An old cabinet of
fanciful workmanship, some chairs of ebony, and some girandoles of
silver completed the furniture of the room, save that at its extreme
end, exactly opposite to the door by which Venetia entered, covered
with a curtain of green velvet, was what she concluded must be a
picture.
An awful stillness pervaded the apartment: Venetia herself, with
a face paler even than the hangings of the mysterious bed, stood
motionless with suppressed breath, gazing on the distant curtain with
a painful glance of agitated fascination. At length, summoning her
energies as if for the achievement of some terrible yet inevitable
enterprise, she crossed the room, and averting her face, and closing
her eyes in a paroxysm of nervous excitement, she stretched forth her
arm, and with a rapid motion withdrew the curtain. The harsh sound of
the brass rings drawn quickly over the rod, the only noise that had
yet met her ear in this mystical chamber, made her start and tremble.
She looked up, she beheld, in a broad and massy frame, the full-length
portrait of a man.
A man in the very spring of sunny youth, and of radiant beauty. Above
the middle height, yet with a form that displayed exquisite grace, he
was habited in a green tunic that enveloped his figure to advantage,
and became the scene in which he was placed: a park, with a castle in
the distance; while a groom at hand held a noble steed, that seemed
impatient for the chase.
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