When Sir Norman Kingsley entered the ancient ruin, his head was fall of

Leoline--when he knelt down to look through the aperture in the flagged

floor, head and heart were full of her still. But the moment his eyes

fell on the scene beneath, everything fled far from his thoughts,

Leoline among the rest; and nothing remained but a profound and

absorbing feeling of intensest amaze.

Right below him he beheld an immense room, of which the flag he had

raised seemed to form part of the ceiling, in a remote corner. Evidently

it was one of a range of lower vaults, and as he was at least fourteen

feet above it, and his corner somewhat in shadow, there was little

danger of his being seen. So, leaning far down to look at his leisure,

he took the goods the gods provided him, and stared to his heart's

content.

Sir Norman had seen some queer sights daring the four-and-twenty years

he had spent in this queer world, but never anything quite equal to

this. The apartment below, though so exceedingly large, was lighted with

the brilliance of noon-day; and every object it contained; from one end

to the other, was distinctly revealed. The floor, from glimpses he

had of it in obscure corners, was of stone; but from end to end it was

covered with richest rugs and mats, and squares of velvet of as many

colors as Joseph's coat. The walls were hung with splendid tapestry,

gorgeous in silk and coloring, representing the wars of Troy, the

exploits of Coeur de Lion among the Saracens, the death of Hercules, all

on one side; and on the other, a more modern representation, the Field

of the Cloth of Gold. The illumination proceeded from a range of wax

tapers in silver candelabra, that encircled the whole room. The air was

redolent of perfumes, and filled with strains of softest and sweetest

music from unseen hands. At one extremity of the room was a huge door

of glass and gilding; and opposite it, at the other extremity, was

a glittering throne. It stood on a raised dais, covered with crimson

velvet, reached by two or three steps carpeted with the same; the throne

was as magnificent as gold, and satin, and ornamentation could make

it. A great velvet canopy of the same deep, rich color, cut in antique

points, and heavily hang with gold fringe, was above the seat of honor.

Beside it, to the right, but a little lower down, was a similar throne,

somewhat lees superb, and minus a canopy. From the door to the throne

was a long strip of crimson velvet, edged and embroidered with gold, and

arranged in a sweeping semi-circle, on either side, were a row of great

carved, gilded, and cushioned chairs, brilliant, too, with crimson and

gold, and each for every-day Christians, a throne in itself. Between the

blaze of illumination, the flashing of gilding and gold, the tropical

flush of crimson velvet, the rainbow dyes on floor and walls, the

intoxicating gushes of perfume, and the delicious strains of unseen

music, it is no wonder Sir Norman Kingsley's head was spinning like a

bewildered teetotum.




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