It was a night of peaceful calm. As the st.u.r.dy rowers urged on their vessel, her bows parted the waters into a thousand phosph.o.r.escent ripples, which, widening as the boat moved onward, spread into one broad, flaming wake in their rear.

Fidunia carried with her an ancient gold goblet, wherein the King besought her to place the precious drops, should she succeed in obtaining them. Grasping it tightly in her hand, as if to persuade herself she was not dreaming, she gazed awestruck on the overwhelming beauty of the landscape, arrayed in night's fairest covering.

Already distant, the City of Deva lay white and ghost-like under the moon's pale ray. Here and there a gleam of light showed that there were watchers on land, and from the high turret window of Castle Xylina one ruddy gleam shot a quivering reflection far along the ever-lengthening track of their little craft.

Before them the nearing crags of Spera rose abrupt and beetling towards the sky. The boat moved rapidly along. Now became audible the surging swell and low m.u.f.fled boom of the ocean, ever chafing, ever restless, even when apparently at peace; and ever repelled by those giant sentinels of the deep. Numbers of sea-birds, disturbed by the unwonted splash of oars, wheeled screaming above their heads, and suddenly brought to Fidunia's mind with agitating distinctness the recollection of her second forest dream.

But all other thoughts were merged in the approaching performance of her self-imposed task. They had gradually rounded the opening to a little bay where the water seemed more shallow, and the sea only broke in tiny wavelets upon a small shelf of pearly white sand. Here Fidunia stepped from the boat. Leaving human companionship behind, she slowly paced along the narrow margin. Finally, following the moon-lit line and heedful of Domenichino's oft-repeated instructions, she disappeared behind the frowning ledge of rock which bounded the narrow inlet.

Only a very few minutes after she had thus gone from their sight, they could hear dimly across the intervening waters, the faint tolling of the midnight bells in the great City. In indescribable anxiety Domenichino, who alone (among these rude boat-men) knew her peril, counted the minutes till Fidunia's return, and resolved that at the expiration of a certain time he would at all risks persist in following the unprotected maiden.

But, ere the appointed period had elapsed, Fidunia, with buoyant steps, turned swiftly the dark boundary and rapidly drew near. High resolve sat upon her brow and stamped her features with a n.o.ble ardour. Closely clasped to her bosom she held the precious vase, but to no mortal ear might she unfold the thrilling tale of her solitary experience.

Had she within those mystic precincts heard a warning voice which bade her pause ere she dashed the cup of earthly happiness from her lips?

How and where had she obtained the crystal liquid that leapt and sparkled in its golden prison? Had she entered the ice-cold waters and braved the wave-engulfing arms of the merry, malicious mer-men, who warily watch, and at the midnight hour have power to bear to their coral haunts the bold earth-maiden who shall step within their native element?

These, and numberless other questions, crowded into Domenichino's mind as he sped to meet her; but she raised her finger to her lips, and with a mute gesture of entreaty silently took her place in the little vessel. The weather-beaten boatmen shrank back as she pa.s.sed them by, her hair and garments glistening with a thousand rainbow-coloured drops; yet, as she dreamily took her place in the stern, one, less bashful than his compeers, awkwardly placed his rough coat so as to shelter and keep her warm.

The wind had arisen. It swept moaningly around, hurrying dark clouds across the face of the moon, and presently shrouding her altogether from their sight. But the red tower-light from distant Xylina guided the homeward-bound crew, and ere very long they were safely landed below the slumbering City.

Still voiceless, Fidunia, with lagging footsteps, ascended the steep hill. Her energy was gone; she leant heavily on Domenichino's arm, and but for his aid must have fallen more than once exhausted by the way.

At last the castle was reached. In answer to her signal the faithful esquire knocked at his master's turret door. An impatient voice bade them enter. Antiphates himself, stumbling hastily to meet them, started as he took Fidunia's cold hand in his. She gently withstood his eager inquiries and solicitude for her health. "Sire," she murmured, "I am very weary, but these poor hands must this night bathe your eyes."

At her words the King, obedient, sank on a couch near at hand, and Fidunia, dipping her fingers into the golden goblet, timidly pressed them again and again over his burning eyelids. Her cool, soft touch soothed his irritated nerves and brought refreshing peace to his restless mind. A strange calm folded its enshadowing wings around those busy brows and wrapt the imperious monarch in a sweet and childlike slumber.

Raising her finger again to her lips, in token of silence, and signing to Domenichino to leave his sovereign for the night, Fidunia quitted the turret chamber and sought her own apartment. Here the listening Fido greeted her approaching footsteps with a whine of delight, and testified his joy at her return by many expressive gambols.

Long into the night she sat on her balcony, acting over in thought again and again the exciting scenes of that eventful evening. It seemed to her she had only just fallen asleep when she was suddenly startled from her slumbers by a loud paean of rejoicing blown from the castle wall by the silver trumpets.

For a moment recollection failed her, but then glad certainty flashed on her mind, and, as if to make a.s.surance doubly sure, some of the women of the palace, rushing abruptly into her chamber, confirmed the glad tidings. They urged her to arise and dress in haste, for the King could not rest till he had seen and thanked his deliverer in person.

Fidunia hurriedly arrayed herself. Accompanied by Fido, she hastened along the now well-known pa.s.sages of the palace. She ascended the broad stairs and pa.s.sed the tall guards in the corridor, with their nodding plumes. The doors of the presence chamber were thrown open before her.

On the threshold she stood a moment irresolute. Then, notwithstanding their intimacy, knowing his newly-gained power, she advanced timidly towards the great King. There was a pause, she raised her eyes to his.

The monarch seemed transformed! Instead of half-closed, unseeing eyes, and all the accompanying hesitation and uncertainty, two searching orbs now bent their dark majesty full on the bashful maiden. In that one moment she drank in the fatal secret, which no after-words could disguise.

It was but too true!

A pa.s.sionate adorer of beauty, Antiphates had, during the past months, almost unknown to himself, clothed his unseen love with perfect loveliness. His heart therefore beat high with expectation as her footfall was heard at the door, and when, with her attendant Fido, she entered alone, he could not control the impulse of disappointment too plainly written on his expressive, speaking countenance.

The dawn of light on his long-darkened orbs revealed to him the unattractive colouring and irregular features of the being he had in blindness learned to adore, and no self-command on his part could conceal from love's unerring instinct his change of mood.

Now, however, with well-simulated alacrity, he rose from his throne.

Stepping down with a free, unfettered gait, widely different from his wonted stumbling manner, he took the maiden's hand in his own. Pouring confused and hurried thanks into her ear, he led her to the seat where she had pa.s.sed so many happy hours.

In vain he strove to conjure back the fascination Fidunia once possessed for him. Oh! subtle influence! who can accurately define the thrilling tie that makes the one we love different from all the world beside? who, when the frail chain of enchantment is once severed, can join again those mystic links?

The King and Fidunia conversed in low tones, apparently unchanged: the gay courtiers around at least observed no cloud on the horizon. Waiting within call, they cl.u.s.tered eagerly around Domenichino to hear his adventures of the previous night, and to discuss together the approaching marriage of the maiden, now beloved by all, with their fortune-favoured prince. They recked not of the cold shadow that crept slowly into the little maid's heart, and clouded her fair and hitherto untroubled sky.

Fido alone, close and vigilant, marked the awakening sorrow of his beloved mistress. He felt the hand that caressed him grow cold and pulseless. He noted the accent of despair in Fidunia's choking voice.

His unsophisticated nature rose indignant at the selfishness of the human friend, who (after such vows breathed, and responded to by her to whom they were addressed), could change and grow indifferent to the being who had gone through so much for his sake.

How true it is that maidens, like flowers, expand in the presence of him they love, in the warm sunshine of adoration. When that cheering beam is withdrawn, how colourless and scentless, how devoid of beauty, do their drooping blossoms become!

Even so it was with Fidunia, the happy light that had of late dawned in her gray eyes now faded away. Hour after hour she wept alone on her sleepless pillow, sadly musing over times departed,

"Departed never to return."

One wakeful night she poured out her thoughts in these words:

The silent hour of night prevailed, the Earth Was in her first and dewy slumber, while The Moon unveiled her pure and peerless light, And threw her radiance o'er the dusky haunts Of men.

An atom on the world's broad breast Alone, beneath those chilly beams I mused, On Death and Immortality.

My soul Sped swiftly upward on the ethereal ray, And left enthralled the grosser part of self, The slumbering mortal portion of my frame.

The spirit world was gained, and for a s.p.a.ce Enchantment wove mine aching heart a strange Bright web of many hued delight. She gave To that brief Dream all the reality That made its flying moments pa.s.sing sweet.

The kindly echoes lent their magic aid, And tones reverberated in mine ear Whose music gently whispered rapture, not Of Earth, but of some far-off lovely Land, A Time when all that is not yet may be.

With trembling sigh, from happiness too great, I all unknowing broke the mystic spell, And shivering back, through dark and dreary ways, No Moon to guide the weary feet, no Light To cheer the falling spirit, once again Within dull clay poor Psyche found her home, And woke to bitter loneliness and woe.

She had in truth a rough awakening from her dream of happiness. As day by day the restless monarch showed more and more the change in his feelings that perfect vision had wrought, Fidunia not only pa.s.sed through the deep waters of sorrow in realizing his alienation, but experienced moreover a fresh and equally poignant pain as the veil of illusion fell from her disenchanted eyes, and taught the simple-hearted young girl that she could never again regard her monarch with the same trusting faith.

To one of hasty impulsive temperament like Antiphates, dissimulation proved impossible: however much he was bound, alike by the ties of honour and of grat.i.tude, to keep the vows publicly pledged to his deliverer, he could not forgive the hapless girl her lack of outward beauty. He valued not the delicate refinement of her nature. He marked not the ethereal spirit that shone unconquerable through her transparent eye. His affection had been of the earth, earthy; evanescent as frail mortality itself.

Nor was Fidunia's spirit formed in a mould to sicken and die of unrequited affection. In happier days, the happiest of her short life, she had, in spite of the vast difference in their ages, learned to regard the gifted King with something akin to reverential love. The eager wooing of one so talented and fascinating could not fail to produce some corresponding effect on the imagination of the forest maiden. Not unsolicited she had yielded up her gentle heart, and come gradually to centre all the hopes and thoughts of her young life upon Antiphates.

She now grew to spend longer hours each day in wandering round the precincts of Xylina. The child of nature, she ever found her truest solace beneath the wide canopy of heaven. There no walls pent in her labouring sobs, no human eye beheld the slowly falling tears, mourners over a vanished past, that welled up one by one from her burning heart; tears that slowly rising, purified still further her much afflicted spirit, and weaned her soul from the earthly love which for a time had satisfied that strange immortal portion of mortality.

Fido, ever beside his mistress, grew like her, pensive and forlorn. He knew she was in grief, and his mute sympathy gave her comfort, as together they climbed through the mazy wood, or explored the hills that rose behind the castle.

In these wanderings, Fidunia came frequently to a knoll, commanding the lovely expanse of waters beneath. Looking across the broad bay of Deva, the horizon was bounded only by the fair island of Spera, so fraught with memory's brightest records. Here upon a bank of wild thyme, sheltered by the cool olive trees, and fanned by the pa.s.sing breeze, she pondered over her mysterious lot, and shudderingly thought of the blank untrodden future.

But counsel and comfort already approached. One day as she thus sat, rapt and musing, a gentle voice addressed her; turning half alarmed, she beheld the sweetest face her eyes had ever dwelt upon. That countenance shone with heaven-born beauty. "Sister Angela" (for thus the stranger was called) had also sorrowed, but she had found lasting comfort in the convent of Saint Sebastian. This monastery was near at hand, though partially concealed by the dense foliage and the ma.s.ses of creepers which clothed its outer walls. Angela had oftentimes seen and yearned over the sorrowful young girl, and at last, issuing forth, ventured to greet her.

She tenderly saluted Fidunia, who, before long, learnt to love and trust her new friend. She soon came daily to seek for guidance and comfort at her hands, confiding to Angela's sympathizing ears the chequered story of her brief life.

Meantime, to add still further to the griefs of poor Fidunia, her little dog disappeared. She first missed him one afternoon as, after long converse with her new found friend, she turned to descend the gra.s.sy slopes to Castle Xylina.

During those hours she had formed a high and holy resolution. Alone in the world, she aspired to become one of the sisterhood to whom Angela belonged, and to find an asylum for her wearied wounded heart within the sacred walls of Saint Sebastian.

On reaching the Castle, Fidunia sought everywhere for Fido, but no one had seen him, or could tell whither he had gone. While occupied in threading the long pa.s.sages and calling anxiously for her missing companion, she met Domenichino hastening to entreat her attendance on the King. Without returning to her chamber to alter her attire, Fidunia turned and accompanied him to the royal presence.

Antiphates met her at the entrance of the hall. In kind yet constrained tones the monarch condoled with her as he heard of Fido's disappearance. He gave orders moreover that the strictest search should at once be inst.i.tuted throughout Deva and its environs for Fidunia's dear little favourite.

"But now," continued the King, leading her to a deep embrasure, whence could be seen the fair landscape beneath, "I am anxious you should name the day for the ceremony that is to unite the debtor to his mistress, and thus permit me to fulfil my plighted troth." So saying, he carried her hand lightly to his lips, and looked searchingly upon her. But even his bold eyes fell rebuked beneath Fidunia's pure enquiring gaze, now divested of all hesitation or embarra.s.sment. No word of reproach for his altered behaviour towards her, since she had restored his sight, fell from her. No murmur escaped her. But her voice quavered as, in a few simple sentences, she unfolded to him the purpose she had that day formed of taking upon herself the vows of Saint Sebastian.

A sense of momentary shame at his own want of generosity dyed the King's rough cheek a deeper hue. He felt his inability to urge Fidunia with any zest to renounce her lofty aspirations. He strove to conceal his satisfaction, but he knew too well that her voluntary self-devotion relieved him from a perplexing dilemma.