University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER THE FIRST.
A SILVERY MOON AND A CLOUDLESS
SKY.

“Night among the mountains—oh, glorious
and beautiful!” arose the voice of the Wanderer,
as with one bold grasp he attained the topmost
rock of the hoary steep, rising far above forest and
stream—“Night among the mountains—the calm
moonbeams sleeping on the lake—the boundless
azure arching above—the rolling sweep of forest
and the rugged outline of precipice and steep—
the far-off convent, its towers looming thro' the
distance, like a cloud of evil omen—Night among
the mountains, glorious and grand and beautiful!

“Thank God for the breeze, the cool and freshning
breeze! It sweeps over my forehead, burning
as with the ravages of hidden flame, it bears the
fever from my cheek, and the madness from my
brain. And yet I must on, and on—afar I behold
the peaceful cot, appearing amid the luxuriance
of the hill-side vines—my steed lays bleeding
and dead in the vale below, still must I on,
and on!

“God of Heaven, will that face never depart
from my soul, the brow darkened by superhuman
hate, the eyes all aflame with the Curse of the
Fratricide, the white lips, and the sunken jaw;
with the blood oozing from every pore! Even now
I behold the face! And to her ear—help me
Saints of Light—to her ear must I bear the manner
of his doom!

“The moon shines in the heavens, calm and
beautiful—when the mild radiance of her beams
pales before the glory of the uprising sun—then,
then, will the angels of fate, write in the books
of the Unknown, the Doom of Adrian, the last of
the race of Albarone!”

And as the words broke murmuring from his
lips, he flung his form from the summit of
the steep, and grasping with eager hands the
point of each projecting rock, at last descended
to the bed of the valley, and sped onward on his
errand of woe, while higher in the heavens up
rose the moon.

High in the heavens arose the full orbed moon,
and calm and lovely was the sight, as enthroned
in the very zenith of the boundless azure, this
thing of beauty and of beams, shed a shower of
silver radiance down on the silent bosom of the
quiet vale, mirroring her rounded glory, in the
deep waters of the mountain lake, giving a ghastly
lustre to the white precipice, from whose foundations
arose the walls of the lonely convent, mossy
with age and darkened by time.

In this wide world of ours—so runs the wild
rhapsody of the Chronicler of the ancient MSS.—
in this wide world of ours,there are, I ween, many
things sublime and beautiful and grand, yet what
sight may compare with a cloudless heaven, a
silvery moon and a lovely extent of woody hills
and grassy vales? Never minstrel struck harp—
never romancer spoke the fancies of his brain,
that did not hymn thy praise, O! beauteous thing
of brilliance and of beams! For ages and for
ages thou hast held thy way of glory thro' the
arching heavens—thou hast looked down upon
warriors marching in all their pomp, and thou
hast beheld their withered forms strewn over the
battle plain;—lovers have poured forth their love
beneath thy light, and again thou hast looked
down upon their quiet graves;—nations have risen
and fallen;—monuments that gave promise of
eternal duration, have crumbled in the dust;—
cities have towered in deserts, and deserts have
won the place of gorgeous cities, yet still kind
nurturer of holy thoughts, inspirer of heavenly
fancies, yet still thou passest on in thy course of
light, and thus, with brilliance unpaling and unpaled,
glorious as when God first bade thee roll
thro' the azure expanse, shalt thou urge thy way
until the final trump of doom.

Arising in the calm moonbeams, the roof of the
lonely cottage gave its wreathing vines, all gay
with flowers, to the waving motion of the night
air, while the gleam of a taper, shooting from a
crevice of the closed lattice, varied the shadows
flung along one side of the tenement, by a glittering
thread of light.

Meanwhile the beams of the taper gave light to
the principal chamber of the cottage, where the
stately mother of Leoné the student, sate wrapt
in deep meditation.

“Strange!”—thus she murmured—“Strange!
Scarce seven days since we first concealed ourselves
in this lonely vale, and Adrian—ha! I may
be overheard—Leoné, has won the friendship of
this noble youth of Florence. Not that he acquires
honor thereby—by my troth, no!—the
youth is a good youth, and a fair, but the friendship
of Emperors cannot add glory to the heir of
Albarone—fool that I am!—ever repeating the
name of our race! Strange it is, very strange,
that the gentle Florian should take up his abode,
in our cot! He is ever with Leone!—They walk,
they eat, they drink together, and together they
pursue their studies! The fair stranger shall in
time become the leader of armies—but my son—
the last of an honored race, shall become a—monk.
The thought is maddening!”

The dame arose and hurriedly paced the room.
As she strode to and fro she perceived the door
of Leoné's apartment slightly ajar, and impelled
by mere restlessness, she took a mother's privilege,
and softly entered the room.

No sooner had she opened the door, than a
sight met her gaze, that caused her to start back
to the very threshold with astonishment.

Seated beside the table, on which a taper cast
its dim light, over the opened volume, the chairs
of the students were drawn close together, their
backs were turned to the dame, the arm of Leoné
was around the slender waist of the gentle Florian,
and with their heads laid one against the other,
the rich golden locks of Leoné mingled with a
shower of flaxen tresses that fell over the shoulders
and down the back of the fair stranger.

Treading on tip-toe and much wondering at
the unusual length of Florian's hair, the dame approached.

“Thou art weary, my love”—the whisper
broke from Florian's lips—thy dress is soiled with
dust and torn by travel—thy face is wan and
haggard, and—the Virgin save me—thine eyes
are bloodshot! Thou hast been absent two long
and weary days. Hast journeyed far to-day Adrian?”

“A score of miles, since the sunset hour.”

“And thou didst see the old castle yet again?”

Adrian replied in a whisper, and then as they
conversed in low murmurs, the dame observed the
form of her son agitated by a slight trembling motion,
while ever and anon he turned his head
aside veiling his face in his hands.

Nearer drew the dame, and looking over the
heads of the students, a tremor of surprise ran
over her frame, her hands were involuntarily raised,
her thin lips parted, her grey eyes expanded,
and her eyebrows arose to the very roots of her
hair. Silent she stood and motionless as a statue.

The evening being somewhat warm, the broach
that fastened Florian's doublet at the neck, was
unloosed and the opening garment gave to view a
neck of the most surpassing whiteness, spreading
into shoulders of flowing outline, budding into a
bosom of virgin tracery of form, all glowing with
the warm blood of youth, and heaving with the
pulsations of passion.