Page:The Lady's Book Vol. IX.pdf/203

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THE PODESTA’S DAUGHTER.

that passionate gaze that had suffused her cheek with crimson was still impressed on her memory; that deep manly voice still rang in her ear with a pleasing and well remembered melody. “But after all, why should she think of him, whom she had seen but once, and whom she might never see again? This most philo- sophical reflection was accompanied by a sigh, and the lady looked out again upon the waters, where the sun had set, and the surface was freshened into little ripples, and, the light pendants of the pirogues were beginning to flutter in the evening breeze. A light step in the apartment awakened her attention.

“Terese,” said the young lady very languidly, “what think you of this band of pearls?”

“Happy in encircling thy neck, fair lady,” replied a voice that thrilled to her very heart with its rich tone.

At her feet knelt the stranger knight; those bright eyes, that with a passionate daring had caused the warm blood to rush to her brow with a quick un- wonted tide, were raised to her face in respectful ad- miration, and anon veiled by their dark lashes, as if awe-struck by her matchless beauty. That graceful form, sought in vain when light and music filled the _ princely hall, now bowed before her. How hurriedly did her heart beat, but not with fear; there was a fascination in his voice that held her almust breathless, for he spoke of love, and his passionate words fell on her ear like music.

He feared that his presumptuous daring might well call forth a frown on ther queenly brow. The lady Julia spoke not, but here she raised her eyes in one timid glance; it must have said somewhat, for her lover ventured to take her little hand, which trembled but withdrew not as he pressed it to his lips; even when that hand was released, for a brief space she feared to look up: when she did, twilight was dark- ening the rich apartment, and she was alone.

It was about this time that an army from France, led by the celebrated Gaston de Foix, whose heroic valour and chivalric daring, (united to a promptness of apprehension and, depth of judgment exceeded

perhaps but in one ce of modern greatness,) achieved victories by y ascribed to magic, was rumoured to be rapidly approaching Genoa. France and the proud Republic were nominally at peace; but the Podesta feared every thing from the martial ambition of the young warrior, and neglected naught calculated to ensure the safety of Genoa.

Two days had passed, and many a wearied scout had returned, bearing no further tidings of the French; naught could be discovered from the tops of those hills, that seem to rise as they recede from the fair city purposely to check the sharp and biting winds that come careering from the north: they now remained solitary in all the beauty of their sunny verdure.

Reports now circulated that Count Gaston had marched upon Milan; the hurried anxiety and per- turbation that had fallen suddenly upon the Genoese, were dismissed with a feeling of much relief. Gradu- ally all apprehension vanished; evening came on, and the moon arose, flooding hill and spire with silver radiance. The Podesta, nevertheless, placed sentinels on wall and turret, muttering as he did so, peradven- ture to encourage the timid among the watchers, “"Tis but a form; yet give heed to yonder hills.”

His highness retired; and for the space of an hour, never was watch kept up with more unceasing vigi- lance by veteran soldiers, than by the sober citizens who had been appointed to this post of alarm. Each distant object, as it lay bright and clear in the moon- light, was subjected to the most rigid scrutiny; not a tree waved its long boughs in the breeze, but it was noted with a cautious and prudent investigation. — Nothing appeared to excite the least alarm; and as it waxed towards the time when men are wont to

repair to the couch of slumber, the most vigorous watchers began evidently to relax in their efforts.

Later and still later, and their eye-lids grew heavy; ever and anon would one start up and gaze with a desperate effort on the hills that lay stretched calm and bright before him; the night breeze came sooth- ingly with its gentle murmur to the drowsy sentinels. One and another sank down, folding their ample cloaks around their well filled persons, each bidding his fellow to arouse him on the slightest alarm;—each moment the contagion spread, and ere midnight deep sleep had fallen upon the watchers of Genoa.

Early in the morning the Podesta walked forth; no alarm had been given—the night had passed in unin- terrupted stillness, and now he doubted not that the conquering de Foix had led his troops on to the south, when he suddenly stopped with an exclamation of surprise. Before him, on those very hills, which but a few hours since had shown a solitary verdant surface to the mellow mocnlight, now encamped thousands of warriors. The sun brightened the white tents that chequered the green mounds, flashed from every moving casque and spear, and revealed in the ample silken folds that, on a loftier eminence, waved heavily in the light morning air, a spotless and snow-white field, the banner of Gaston de Foix.

At noon, an envoy from the camp demanded au- dience from the Podesta; his mission, though courteously expressed, was briefly this: the noble Count Gaston was desirous of guaranteeing the peace between France and Genoa by forming an alliance with the illustrious house of Spinola—the lady Julia was beautiful and worthy of the celebrated Gaston,—the dowry would be lefi to the generosity of the Podesta. In addition to this, the envoy intimated that a refusal might be attended with disagreeable consequences— to wit, the capture and sacking of Genoa.

The indignation’ of the Podesta may be readily imagined; he dissembled his wrath, however, being well aware of the defenceless state of the city, and begged some brief space to confer with his daughter. touching the proposal. Hardly had the envoy depart- ed, when he bent his steps towards the lady Julia’s apartment. Musing as he went, politician-like, he began to calculate, what at first he had overlooked, the advantages of such an alliance: with the aid and influence of this redoubted warrior, the Republic might well bid defiance to any foe; and personal animosity, he wisely concluded, ought never to en- danger the welfare of the state. Having come to this decision, he despatched a messenger to the camp signifying his assent tothe proposals, and suggesting that evening for the celebration of the nuptial ceremony.

An unthought of obstacle now opposed his wishes: his daughter, instead of manifesting joy at the com- munication of her approaching union, in the most decided terms expressed her aversion to the noble Count. In vain the Podesta urged the fame, the magnificence, and the accomplishments of this cele- brated chief: her resolution was unshaken; but when she was told that upon her compliance depended the safety of Genoa, perhaps the very life of her father, she trembled with excessive emotion, shedding many and bitter tears.

Without comprehending the secret cause of her grief, yet unable to withstand her imploring looks, the old man sternly muttered: “My own life sooner;”— then addressing her, “Cheer thee, my daughter,” said he, “we must e’en fight this rude suitor.”

Even as he spoke his countenance fell, for defend himself he could not. Ere long, the fair city of Genoa would be given up to plunder and destruction, and his own palace be violated by a licentious foe. The lady Julia marked his anguish, and throwing herself into his arms, exclaimed in hurried accents, “Father! I will marry this Count Gaston!”