picture of innocence and youth, that he did not see for some moments
that the sleeper was not alone. Suddenly an exclamation rose to his
lips. He clenched his hand in jealous agony; he approached; he bent
over; he heard the regular breathing which the dreams of guilt never
know; and then, when he saw that pure and interlaced embrace,--the
serene yet somewhat melancholy face of Sibyll, which seemed hueless as
marble in the moonlight, bending partially over that of Anne, as if
even in sleep watchful; both charming forms so linked and woven that
the two seemed as one life, the very breath in each rising and ebbing
with the other; the dark ringlets of Sibyll mingling with the auburn
gold of Anne's luxuriant hair, and the darkness and the gold, tress
within tress, falling impartially over either neck, that gleamed like
ivory beneath that common veil,--when he saw this twofold loveliness,
the sentiment, the conviction of that mysterious defence which exists
in purity, thrilled like ice through his burning veins. In all his
might of monarch and of man, he felt the awe of that unlooked-for
protection,--maidenhood sheltering maidenhood, innocence guarding
innocence. The double virtue appalled and baffled him; and that
slight arm which encircled the neck he would have perilled his realm
to clasp, shielded his victim more effectually than the bucklers of
all the warriors that ever gathered round the banner of the lofty
Warwick. Night and the occasion befriended him; but in vain. While
Sibyll was there, Anne was saved. He ground his teeth, and muttered
to himself. At that moment Anne turned restlessly. This movement
disturbed the light sleep of her companion. She spoke half inaudibly,
but the sound was as the hoot of shame in the ear of the guilty king.
He let fall the curtain, and was gone. And if one who lived
afterwards to hear and to credit the murderous doom which, unless
history lies, closed the male line of Edward, had beheld the king
stealing, felon-like, from the chamber,--his step reeling to and fro