Volume One—Chapter Twelve.
We must now turn our view to a chamber in the chateau of the Baron Galetzoff. It was furnished with heavy and old fashioned hangings which gave it a solemn and sombre air, increased by the windows being closed to exclude the glare of day; one stream of light alone entering through the curtains, and throwing a still darker shade into the rest of the room. Two female attendants stood by the side of a couch, on which reclined, now wan and emaciated, that unhappy and mysterious lady, whom Ivan had so short a time before left in health, and all the majesty of beauty.
Her eye fixed and regardless of all around, her thoughts seemed to be far away, wandering perchance amid the scenes of her youth, with the loved beings of other days, whom she had long, long ago lost, but soon hoped again to meet in other and happier realms. As she gazed, their airy forms flitted before her eyes, and the well remembered lineaments became clear, and distinct, beckoning her to follow. She moved not, she spoke not, and as the attendants looked on her, they thought her spirit had departed.
A slow and gentle step approached: it was that of a venerable grey-headed man in the robes of a priest, whose clear, calm eye, and placid countenance, betokened an amiable and tender heart. He seated himself quietly by the side of the couch, but the movement roused the lady from her seeming trance, and she turned her eyes towards him.
“Daughter,” he said, “I could not rest away from your side, and as soon as I had performed the duties which called me hence, I returned to afford you all the consolation of which religion has so great a store.”
“Father!” she answered in a low voice, “to your instructions do I owe the great, the inestimable benefits which I may now partake of; else had I remained like the beast that perishes, without that faith and hope which now sustain me.”
“Daughter! those are the sentiments which should possess the bosoms of all who are about to leave this vale of tears,” continued the holy man; “clear your thoughts of all things appertaining to this world, and fix them on the next.”
“I would do so, Father, but I cannot!” answered the lady. “I must, ere I die, see one, the dearest to me on earth; till then I cannot tear my thoughts from him. Has he arrived? Oh! that I could see him, ere my spirit wings its flight from hence. Oh! let there be no delay when he comes, for each instant I feel the throbbing of my heart grow weaker.”
“There shall be no delay, my daughter! a faithful messenger has been sent to summon him; but, when I just now entered the house, he had not arrived,” said the priest. Scarcely had he uttered the words, when the lady exclaimed, “Ah, I now hear his horse’s steps approaching; oh! haste, Father, and bid him come hither.”
“You are mistaken, daughter, I heard no sound, and he could scarcely arrive by this hour,” answered the priest.