CHAPTER IV.
L
Lovelywas the bride, next day, in her white robe, fastened with golden clasps, every clasp set with an emerald stone; her vest of gold, embroidered with flowers; her floating veil like silver mist, morning blushes on her cheek, and pearls upon her breast. The heavy snow which had fallen in the night did not keep away the wedding guests. They came early in spite of storm and cold. The priest was there; the joy-bells rang; the prayer was said, the blessings given; and never, day nor night, would Lord Lovel part again from Ginevra.
As they sat at the feast, suddenly the bride was missed from the side of her lord. He hastily left the table, and in a few minutes returned and whispered to the Baron.
“’Tis one of her childish plays, a trick only to make a trial of our love,” said the Baron, trying to smile. “One more health to Lady Lovel! Fill high the glasses!”
He raised a goblet, but his hand shook; and when he tried tolift the red wine, it poured down the table, like a stream of blood. And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
“Good friends,” he cried, springing to his feet, “there’s not a moment to spare. Lady Ginevra is missing—perhaps lost. Lovel, my son, look for her in the main buildings, where I know she is. My Lord of Cranston, with his vassals, will hunt through the south wing. Huntingdon and his followers will search the north wing. Do thou, Ban, go through the vaults and cellars, leaving no stone unturned. Report to me here.”
The veins in the Baron’s face swelled out like cords; great drops of sweat gathered on his forehead; his lips were pale as ashes. And the brave men around him turned white and trembled. They remembered the prophecy—the Lady Ginevra is doomed.
With lighted torches, they scattered to their work. Along the galleries Lovel shouted, “My life, my love, come to me! Come, or thou art lost!” There was no flying footstep, no ringing laugh, no veil like silver mist, only cold and dark, and the mocking echo, Lost, Lost! When he passed the grand staircase, he felt drawn toward the wall. He thought there was a noise. They listened.
“Be still, Alfred; I am sure I hear a step,” said Lovel, eagerly clasping his hands together, like one in prayer.
“No,” said Alfred; “it is a rat scratching behind the wainscot.”
They listened again. Surely something stirred. Hush! They held their breath. A sound nearly like a sob; another; one more; then all was still as the breast when the spirit has fled.
Lovel looked into the tall clock, where she could easily stand upright, behind, under, above it, and found nothing but dust and cobweb. “My lamb, my dove,” he cried, “come home, or thou art lost!” Lofty arch and empty distance rang with the sound, but gave back no answer.
Meanwhile, the Baron strode up and down the hall, like a hungry lion in his cage. He looked so awful no one but little Geta dared go near him. Every time the clock struck he would say:
“Geta, is thy Lady’s chamber warm?”
“Warm, my lord.”
“And light?”
“Light, my lord.”
“Her slippers by the fire?”
“Yes, my lord. She would find the bath and all ready, were she here this very minute.”
“I would to God she were here, Geta!”
Old man looking into dark passage
Ah! bitter chill the night was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold. The wind raved and tore at the windows, and sleety snow whirled and hissed and drifted against them, and under the loose old casements. The Baron groaned in anguish; in this wild storm, where was his tender child the winds of heaven had never visited too roughly? Where? Oh! where?
At daybreak the companies straggled back. Not a word was spoken. The beloved was not found. They breakfasted on the cold meats of the wedding-feast, and every time a door opened, turned and looked as if to see her dancing home as she had danced away.
Without food or rest, Lord Lovel—oh, how changed!—hunted the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot, calling her by every dear name. “Come to me! Come, or thou art lost!” And the wind, moaning through black arch and freezing gallery, gave back the echo, Lost!
Four days and nights were wasted thus. Then they met in the hall, and, in a hoarse, changed voice, the Baron spoke:
“Thanks, my friends, every one. Be it remembered, he who bringeth me trace of the Lady Ginevra, or clew to her finding, shall have what he may ask, were it half my barony.”
Deep lines in his face showed how he had suffered, and his hair, that yesterday was streaked with gray, was white as wool. The wedding guests turned to go, and then the great bell in the tower struck one. There was silence deep as death. Hark! two, three, four; it rang to seventeen. What could it be?
No one inhabited the bell-tower, and, except under orders, the ropes were never touched. That sound, so dread, so solemn, struck on every ear, like a voice from heights beyond the living earth; the cry of some desolate soul passing through cloudy spaces, the dim region between two worlds. Could it be fairy hands tolling the passing bell for the soul of Ginevra? Was it a ring from heaven that her presence was lost from the abodes of the living, that she must now be numbered with the dead? These questions have not been answered, and will not be answered till the great day comes which ends all question and brings each hidden thing to light.
Till this time the Baron had not shed a tear. When the last sad tone moaned and trembled through the air, he hid his face in his hands, and big drops ran through his fingers, like fast rushing rain.
Children clung to their mothers; women sobbed together in acrowd; and warlike men, too brave to be ashamed of tears, fell into each other’s arms and cried aloud.
Never were wedding guests like those who that day passed the icy fountain and through the hushing snow of the leafless forest, where the wind was wailing farewell forever, and forever farewell.
From the lonesome hemlocks, loaded with snow, Lovel went back alone to Ginevra’s chamber. Garlanded with roses, it was light and warm; the tiny slippers were before the fire; her lute, her birds, her needlework, were there; but the Rose of the World was missing; missing the little feet that nevermore would lightly run to meet him, nevermore would lightly follow.
Shield