The room was about the size of the one assigned to him, but hung with elegant white velvet, with gilt and purple trimmings. The carpet, also of white velvet, was strewn with great purple pansies, so perfect with their golden centers, and in their royal beauty, that Robert scarcely dared to step lest he should crush out their brilliant hues.
The furniture, of purple and white, and framed in gilt, was of the most exquisite and graceful pattern. Lovely paintings and statues adorned the walls and niches of the room, and upon a table of some foreign wood inlaid with pearl, were scattered richly bound books, music, and all the delicate little trifles which one so likes to see in a lady’s boudoir.
Over this table, and perched daintily upon one foot in his fancy cage, was a canary of purest gold, ever and anon twittering and chirping an echo to the song of his fair mistress.
For several moments Robert scarcely dared to breathe, lest the lovely scene should melt away before his vision, and he awake and find it all a dream. He stood transfixed and amazed; every step he took in this strange smugglers’ fortress, he discovered new beauties and fresh mysteries.
Upon a divan, dressed in spotless white, sat a golden-haired maiden, lightly fingering a magnificent harp, and pouring forth her soul in song.
Her face was fair and pure as a lily, and round, sweet, and almost babyish in its contour. Her heavily fringed lids drooped over a pair of purple-blue eyes, and almost lay upon her delicately tinted cheeks, while occasionally a bright drop left their wondrous depths and rolled like a sparkling dewdrop down upon the purple pansies at her feet.
All at once her song ceased, and with a deep sigh the bright beauty bowed her lovely head and rested it against the harp before her.
Almost involuntarily the sigh was echoed from our hero’s breast, and the spell was broken.
The young girl started violently, and rising, a low, frightened cry broke from her ripe lips as her glance rested upon Robert.
He recognized her at once.