University of Virginia Library

THE SPECTRE FATHER.

The Duke turned to the vast multitude. He
raised his sword on high. “Witness ye gallant
knights, witness ye fair dames, I now swear upon
the hilt of my sword, that the morrow's sun shall
behold me and my followers bound for Palestine,
there to fight for the Holy Sepulchre. And so
help me God and St. George!”

And there stood Adrian, with his ducal robe of
purple thrown back from his shoulders, his right
hand pressing his sword hilt to his lip, his left
arm raised to the heavens, while his eyes flashed
with all the enthusiasm of his soul.

The cry ran like a lightning flash through the
temple, every voice was for Palestine, every tongue
shouted—“on—on to the rescue—God for the
Holy Sepulchre!” Sir Geoffrey o' th' Long-sword
raised his sword on high, the Ladye Annabel,
fired by the holy feeling of the moment, lifted
the cross of ebony depending from her neck to
her lips, as a thunder-shout arose from the multitude,
and while all was exultation and joy, bold
Robin the stout yeoman flung the broad banner of
the Duke to the air, and the bright sunbeams
shining upon the azure folds gilded with dazzling
light the blazonry of gold, and every eye beheld
the armorial bearings of the Lord of Florence,
with the words in letters of gold—

“It is past, the dark and fearful night,” again repeated
Adrian, as he gazed over this scene of wild
enthusiasm; “Lo! the morning cometh!”

As he spoke the cathedral was suddenly darkened,
a thick mist filled the Church, and one man
could scarce distinguish the form of another by his
side.

A wild, wild laugh sounded to the very roof of
the cathedral, it rung upon the senses of the vast
multitude, and was echoed from every aisle of the
solemn temple.

“What means this darkness?” Adrian shouted,
drawing his sword; “Hist! I hear a footstep. It
passes over the throne. It passes between me and
thee Annabel; yet I see no form, I hear no voice.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” The wild laugh again arose upon
the dark and twilight air.

“He stands by my side!” shrieked the lady Annabel;
“It is he—it is my father!”

And she trembled with affright, and leaned
shrinking upon the arm of the duke, while her fair
blue eyes dilated with a strange expression, and
her glance was fixed in one wild dread look upon
the darkened air.

“It is done!” exclaimed a voice breaking from
the vacancy of the air; “It is done! Fair daughter
of mine, thou art Duchess of Florence—the
coronet is on thy brow—all is fulfilled!”

“Holy Mary save me!” shrieked Annabel in a
low whispered tone; “an icy hand is pressed upon
my brow. It is like the hand of death.”

And as there she stood upon the throne of gold,
her form upraised to its full height, her eye fixed
on vacancy, and her fair white hands trembling
with an unreal fear, a feeling of terrible and overwhelming
AWE overshadowed each heart, and
paled each face, while the solemn tones of the spirit
voice broke on the ear of the lovely bride.

“In life thou wert my ambition, and in the solemn
walks of death, amid the fear that may not be
named, and the gloom that may be dared, thy father,
maiden, is still the evil angel of all who wish thee
harm, or do thee wrong.”

A low moaning sound broke on the air, and
again the words of the spirit voice came to the
Lady Annabel—

“The last behest of thy father—the parchment
scroll, and the phial of silver confided to thy hands
—hast thou obeyed the dying words of Aldarin?”

The cheek of the Lady Annabel became pale as
death, and her eye grew bright with supernatural
lustre. The hurried words of the scroll, written in
the blood of the doomed man, the fearful request,
the dark hints at the re-vivification of his mortal
body, by the action of the water of life, all to be
accomplished by the devotion of his daughter—
flashed over her brain at the moment, when the
gloom of the presence of the dead, darkened the joy
of the living, and the Ladye turned to Adrian, and
murmured with a whisper of hollow emphasis—

“The corse, Adrian, the corse of my father—
where doth it rest?”

“It hath no place of repose on earth,” was the
solemn answer. “Given to the invisible air, the
mortal frame finds nor home, nor resting place in
sacred chapel, or in wild wood glade; but mingled
with the unseen winds, floating in the atmosphere
of heaven; on, and on forever wanders the earthly
dust of the Scholar, denied repose on earth, refused
judgment by heaven, condemned to the eternal
solitudes of the disembodied spirit; on, and on it
wanders seeking companionship with the mighty
soul of Aldarin!”

And a low and solemn voice, speaking from the
invisible air, murmured the words—“It is finished,