Edward sought in vain that day to fix his attention to the desk before him; still he heard that sweet low song, and faces of strange loveliness floated before him. He was impatient for night, and when it came, he sprung into his boat, half fearfully, half eagerly. It was as his heart foreboded, again he heard that melancholy song—again he saw the veiled figure in the little boat—the clocks too told the same hour, but this time he rowed at once towards the stranger's bark. The lady flung back her veil, and he at once recognised the lovely face that had so haunted his dreams. She stretched forth her hand, as their boats lay alongside, and he took the small white fingers, that glittered in the moonlight with gems, in his own. But the touch was as an electric shock, his boat seemed to sink from under him, a mighty sound was in his ears, and he sank back insensible.
He awoke as from sleep, confused and dizzy: he gazed round, and as he gradually recovered his senses, saw that he was in a vast hall. He lay for a while in a pleasant state of half consciousness, his gaze slowly taking note of the various objects by which he was surrounded. The hall was surrounded by pillars of malachite, wrought into the semblance of gigantic serpents that supported the shining dome, and whose illumined heads made an enormous lamp in the centre. The partitions they formed were filled either by alcoves crowded with birds of rich and foreign plumage, or by paintings representing scenes in some far country. At one end was a large fountain which played in fantastic forms round an inner basin that shone with liquid fire, and mingled its reddening jets with the fountain's clear and crystal ones. At the other end was a conservatory, crowded with large beautiful flowers, but none of them familiar to Edward. Marble urns scattered around were wreathed with their magnificent blossoms, and some of the birds, loosened from the golden network, flitted past; some with crests of meteor-like crimson, others spreading vast and radiant pinions coloured from the sunset. The waving of their pinions, and the falling of the fountain, were the only sounds heard in that stately hall;—these, and one other: it was the low soft breathing of a woman. Edward heard it, and turning to the side from whence it came, saw, watching by his side, the strange beauty of the song and of the boat. She was tall beyond the ordinary height of woman, but stately in her grace as the ideal of a queen and the reality of a swan. Her arms and feet were bare, but for the gems which encircled them. A white robe swept around her in folds gathered at the waist by a golden girdle inscribed with signs and characters. Her hair was singularly thick, and of that purple blackness seen on the grape and the neck of the raven—black, with a sort of azure bloom upon it. It was fastened in large folds, which went several times round the head, and these were adorned with jewels and precious stones, like a midnight lighted with stars. Her complexion was a pale pure olive, perfectly colourless, but delicate as that of a child. Her mouth was the only spot where the rose held dominion, and lips of richer crimson never opened to the morning.
"Youth," said she, in a low voice of peculiar sweetness, "I love thee;—night after night I have watched thy boat on yonder river. I know not what the customs of thy land may be;—I speak according unto mine. I have wealth—I have power—I have knowledge;—I can share them all with thee."
