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 cheek 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 be 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 maiden, with dark eyes and jet black hair, 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 around 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 ago, 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.