“Kind!” said Kenelm, with mournful tones
and softened eyes, “kind! Alas, my poor
sister mortal! if pity be kindness, who can see you
and not be kind?”
The girl released his arm, and he walked on.
She stood some moments gazing after him till out of
sight, then she drew her hand suddenly across her
eyes, and retracing her steps, was, in her turn, caught
hold of by a rougher hand than hers, as she passed
the gin-palace. She shook off the grasp with
a passionate scorn, and went straight home. Home!
is that the right word? Poor sister mortal!
AND now Kenelm found himself at the extremity of the
town, and on the banks of the river. Small squalid
houses still lined the bank for some way, till, nearing
the bridge, they abruptly ceased, and he passed through
a broad square again into the main street. On
the other side of the street there was a row of villa-like
mansions, with gardens stretching towards the river.
All around in the thoroughfare was silent and deserted.
By this time the passengers had gone home. The
scent of night-flowers from the villa-gardens came
sweet on the starlit air. Kenelm paused to inhale
it, and then lifting his eyes, hitherto downcast, as
are the eyes of men in meditative moods, he beheld,
on the balcony of the nearest villa, a group of well-dressed
persons. The balcony was unusually wide and spacious.
On it was a small round table, on which were placed
wine and fruits. Three ladies were seated round
the table on wire-work chairs, and on the side nearest
to Kenelm, one man. In that man, now slightly
turning his profile, as if to look towards the river,
Kenelm recognized the minstrel. He was still in
his picturesque knickerbocker dress, and his clear-cut
features, with the clustering curls of hair, and Rubens-like
hue and shape of beard, had more than their usual
beauty, softened in the light of skies, to which the
moon, just risen, added deeper and fuller radiance.
The ladies were in evening dress, but Kenelm could
not distinguish their faces hidden behind the minstrel.
He moved softly across the street, and took his stand
behind a buttress in the low wall of the garden, from
which he could have full view of the balcony, unseen
himself. In this watch he had no other object
than that of a vague pleasure. The whole grouping
had in it a kind of scenic romance, and he stopped
as one stops before a picture.
He then saw that of the three ladies one was old;
another was a slight girl of the age of twelve or
thirteen; the third appeared to be somewhere about
seven or eight and twenty. She was dressed with
more elegance than the others. On her neck, only
partially veiled by a thin scarf, there was the glitter
of jewels; and, as she now turned her full face towards
the moon, Kenelm saw that she was very handsome,—a
striking kind of beauty, calculated to fascinate a
poet or an artist,—not unlike Raphael’s
Fornarina, dark, with warm tints.
