The evening was dark and somewhat stormy; and, though the hour was the same as that in which Bernard de Rohan had met Isabel on the preceding day, so much less light was there now in the heavens that he could scarcely see the postern gate, while with a beating heart he watched it from the small clump of fir-trees of which we have already spoken. Although a hollow and whistling wind blew sharp and strong among the mountains, the heavy vapours hung unmoved around the peaks; and though there was a reddish glare upon the edges of some of the clouds in the western sky, no light was derived from any lingering rays of the sun. Everything was gloomy, and dark, and cheerless; and yet the heart of Bernard de Rohan beat high with love, with joy, with expectation.
She was to be his, the being whom he had so long, so deeply, so tenderly loved. Within one short hour she was to be his own, bound to him by that indissoluble bond, to which he looked forward all the more joyfully, because it was to be eternal. Whose heart would not beat high at the fulfilment of the dream of years?
At length he thought he saw the door move, and, darting forward, he opened it gently. Isabel was waiting within with the faithful Henriot and her silent maid; and though she trembled very much as Bernard threw his arms around her, it was agitation, not fear, which moved her. The Lord of Masseran was still absent: there was no one likely to interrupt them; and when her lover strove to sooth and to encourage her, telling her that his own men were within sound of his horn, and many more unseen, surrounding them on all sides, she replied by assuring him in a low voice that she had no apprehension, and was ready to follow him whithersoever he would. Still, however, he saw that she was agitated; and, as he led her forth, he poured many a soothing and a tender word into her ear, drawing her nearer to his heart, and seeming to assure her, by every action as well as by every word, that the love and the protection which he was about to vow was as tender, as unchangeable, as the brightest dream of hope and expectation could picture it.
"Do you know the chapel down in the valley, my Isabel?" he asked, as he led her onward down a narrow path that wound along the side of the hill, as close under the walls of the castle as might be. "We have obtained the keys, and the priest is waiting."