The Amulet | Page 3

the
youthful Mary Van de Werve was as beautiful as the poetical
representation of her patroness. She had the same large blue eyes,
whose expression, although calm and thoughtful, revealed a keen
sensibility and a tender, loving soul; her golden hair fell in ringlets over
a brow of marble whiteness, and no painter had ever traced a cheek of
lovelier mould or more delicate hue; her whole being expressed that
calm recollection and attractive gravity which is the true poetry of the
immaterial soul, and which was comprehended only by the believing
artists of the North before the material inspiration of pagan art had been
transmitted to them from the South.
Mary Van de Werve was most richly attired; but there was in her dress
an absence of ornament which appeared strange at that period of
extreme pomp and show. A waist of sky-blue velvet encircled her
slender form, and a brocade skirt fell in large folds to her feet. Only on
her open sleeves appeared some gold thread, and the clasp which
fastened the chamois-skin purse suspended from her girdle was
encrusted with precious stones.
All her surroundings betokened her father's opulence: large
stained-glass windows, covered with the armorial bearings of his
ancestors, cast their varied hues upon the inlaid marble floor; tables and
chairs of oak, slabs supporting exquisite statuary from the chisel of the
most celebrated artists, were ranged along the walls; an ivory crucifix
surmounted a silver basin of rare workmanship containing holy water.
Even the massive andirons, which stood in the broad fireplace, were
partly of gold and ornamented with the coat of arms.
Her prayer was finished, or it might be that her thoughts had taken
another turn; she arose and walked slowly towards the large window
which overlooked the garden. She fixed her eyes upon the beautiful
blue sky; her countenance was bright, as though a sweet hope filled her
heart, and a rosy hue suffused her cheeks.
An old man at this moment entered the room. Heavy moustaches
shaded his lips, and a long beard fell upon his breast. There was

something grave and severe in his imposing appearance and even in his
dress; for although his doublet was of gold cloth, his whole body was
enveloped in a long cloak, whose dark color was relieved by a lining of
white fur.
"Good morning, Mary," he said, as he approached the young girl.
"May the blessing of God always be with you, dear father," she replied.
"Come, see how lovely the sky is, and how brightly the sun shines."
"It is charming weather; we might almost imagine ourselves in the
month of May."
"It is the eve of May, father." And with a joyous smile she drew her
father to the window, and pointing to the sky, said: "The wind has
changed; it blows from the direction of England."
"True; since yesterday it has been south-east."
"So much the better; the ships which have been kept out at sea can
ascend the Scheldt with to-day's or to-morrow's tide."
"And you hope," said Mr. Van de Werve, shaking his head, "that
among these vessels will be found the Il Salvatore, which is to bring
the old Signor Deodati from Lucca?"
"I have so long implored of heaven this favorable wind," replied the
young girl. "I thank the God of mercy that my prayer has been heard!"
Mr. Van de Werve was silent; his daughter's words had evidently made
a disagreeable impression upon him.
She passed her arm caressingly around his neck, and said:
"Dear father, you are sorrowful; and yet you promised me to await
tranquilly the arrival of Signor Deodati."
"It is true, my child," he replied; "but, as the time approaches when I
must come to a decision, my soul is filled with anxiety. We are the

descendants of an illustrious family, and our style of living should be
so magnificent as to reflect credit on our rank. The Signor Geronimo,
whom you seem to prefer to all others, lives very economically; he
dresses simply, and abstains from all that kind of expenditure which,
being an evidence of wealth and chivalric generosity, elevates a man in
the eyes of the world. That makes me fear that his uncle is either in
moderate circumstances or very avaricious."
"But, father, permit me to say that the Signor Deodati of Lucca is very
rich and of high birth," replied the young girl, sadly. "Did not the
banker Marco Riccardi give you satisfactory information on that
point?"
"And should he be miserly, Mary, will he accept the conditions I
propose? I shall demand of him the renunciation of a considerable
portion of his possessions in favor of his nephew Geronimo. Would it
not be an insult to you, which your brothers would avenge, were your
hand to