When Tacita woke, Elena was waiting to tell her that Dylar was in the drawing-room, and would show her the castle.
To one acquainted with old countries there was nothing surprising in the massive, half-ruined structure, with its rock foundations, and the impossibility of finding one’s way unguided from one part of the interior to the other. The ancient tapestries, the stone floors with their faded rugs from oriental looms, the stone stairways where a carpet would have looked out of place, and was, in fact, spread only as flowers are scattered for some festa,—they were not strange to Tacita. But they were most interesting.
A round tower made the centre of the castle; and there was a wing at either side with a labyrinth of chambers. This tower formed a rude porter’s lodge on the ground, a fine hall above, a gallery by the sleeping-rooms, and the fourth floor was Dylar’s private study. From this room a narrow stair went up through the thickness of the wall to the roof terrace. There were secret passages, and loop-holes for observation everywhere.
“God knows how many deeds of darkness these hidden chambers may have witnessed!” Dylar said. “If it had not seemed possible that they may be useful in the future, some of them would have been torn down before this. If any large agricultural work were attempted, it might be necessary to lodge the workmen here for a while. When these houses you see were being built, a hundred men dined every day in a hall in the eastern wing.”
They had stepped out on to the terrace, where chairs had been placed for them, screened from sight by the parapet, so that as they sat only a green and gold rim of the settlement was visible.
“How beautiful it would be,” said Tacita, “if all that plain were wheat and corn and vines and orchards, with the hills crowned with small separate cities, all stone, with not a green leaf, only boxes of pinks outside the windows.”
“Just my thought!” Dylar exclaimed, blushing with pleasure. “Who knows but it may be some day? We own some land outside our farms, and have begun by planting it with canes. It is that unbroken green band you see yonder. It is larger than it looks.”
They were silent a little while. There was no word that could have added to their happiness. Then the prince began his story.
“Three hundred years ago the name of Dylar was well known in some of the great cities of Europe and the East. The family had occupied high places, and the head of it at that time, whose portrait you have seen, was a brave soldier. He was fortunate in everything,—too fortunate, for he excited envy. He had a beautiful wife and a young son and a daughter.
“His wife died, and with her departed his good fortune. While he mourned for her, forgetful of everything but grief, those who envied him were busy. I need not enter into details. His life is all recorded, and you can read it if you will. It is enough to say that his enemies succeeded in depriving him of place, and in multiplying their own number. They changed the whole face of the earth for him.