“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
And while the noble chief was waiting for nightfall, the lady whom he loved was looking from a window of the old castle towards the mountains, amongst which she knew Ernani dwelt.
A real Spanish lady was Elvira, as could be seen, had anybody been able to spy her at the window. But, alas! no one could, for Don Ruy, her guardian, hid her as a jewel which he feared might be stolen. He was seventy, she was seventeen; his hair was grey, hers was black, and yet he had determined that she should marry him.
As she sat at the window, watching the sun go down, she was at least at peace, for the grandee was away from the castle. And so she sat pensive, and dreaming of Ernani, perhaps, hoping he would come and carry her off. At last it was night time, and still the don had not returned.
Suddenly the door of the quiet room opened, and a procession entered; gay in itself, but of ominous import to the lady at the window—a string of young maidens bearing rich gifts, marriage gifts; for, truth to tell, the old don had resolved that his marriage with Elvira should take place on the following day. Listen what they say to her.
“How many Spanish maidens envy thee, fair lady. Thou wilt be the highest lady in all the land. These gifts alone are a mine of wealth. To-morrow thou wilt be a bride.”
“I thank you; but the dazzle of diamonds will not lighten hate into love.” And she again thought, “I would Ernani were here, and that he would fly with me.”
Hardly had they, the present bearers, left the room, than she turned quickly at the sound of a cautious footstep—she thought it was that of Ernani. But no; another had learnt, the secret entrance her bandit lover used. Another, who had watched and seen Ernani enter. Not a mean man this. A king—a KING! Don Carlos, King of Castille. She saw her error, shrunk back, and cried out:—
“Sire, you here, at this hour!”
“I love thee, lady, at all hours.”