University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.
THE PAGE AND THE DAMSEL.

In a richly furnished ante-room, adjoining the
bower of the Ladye Annabel, on a couch of the
most inviting softness, lay Guiseppo, well known
to all the castle as the favorite page of his grace
of Florence.

A lamp of the most elaborate moulding, suspended
from the ceiling, threw a brilliant light
over the rose colored tapestry that adorned the
walls and relieved the eye, gaily embroidered with
the history of the temptations of the blessed St.
Anthony. Here forms of terror appalled, and
there shapes of beauty cheered the venerable saint,
who was distinguished by a nose of a very blooming
hue, marking a face redolent with the kiss of
the wine-god. The floor of the apartment was carefully
strewn with rushes, and here and there were
placed couches rivalling, in downy softness, the
one on which Guiseppo lay, while everything
wore the appearance of ease and luxury.

The small, yet well-proportioned figure of the
youth was arrayed in a doublet of fine blue velvet
embroidered with gold, and brilliant with jewelled
chains, that hung depending from his neck. His
well formed legs were shown to the best advantage
by hose of doe-skin, fitting close to the person,
and he wore boots of the same material, ornamented
with spurs of gold. His doublet was gathered
about his waist by a belt that shone with gold

and jewels, and at his left side he wore a rare
dagger, with handle of ivory and sheath of gold.

The features of Guiseppo were not formed after
the regular line of manly beauty, yet every lineament
was redolent of light-hearted mirth and gleesome
mischief. His forehead was rather low, his
eyebrows arching, and his hazel eyes somewhat
protruding; his nose was a thought too large, his
lips curving with a merry smile, his cheeks full
and glowing, and his rich brown hair fell in clustering
locks down upon his collar of rarest lace.

He laid upon the couch in an easy position, his
hazel eyes sparkling yet more brightly, and his lip
curving yet more merrily, as he gazed upon a billet
which he held in his right hand over his head.

“To the fair Ladye Annabel,” thus he murmured
to himself; “to be delivered as soon as she
recovers from her swoon—hum!”

Here the page sprang suddenly up into a sitting
posture. It seemed as if some new thought
had taken possession of his fancy. His eyes
sparkled, his lip curved, his cheeks rounded, and
his whole frame shook with suppressed laughter.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, as the tears came into
his eyes; “Oh! 'twas exquisite!” He gave
his right leg an emphatic slap. “'Twas exquisite—exquisite—exquisite!”
And laughing louder
than ever, the page walked up and down the
apartment, well nigh bursting with repeated fits of
merriment.

“Oh! St. Guiseppo!” he cried, “an' I live to
he an old man, I shall never recover it! Ha—
ha—ha!”

Mayhap it was very fortunate for Guiseppo
that the door leading into Ladye Annabel's apartment
was opened, just at the moment when he
seemed about dissolving in his merriment.

A lovely black-eyed, dark-haired maiden entered
the chamber, with an angry look, as if to reprove
the author of this boisterous laughter; but
no sooner did she behold Guiseppo than she rushed
into his arms, pronouncing his name at the
same time, to which he very quietly responded—
“Rosalind!” accompanying the expression with a
kiss.

Having seated themselves upon a couch, Rosalind
began to recall the times of old, naming many
a familiar scene, many a well-known spot, where
they had rambled together, ere Guiseppo left the
castle—within whose walls he had been reared—
to be a page to his grace of Florence.

As Rosalind rattled on, Guiseppo sat in mute
admiration, much wondering to behold the lively
little child whom he had left some two years since,
grown up into a handsome and budding damsel.
He gazed with peculiar admiration upon the boddice
of green velvet which fitted so nicely, revealing
the shape of one of the finest busts in the
world—so Guiseppo thought, at least. He also
had some indefinite idea of the prettiness of the
cross of ebony, which, strung round her arching
neck by a chain of gold, rose and fell with the
heavings of the maiden's bosom.

The dimple of the chin—thought Guiseppo—
is very pretty; those lips are very tempting, but
those beautiful, dancing, beaming black eyes—
Guiseppo rounded the sentence with a sigh.

“I'faith, Guiseppo,” continued Rosalind, “your
merriment, but a moment gone, startled me with
affright. You might have awaked my cousin, the
Ladye Annabel. She is sleeping after her fright in
that dreadful vault. Tell me, Guiseppo, what
made you so merry?”

The mirthful idea—whatever it was—again
danced before the fancy of the page, and he fell
into a fit of laughter, interspersed with numerous
exclamations of delight.

At last Rosalind wrung from him the cause of
his mirth, which he told somewhat after the following
fashion.