Concurring in which sentiment, they all descended to the lower room. CHAPTER IV

THE IRON-MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER


A week had elapsed since Auriol Darcy was conveyed to the
iron-merchant's dwelling, after the attack made upon him by the ruffians
in the ruined house; and though almost recovered from the serious
injuries he had received, he still remained the guest of his preserver. It was a bright spring morning, when a door leading to the yard in front
of the house opened, and a young girl, bright and fresh as the morning's
self, issued from it. A lovelier creature than Ebba Thorneycroft cannot be imagined. Her
figure was perfection--slight, tall, and ravishingly proportioned, with
a slender waist, little limbs, and fairy feet that would have made the
fortune of an opera-dancer. Her features were almost angelic in
expression, with an outline of the utmost delicacy and precision--not
cold, classical regularity--but that softer and incomparably more lovely
mould peculiar to our own clime. Ebba's countenance was a type of Saxon
beauty. Her complexion was pure white, tinged with a slight bloom. Her
eyes were of a serene summer blue, arched over by brows some shades
darker than the radiant tresses that fell on either cheek, and were
parted over a brow smoother than alabaster. Her attire was simple but
tasteful, and by its dark colour threw into relief the exceeding
fairness of her skin. Ebba's first care was to feed her favourite linnet, placed in a cage
over the door. Having next patted the head of a huge bulldog who came
out of his kennel to greet her, and exchanged a few words with two men
employed at a forge in the inner part of the building on the right, she
advanced farther into the yard. This part of the premises, being strewn with ironwork of every possible
shape, presented a very singular appearance, and may merit some
description. There were heaps of rusty iron chains flung together like
fishermen's nets, old iron area-guards, iron kitchen-fenders, old
grates, safes, piles of old iron bowls, a large assortment of old iron
pans and dishes, a ditto of old ovens, kettles without number,
sledge-hammers, anvils, braziers, chimney-cowls, and smoke-jacks. Stout upright posts, supporting cross-beams on the top, were placed at
intervals on either side of the yard, and these were decorated, in the
most artistic style, with rat-traps, man-traps, iron lanterns, pulleys,
padlocks, chains, trivets, triangles, iron rods, disused street lamps,
dismounted cannon, and anchors. Attached to hooks in the cross-beam
nearest the house hung a row of old horse-shoes, while from the centre
depended a large rusty bell. Near the dog's kennel was a tool-box,
likewise garnished with horse-shoes, and containing pincers, files,
hammers, and other implements proper to the smith. Beyond this was an
open doorway leading to the workshop, where the two men before mentioned
were busy at the forge. Though it was still early, the road was astir with passengers; and many
waggons and carts, laden with hay, straw, and vegetables, were passing. Ebba, however, had been solely drawn forth by the beauty of the morning,
and she stopped for a moment at the street gate, to breathe the balmy
air. As she inhaled the gentle breeze, and felt the warm sunshine upon
her cheek, her thoughts wandered away into the green meadows in which
she had strayed as a child, and she longed to ramble amid them again. Perhaps she scarcely desired a solitary stroll; but however this might
be, she was too much engrossed by the reverie to notice a tall man,
wrapped in a long black cloak, who regarded her with the most fixed
attention, as he passed on the opposite side of the road. Proceeding to a short distance, this personage crossed over, and
returned slowly towards the iron-merchant's dwelling. Ebba then, for the
first time, remarked him, and was startled by his strange, sinister
appearance. His features were handsome, but so malignant and fierce in
expression, that they inspired only aversion. A sardonic grin curled his
thin lips, and his short, crisply curled hair, raven-black in hue,
contrasted forcibly and disagreeably with his cadaverous complexion. An
attraction like that of the snake seemed to reside in his dark blazing
eyes, for Ebba trembled like a bird beneath their influence, and could
not remove her gaze from them. A vague presentiment of coming ill smote
her, and she dreaded lest the mysterious being before her might be
connected in some inexplicable way with her future destiny. On his part, the stranger was not insensible to the impression he had
produced, and suddenly halting, he kept his eyes riveted on those of
the girl, who, after remaining spell-bound, as it were, for a few
moments, precipitately retreated towards the house. Just as she reached the door, and was about to pass through it, Auriol
came forth. He was pale, as if from recent suffering, and bore his left
arm in a sling. "You look agitated," he said, noticing Ebba's uneasiness. "What has
happened?" "Not much," she replied, a deep blush mantling her cheeks. "But I have
been somewhat alarmed by the person near the gate." "Indeed!" cried Auriol, darting forward. "Where is he? I see no one." "Not a tall man, wrapped in a long black cloak?" rejoined Ebba,
following him cautiously. "Ha!" cried Auriol. "Has he been here?" "Then you know the person I allude to?" she rejoined. "I know some one answering his description," he replied, with a forced
smile. "Once beheld, the man I mean is not to be forgotten," said Ebba. "He has
a countenance such as I never saw before. If I could believe in the
'evil eye,' I should be sure he possessed it." "'Tis he, there can be no doubt," rejoined Auriol, in a sombre tone. "Who and what is he, then?" demanded Ebba. "He is a messenger of ill," replied Auriol, "and I am thankful he is
gone." [Illustration: The Iron-merchant's Daughter.] "Are you quite sure of it?" she asked, glancing timorously up and down
the road. But the mysterious individual could no longer be seen. "And so, after exciting my curiosity in this manner, you will not
satisfy it?" she said. "I cannot," rejoined Auriol, somewhat sternly. "Nay, then, since you are so ungracious, I shall go and prepare
breakfast," she replied. "My father must be down by this time." "Stay!" cried Auriol, arresting her, as she was about to pass through
the door. "I wish to have a word with you." Ebba stopped, and the bloom suddenly forsook her cheeks. But Auriol seemed unable to proceed. Neither dared to regard the other;
and a profound silence prevailed between them for a few moments. "Ebba," said Auriol at length, "I am about to leave your father's house
to-day." "Why so soon?" she exclaimed, looking up into his face. "You are not
entirely recovered yet." "I dare not stay longer," he said. "Dare not!" cried Ebba. And she again cast down her eyes; but Auriol
made no reply. Fortunately the silence was broken by the clinking of the smiths'
hammers upon the anvil.