THE
PODESTA’S
the Abbey of San Marco in quest of her; that although she was well satisfied to remain with the sweet sisters and the indulgent mother abbess, yet, understanding from her uncle that Genoa was a pearl among cities, and might be termed a paradise on earth, she had consented to accompany him; that they had met no molestation until they had entered the Valley of the Rock; that a band of corsairs had attacked them, killed the men-at-arms, and carried off captive all but herself;—adding, that his valour interposing in her behalf, entitled him to her grateful thanks, and that her father, the Podesta, would be eager to evince——
“Nay, lady,” interrupted the warrior, “you may thank me, for you know me not; as to your father, the Senor Pietro would hardly forgive even this ser- vice, done by me, to the house of Spinola.” A sar- donic smile for a moment curled his handsome lip, and he was silent.
A few moments elapsed—and not until the young girl felt her blood warming under his bold and pas- sionate gaze, he resumed, “Now for Genoa, gentle lady; and spare not your palfrey:—these pirates may take thought to seek their leader, and the Podesta’s daughter were worth her weight in gold.”
No answer was returned; and in a moment both knight and lady were riding rapidly towards Genoa. They wheeled around the base of the massive Rock, and the Valley rung with the quick tread of the jennet and the thundering tramp of the war-horse; on they swept through the open country beyond witha headlong speed that bore them far beyond pursuit; and that evening, when the moon shone full on the southern front of the Ducal Palace, there walked on the terrace, musing in silence, Pietro Spinola, the Podesta of Genoa, The old man was not alone, but ever and anon he look- ed proudly and affectionately at the young and fair creature who walked beside him—his daughter.
She had told her father of the perils past, and now restored to him, she clung to him with a confiding fondness that warmed the old man’s heart with unwonted tenderness. Yet full of joy and affection as was the countenance of Senor Pietro, by times a shade of doubt darkened his bold features, as if some un- cleared mystery was presented to his imagination;— without directly addressing himself to his daughter, his thoughts at first found utterance as follows:
“A good knight and a daring, by St. Joseph!— Strange that he should avoid our presence. Your good nurse Teresa said he passed, vizor down, from the gate like lightning. Marked you not his crest? wore he no favour?”
“Nay, father, I marked him not, save that his speech was noble aud courteous, and he bore a princely look.”
The Podesta looked at his daughter earnestly, and observed a slight blush stealing over her countenance as she spoke. Such an indication of interest in an object to him unknown, produced no very agreeable feelings; slight as it was, circumstances might induce a further development, that would materially interfere with his projects of alliance. No further allusion, however, was made to this subject; and when, as they parted for the night, the old man pressed his lips to his daughter's clear and noble brow, her affectionate words seemed to awaken the memory of days long forgotten, a rush of pleasing, though mournful recol- lections came o'er his soul, and his last glance of pa- ternal pride, saddened it might be with a dim and shadowy apprehension, was yet full of deep and confiding affection.
The survivors of the escort of the lady Julia, in- cluding her uncle Cardinal, had been conducted ra- pidly to the water’s edge, where a long raking, corsair- looking brigantine lay close in, hidden as much as possible from observation, her sharp bowsprit running in amongst the trees, and part of her crew, swarthy turbaned fellows, evidently awaiting the return of their comrades. An hour had passed away, and every thing had become as still as night. ‘here lay the vessel, her white sails scarcely moving in the languid air, and on her heated deck stood a solitary sentinel: his gaze was occasionally thrown over the waters now gleaming in the bright sun, and would then suddenly and earnestly be directed to the deep woods before him. Suddenly a long, low whistle came from the forest; the sentry repeated the signal, and in a few minutes the deck was covered with the swart forms of the sturdy barbarians, and every eye was tarned on shore.
Slowly emerging from the tangled copse came four men, their stern and warlike features subdued and awe-struck by some sudden and passionate sorrow: they had found their chief as he lay in the Valley, his sabre still grasped in death, and blood stiffening on his grim features; they had raised him sadly from his last field of battle, and now as they approached the bark, powerful and athletic as they were, their knees trembled under the burthen of the gigantic corpse.
Another hour, and the wind had risen on the rippled waters; the sun was sinking beneath the wave, and the brigantine lay a rapid course, her sails filled and spars bending to the strong breeze, and her prow rushing on through whitening foam. Far away she stretched o’er the blue waters; and when the moon, riding high in the heavens, had silvered each swelling surge, and cast a pure, soft light on her solitary path, the vessel again lay almost motionless on the sea— again those dark figures peopled her crowded deck, and there was a sudden gleam of sabres, and a vow of vengeance on every lip: a large mass was heaved from the ship's side, and the pirate chieftain sank heavily to his ocean grave.
The day had been sultry at Genoa—the air was still and languid, barely stirring the long glossy leaf of the olive; the bay lay calm and motionless, and the sun, now declining in the west, cast an unbroken tract of light along the surface of the waters. At this hour, that luxurious and sei tranquillity so pe- culiar to the Italian siesta, @eigned throughout the magnificent Palace of the esta.
In the noble apartment commanding on the south a view of the bay, glittering like an immense mirror in the effulgence of the setting sun, reclined the lady Julia. She was, in truth, of rare and exceeding love- liness—a figure sylph-like, but ripening into the most voluptuous beauty; a perfect little foot, seemingly formed but to tread on silk and velvet; a hand that wore the smallest glove in Genoa; a mouth fashioned by nature nevet to smile in vain, and eyes of a most touching beauty, belonged to this bewitching creature. She inherited, too, no little of her father’s haughtiness; but it misbecame her not, for she ever bore her with a queenly majesty. There she sat, playfully tossing in her hand a necklace of rich pearls with that listless musing on nothing which has so much the semblance of deep thought, when she suddenly bethought her that she had been exactly one month in Genoa. And she remembered her own little cell at the convent, and the pure and gentle sisters, who shuddered when they spoke of the sinful world for which she had left them; and then her father, naught but joy and pride was wont to sparkle in his dark eye when in those peaceful days her bounding step met him at the portal of the abbey; here she had watched the cloud that often gathered on his princely brow, and had seen the fond gaze of affection succeeded by the anxious and restless glances of a mind ill at ease.
And then she thought that of all the gallant knights and gay courtiers that fluttered around her path and vowed eternal devotion to her charms, none had so noble a form and so proud a step as the unknown ca- valier whom she had met in the forest near Savona;
