DOI article:
Gilchrist, Robert Murray: The crimson weaver
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27805#0276
The Crimson Weaver
272
crowned a western tower, their white wings beat against a silver
bell that glistened there, and the whole valley was filled with
music.
My Master trembled and crossed himself. “In the name of
our Mother,” he exclaimed, “ let us return. I dare not trust
your life here.”
But a great door in front of the palace swung open, and a
woman with a swaying walk came out to the terrace. She wore
a robe of crimson worn into tatters at skirt-hem arid shoulders.
She had been forewarned of our presence, for her face turned
instantly in our direction. She smiled subtly, and her smile died
away into a most tempting sadness.
She caught up such remnants of her skirt as trailed behind, and
strutted about with the gait of a peacock. As the sun touched
the glossy fabric I saw eyes inwrought in deeper hue.
My Master still trembled, but he did not move, for the gaze
of the woman was fixed upon him. His brows twisted and his
white hair rose and stood erect, as if he viewed some unspeakable
horror.
Stooping, with sidelong motions of the head, she approached ;
bringing with her the smell of such an incense as when amidst
Eastern herbs burns the corse.She was perfect of feature as
the Diana, but her skin was deathly white and her lips fretted
with pain.
She took no heed of me, but knelt at my Master’s feet—a
Magdalene before an impregnable priest.
“ Prince and Lord, Tower of Chastity, hear ! ” she murmured.
“ For lack of love I perish. See my robe in tatters ! ”
He strove to avert his face, but his eyes still dwelt upon her.
She half rose and shook nut-brown tresses over his knees.
Youth came back in a flood to my Master. His shrivelled
skin
272
crowned a western tower, their white wings beat against a silver
bell that glistened there, and the whole valley was filled with
music.
My Master trembled and crossed himself. “In the name of
our Mother,” he exclaimed, “ let us return. I dare not trust
your life here.”
But a great door in front of the palace swung open, and a
woman with a swaying walk came out to the terrace. She wore
a robe of crimson worn into tatters at skirt-hem arid shoulders.
She had been forewarned of our presence, for her face turned
instantly in our direction. She smiled subtly, and her smile died
away into a most tempting sadness.
She caught up such remnants of her skirt as trailed behind, and
strutted about with the gait of a peacock. As the sun touched
the glossy fabric I saw eyes inwrought in deeper hue.
My Master still trembled, but he did not move, for the gaze
of the woman was fixed upon him. His brows twisted and his
white hair rose and stood erect, as if he viewed some unspeakable
horror.
Stooping, with sidelong motions of the head, she approached ;
bringing with her the smell of such an incense as when amidst
Eastern herbs burns the corse.She was perfect of feature as
the Diana, but her skin was deathly white and her lips fretted
with pain.
She took no heed of me, but knelt at my Master’s feet—a
Magdalene before an impregnable priest.
“ Prince and Lord, Tower of Chastity, hear ! ” she murmured.
“ For lack of love I perish. See my robe in tatters ! ”
He strove to avert his face, but his eyes still dwelt upon her.
She half rose and shook nut-brown tresses over his knees.
Youth came back in a flood to my Master. His shrivelled
skin