PART IV.--THE CYPRESS BRANCH.

While this horrible scene was being enacted--away in her father’s palace was the lady whom Robert loved--the lady who also loved him--the princess.

The Princess Isabelle of Sicily sat watching the magnificence about her. It seemed to mock her sorrows. The King had decided upon marrying her to the Duke of Grenada, a Spanish noble.

Her solitude was broken by the entrance of a few young maidens, who, after the custom of the time, took advantage of the intended marriage to present petitions to the bride.

Among the girls who thus entered was one superior to the rest. She had a pure-looking, almost holy face--not more beautiful than any there, perhaps, but glowing in its purity and high resolve.

This young creature presented a letter to the princess. Isabelle took the paper languidly enough, but no sooner had she glanced at it than her face sparkled with joy.

’Twas the letter Robert had given Alice before the sun went down. ’Twas Alice who now gave the letter into the hands of the young princess.

Happily Isabelle read the letter; but her happiness was of short duration, for barely had she finished it than her tirewomen came forward to deck her for the bridal.

Then came grand lords and ladies of the court--a full procession--to accompany the bride to the palace chapel.

They stood without the great room and upon the wide staircase leading to the broad open doors. They were talking gaily and looking towards the princess, when suddenly the breath of death seemed to pass over and among them. Their words faltered on their lips--their hands fell listlessly to their sides; and though they could see and hear, they had no power to move. They saw no figure of a wild-looking, handsome man, waving on high a black, sweeping cypress branch. They saw the doors close of themselves, and remained motionless, like statues grouped about the marble stairs.

Slowly he came on, his face now almost the counterpart of Bertram’s. On and on, to the spot where the princess sat, immovable like the people on the stairs. She saw no one before her eyes; she sat wondering what the sudden silence meant, when suddenly before her stood Robert--surely, and yet not with Robert’s face.

He waved the branch over her fair head, and broke the spell.

“Robert! Robert!”

He looked upon her with a love so terrible that she cried--

“Save me--save me from him!”

“Thou art beautiful, and I love thee! Thinkest thou I would tamely leave thee to another? Look on me! Not the Robert thou didst once know. Look on me! Mark on my face the hellish joy I feel in seeing thee!” And he asked himself how he could look upon her fear and grief, and feel no pain?

“Robert, thy eyes are fire, and thou lookest on me as thou of all men least should look. What is thy power--and thy knightly oath--and thine honor? Hast thou forgotten them?”

“Hate knows no honor, Isabelle, and love is often hate.”

“‘Tis not too late, Robert! But now I saw thy old self again upon your face. Robert, be thyself. Fly, or they will kill thee!”

“I here am master; tremble--bow before me. None can see me--none can move but at my will. Thou art lost--_lost_--_lost_!”

The Princess fell on her knees and clasped her hands.

For a moment he trembled, but then again his face was as Bertram’s face, and he cried, “Thou art lost!”

Then, as she knelt to him--“Robert, Robert, thou whom I so love--to whom I gave my troth, look on me; look on my terror! Mercy! For thyself, mercy! For me, also, mercy! Think of thy faith--thine honor! As you love me, mercy! See me, at thy feet. Robert, Robert, thou whom I so love, mercy--mercy!”

He doubts, he trembles, then his face changes to its old expression, as he stoops and lifts her from the ground. “Thou hast saved thyself.”

“And thee, too, Robert.”

“Nay, thou hast destroyed me.”

“I--destroyed _thee_!”

“I cannot live away from thee; let me then die.”

And, in a rage of agony and disappointment, he tore the branch to atoms.

As he did so the spell was broken. The lords and ladies on the stairs moved and spoke; and one of them, pushing open the great doors, saw the knight flinging from him the remains of the cypress, and saw, also, the princess stand apart, one hand trembling before her white lips.

A moment, and there was a violent and terrible noise of swords torn quickly from their scabbards.

The princess put out her hands beseechingly for him. But ’twas useless; fifty sword points were directed at his heart. Towards them he ran fearlessly, his warrior face--the old, good face--all-powerful now.

Suddenly, a knight was beside Robert, fighting for him. Steadily this new combatant beat a way for the beleaguered knight, and at last regained for him and for himself free air and liberty.