It was the business of old Alice to show the
castle to strangers; and I soon became a favourite with her, from the
interest I appeared to take in the fate of its former inhabitants. The
gallery was our chief resort; and, finding me a willing listener, my
ancient companion delighted to inform me of all tradition had supplied
her with, respecting the mighty warriors and stately dames, whose
portraits still hung on the walls, smiling, as if in mockery of the
desolation around.
One fine autumnal evening found me, as usual, in my favourite retreat.
The rays of the departing sun streamed in rich dyes through the
coloured window, and fell with softened glory on the picture of a
bridal ceremony. I was surprised that it had never before engaged my
attention. The bridegroom was young, graceful, and noble--the bride,
fair, soft, and delicate. By her side stood a form of unequalled
loveliness: it seemed too beautiful to have belonged to a daughter
of earth; and I imagined the painter had designed it to represent
the guardian saint of the youthful pair. I inquired of my ancient
conductress the history of this picture, and whether the beautiful
female was not an ideal being? "Alas!" said she, "it commemorates a
heavy day for the house of D----; on that day the last and fairest of
its race sunk the victim of unrequited affection. That is her picture;
but, oh! her soul was more angelic than her person; she"--but, reader,
let me give the story in my own words.
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