Hildebrand; or, The Days of Queen Elizabeth, An Historic Romance, Vol. 1 of 3Anonymous
History
Hildebrand; or, The Days of Queen Elizabeth, An Historic Romance, Vol. 1 of 3
Anonymous
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction
Our young horseman was at this moment withdrawing his sword from
the body of the fugitive’s comrade. Hearing the clatter of the
retreating horse, he turned round; but though the robber had only
a slight start of him, and was no better armed than himself, he
showed no disposition to give him chase. Seemingly satisfied with
having driven him off, he proceeded to tender his assistance, in
another character, to the still helpless lady.
The lady was reclining in the arms of the elderly individual
before noticed. She was, as has been remarked, still insensible;
but if her position was calculated to obscure and veil over
the attributes of her mind, it was well adapted to display the
exquisite graces of her person. Though she could hardly have
arrived at her eighteenth summer, she had evidently attained
her full height, and was progressing towards that development
of _contour_, or general outline, which is the most glorious
indication of female maturity. But it was more in promise--more
in those shadowy lines which were yet hardly revealed, but which
were still replete with grace and excellence--that the beauty of
her person chiefly consisted. The hundred dazzling charms that
marked the mould and perfectness of her limbs, though distinctly
visible, were not of that character which can be defined; and
they existed more as a whole than individually, and with a
seeming hold and dependence on each other. There was, however,
little of buoyancy in her most engaging countenance. Whether it
was the effect of her swoon, or of some deeper cause, rooted in
the past, her features wore a stamp of gravity beyond her years,
but which might arise from a habit of reflection, as much as from
any spring of disappointment or sorrow. Her complexion was dark,
yet so beautifully shaded, that it seemed to comprehend a variety
of tints, blended into one inseparable and harmonious whole; and
this gave it a force of expression, and a sweetness of tone,
truly charming. Her raven-black hair, disarranged by her recent
struggle, had burst the restraints imposed upon it by her toilet,
and fell loosely over her fair cheeks and neck, as if it sought,
by this close and striking proximity, to be compared with the
whiteness of her heaving bosom.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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