University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER THE FOURTH.
THE CELL OF ST. ARELINE.

A lamp of iron, all rusted and time-eaten, suspended
from the arched ceiling of a small apart
ment of the convent of St. Benedict, reserved in
especial for strangers, threw a dim light over the
figure of his grace of Florence, reposing on a velvet
couch, and upon the blazing armor of the attending
men-at-arms, who waited beside their
lord.

A smile, full of self-satisfaction, rested upon the
lip of the Duke, and a glance full of agreeable
fancies lit up his eye, as he contemplated the fulfilment
of all his schemes.

“The forward boy punished for his insolence,”
—thus run his musings—“done to death for the
treasonable act of lifting his hand against his liege
lord—this accomplished, the fair Annabel is mine,
and with her I acquire the rich domains of Albarone.
A servitor but a moment since bears me
intelligence that she has recovered from her madness.
By'r Ladye, my exhausted coffers shall be
replenished to the brim! Ha—ha—ha! Then
I shall war and conquer. Why not I as well as
others of my rank and power? I shall war—I
shall conquer—I shall—”

“My Lord Duke,” exclaimed a sentinel, thrusting
his head from between the folds of a sable
curtain that hung across the apartment, dividing
it from an adjoining chamber, within whose walls
were the followers of his grace. “My Lord Duke,
a monk of the convent craves audience with your
grace—shall I admit him?”

“Aye, let him enter.”

And in a moment, there stood before the Duke
a monk attired in the dark robe of his order: his
hood was drawn over his face, and, with depressed
head and folded arms, he seemed to wait the
commands of his grace of Florence

“Thy errand, sir monk?”

“I come by the bidding of the Father Abbot,
to lead thee to the cell of the blessed St. Areline.”

“Ah! I remember me. As I dismounted at
the castle gate, the reverend abbot told me that it
had been a custom, from time past memory, for
all strangers visiting the holy house of St. Benedict,
to pass an hour in the cell of this saint—St.
Areline, methinks she is styled. Further, he told
me the saint has the power of revealing future
events. Is't so, holy father?”

“Even so, my Lord Duke. When besought,
on bended knee, in the silence of midnight, the
form of the blessed saint appears fired with supernatural

life: her eyes flash and her lips move,
and the doom of the suppliant—whether for good
or for evil—is revealed.”

“At midnight, say'st thou? 'Tis a lone hour.
By'r our Ladye, but the evil one may have something
to do with the matter.”

“That may not be, my Lord Duke. The holy
Areline died in the odour of sanctity. The scorner
and the outcast of heaven alone doubt her holiness
and power. For three centuries hath the
fame of St. Areline been sounded abroad, and now
it were sin unpardonable to say aught against her
sacred name.”

“Lead on, holy father; in God's name, lead
on: I'll follow thee. Hugo! I say, Hugo!”

The face of the ill-looking sentinel with the
squinting eye, appeared among the folds of the
sable curtain.

“Hugo, where is Balvardo, thy comrade—eh?
Speak quickly—where is Balvardo?”

The sinister eye of the sentinel squinted yet
more fearfully; he looked confusedly round, and
stammered forth:

“My Lord Duke, he is—he is—”

He paused suddenly, and finished the sentence
by pointing downward with the forefinger of the
right hand, with a sort of diving motion.

Ah! I had forgotten that, good Hugo! Thou
wilt attend me, vassals; and ye, sirs, shall also
accompany me to this midnight ceremony.”

While he thus spoke, the monk threw open a
door at the end of the apartment opposite the sable
curtain, and, followed by the Duke, attended
by Hugo and the two men-at-arms, with torches
in their hands, he presently was traversing a long
gallery, with his head still depressed and his arms
still folded on his breast.

“By'r our Lady, but thou art wondrous chary
of thy good looks!—eh, sir monk?”

“It becomes not a sinner like me to be otherwise
than humble. It becomes not a poor brother
of St. Benedict to assume an erect port and a bold
countenance before—his grace of Florence!”

“Well said, by my troth! Whither art leading
me, holy father? Ha! a stairway; it extends
above us as though it had no end. Ugh! how
those torches glare—how gloomy these arches
seem! Lead on, sir monk!”

Ascending the stairway, they found themselves
in a winding gallery, with floor of stone, low
arching roof, and narrow walls. Through the
mazes of this passage they swiftly wound, and
presently they stood at the foot of another stair-way.

“By St. Peter!” exclaimed the Duke, “but
these passages are like the windings of a witch's
den. How runs the night, holy father?”

“When I left the halls of the convent, the
sands of the hour glass had fallen to within an
half hour of midnight.”

“Ah! we shall be just in time for the trial of
St. Areline's power. Another gallery! By'r
Ladye, but this is wondrous! In the name of thy
patron, St. Benedict, I adjure thee, monk, tell me
are we not near our journey's end?”

“See'st thou yon oaken door that terminates
the gallery? The oaken door with large panels,
and topped by arches of dark stone? There, an
it please thee, my Lord Duke, must thou leave
thy attendants, and alone, and in the dark, we
shall enter the cell of the blessed St. Areline.”

“How? Leave my attendants? `Alone,' sayst
thou? `In the dark,'? Beshrew mete,h sir
monk, but this saint of thine is somewhat difficult
of audience!”

“The reward she offereth is beyond price. A
knowledge of the future—the dim and shadowy
future! Thou shalt behold thy coming deeds
written in characters of light; thy future conquests
shall spread themselves before thee like the
varying beauties of a lovely landscape. Thou
shalt—”

“'S life! thou talkest well! Enough: we
stand before the oaken door. Enter—I'll follow
thee!”

The monk passed his hand over one of the
panels of the huge door, and pressing a secret
spring, a narrow passage was opened, through
which the brother of St. Benedict disappeared,
followed by his grace of Florence.

“There they go,” Hugo exclaimed as the panel
closed. “There they go upon their madcap adventure.
The saints save me from all such folly!”

“And me, comrade,” cried the tallest of the
men-at-arms, letting the sheath of his sword fall
heavily upon the pavement of stone.

“I say amen to your prayers,” exclaimed the
other, looking very wise in the torchlight.

“Ha! what noise is that?” cried Hugo, as he
gave a sudden start.

“'Tis down in the court-yard,” exclaimed the
tall man-at-arms. Hark! 'tis the clashing of
swords—the rattling of spears—the clashing of
armour.”

“Shouts, too!” cried the other soldier, “Ha!
war cries! 'S life! it sounds as if they were
battering down the gates! Hark! again! and
again!”

And thus, while the sounds waxed louder, and
the cries grew fiercer in the court-yard below, the
men-at-arms, and their companion, Hugo, waited
with the utmost impatience the coming of their
lord. An hour passed. The Duke had not appeared.
The tall man-at-arms fixed his eyes upon
the massive door, and struck the secret panel with
his spear, urged by all the vigor of his stalwart
arm. Another and another blow. The wood
yielded, and the open space gave passage to the
man-at-arms, who forced his way through, followed
by his comrade and Hugo of the sinister eye.
Their torches flashed upon the walls of a square
apartment, with floor and roof of stone. No living
creature was there. A small, narrow door
gave entrance to another apartment. Three pillars
of time-worn stone supported the arched roof,
and divided the place into three sides, with floor
of variegated stone. One side of the apartment
was concealed by a curtain of sable velvet. This
Hugo hurriedly drew, and in an instant his ungainly
figure was reflected in a vast mirror of dazzling
steel, which, reaching to the arched ceiling
above, twice the height of a man, extended on either
side as wide as it was high. Around the
apartment was no sign of passage way or secret
door; all was bare and rugged stone, and the
place was without bench, stool, couch, or furniture
of any kind.

“By'r Ladye!” shouted Hugo, “that monk
was the—devil, and he has run away with our
lord! W-h-e-w!”

And the three fairly shook with mingled surprise
and terror, which was presently increased to
alarm and horror by the clashing of arms in the
outer apartment.