with its panels blazing with heraldic emblazonings boasting its gallant attendance of four noble steeds, decorated with gay housings and waving plumes, red, azure and snow-white in hue, while numerous servitors, attired in liveries of every color and gaudy device, ran to and fro, their shouts of boisterous merriment, mingling with the voices of their Lords, joining in the glee song of the banquet hall.
Ascending a massive stairway, with snow-white marble steps, and rare paintings adorning the wall, Adrian made his way through the crowds of feasters, passing to and fro, through the stream of servitors bearing dainty viands to the revellers above, and in a single moment stood within the glare and glitter of the Festival Hall.
It was in sooth, a grand and magnificent scene.