Part 10 (2/2)
Fido alone, close and vigilant, marked the awakening sorrow of his beloved mistress. He felt the hand that caressed him grow cold and pulseless. He noted the accent of despair in Fidunia's choking voice.
His unsophisticated nature rose indignant at the selfishness of the human friend, who (after such vows breathed, and responded to by her to whom they were addressed), could change and grow indifferent to the being who had gone through so much for his sake.
How true it is that maidens, like flowers, expand in the presence of him they love, in the warm suns.h.i.+ne of adoration. When that cheering beam is withdrawn, how colourless and scentless, how devoid of beauty, do their drooping blossoms become!
Even so it was with Fidunia, the happy light that had of late dawned in her gray eyes now faded away. Hour after hour she wept alone on her sleepless pillow, sadly musing over times departed,
”Departed never to return.”
One wakeful night she poured out her thoughts in these words:
The silent hour of night prevailed, the Earth Was in her first and dewy slumber, while The Moon unveiled her pure and peerless light, And threw her radiance o'er the dusky haunts Of men.
An atom on the world's broad breast Alone, beneath those chilly beams I mused, On Death and Immortality.
My soul Sped swiftly upward on the ethereal ray, And left enthralled the grosser part of self, The slumbering mortal portion of my frame.
The spirit world was gained, and for a s.p.a.ce Enchantment wove mine aching heart a strange Bright web of many hued delight. She gave To that brief Dream all the reality That made its flying moments pa.s.sing sweet.
The kindly echoes lent their magic aid, And tones reverberated in mine ear Whose music gently whispered rapture, not Of Earth, but of some far-off lovely Land, A Time when all that is not yet may be.
With trembling sigh, from happiness too great, I all unknowing broke the mystic spell, And s.h.i.+vering back, through dark and dreary ways, No Moon to guide the weary feet, no Light To cheer the falling spirit, once again Within dull clay poor Psyche found her home, And woke to bitter loneliness and woe.
She had in truth a rough awakening from her dream of happiness. As day by day the restless monarch showed more and more the change in his feelings that perfect vision had wrought, Fidunia not only pa.s.sed through the deep waters of sorrow in realizing his alienation, but experienced moreover a fresh and equally poignant pain as the veil of illusion fell from her disenchanted eyes, and taught the simple-hearted young girl that she could never again regard her monarch with the same trusting faith.
To one of hasty impulsive temperament like Antiphates, dissimulation proved impossible: however much he was bound, alike by the ties of honour and of grat.i.tude, to keep the vows publicly pledged to his deliverer, he could not forgive the hapless girl her lack of outward beauty. He valued not the delicate refinement of her nature. He marked not the ethereal spirit that shone unconquerable through her transparent eye. His affection had been of the earth, earthy; evanescent as frail mortality itself.
Nor was Fidunia's spirit formed in a mould to sicken and die of unrequited affection. In happier days, the happiest of her short life, she had, in spite of the vast difference in their ages, learned to regard the gifted King with something akin to reverential love. The eager wooing of one so talented and fascinating could not fail to produce some corresponding effect on the imagination of the forest maiden. Not unsolicited she had yielded up her gentle heart, and come gradually to centre all the hopes and thoughts of her young life upon Antiphates.
She now grew to spend longer hours each day in wandering round the precincts of Xylina. The child of nature, she ever found her truest solace beneath the wide canopy of heaven. There no walls pent in her labouring sobs, no human eye beheld the slowly falling tears, mourners over a vanished past, that welled up one by one from her burning heart; tears that slowly rising, purified still further her much afflicted spirit, and weaned her soul from the earthly love which for a time had satisfied that strange immortal portion of mortality.
Fido, ever beside his mistress, grew like her, pensive and forlorn. He knew she was in grief, and his mute sympathy gave her comfort, as together they climbed through the mazy wood, or explored the hills that rose behind the castle.
In these wanderings, Fidunia came frequently to a knoll, commanding the lovely expanse of waters beneath. Looking across the broad bay of Deva, the horizon was bounded only by the fair island of Spera, so fraught with memory's brightest records. Here upon a bank of wild thyme, sheltered by the cool olive trees, and fanned by the pa.s.sing breeze, she pondered over her mysterious lot, and shudderingly thought of the blank untrodden future.
But counsel and comfort already approached. One day as she thus sat, rapt and musing, a gentle voice addressed her; turning half alarmed, she beheld the sweetest face her eyes had ever dwelt upon. That countenance shone with heaven-born beauty. ”Sister Angela” (for thus the stranger was called) had also sorrowed, but she had found lasting comfort in the convent of Saint Sebastian. This monastery was near at hand, though partially concealed by the dense foliage and the ma.s.ses of creepers which clothed its outer walls. Angela had oftentimes seen and yearned over the sorrowful young girl, and at last, issuing forth, ventured to greet her.
She tenderly saluted Fidunia, who, before long, learnt to love and trust her new friend. She soon came daily to seek for guidance and comfort at her hands, confiding to Angela's sympathizing ears the chequered story of her brief life.
Meantime, to add still further to the griefs of poor Fidunia, her little dog disappeared. She first missed him one afternoon as, after long converse with her new found friend, she turned to descend the gra.s.sy slopes to Castle Xylina.
During those hours she had formed a high and holy resolution. Alone in the world, she aspired to become one of the sisterhood to whom Angela belonged, and to find an asylum for her wearied wounded heart within the sacred walls of Saint Sebastian.
On reaching the Castle, Fidunia sought everywhere for Fido, but no one had seen him, or could tell whither he had gone. While occupied in threading the long pa.s.sages and calling anxiously for her missing companion, she met Domenichino hastening to entreat her attendance on the King. Without returning to her chamber to alter her attire, Fidunia turned and accompanied him to the royal presence.
Antiphates met her at the entrance of the hall. In kind yet constrained tones the monarch condoled with her as he heard of Fido's disappearance. He gave orders moreover that the strictest search should at once be inst.i.tuted throughout Deva and its environs for Fidunia's dear little favourite.
”But now,” continued the King, leading her to a deep embrasure, whence could be seen the fair landscape beneath, ”I am anxious you should name the day for the ceremony that is to unite the debtor to his mistress, and thus permit me to fulfil my plighted troth.” So saying, he carried her hand lightly to his lips, and looked searchingly upon her. But even his bold eyes fell rebuked beneath Fidunia's pure enquiring gaze, now divested of all hesitation or embarra.s.sment. No word of reproach for his altered behaviour towards her, since she had restored his sight, fell from her. No murmur escaped her. But her voice quavered as, in a few simple sentences, she unfolded to him the purpose she had that day formed of taking upon herself the vows of Saint Sebastian.
A sense of momentary shame at his own want of generosity dyed the King's rough cheek a deeper hue. He felt his inability to urge Fidunia with any zest to renounce her lofty aspirations. He strove to conceal his satisfaction, but he knew too well that her voluntary self-devotion relieved him from a perplexing dilemma.
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