Canto III: Canto III IX

She turned, and vanished ere he could reply,But his glance followed far with eager eye;And gathering, as he could, the links that boundHis form, to curl their length, and curb their sound,Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude,He, fast as fettered limbs allow, pursued.'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not whereThat passage led; nor lamp nor guard was there:He sees a dusky glimmering--shall he seekOr shun that ray so indistinct and weak?Chance guides his steps--a freshness seems to bearFull on his brow as if from morning air;He reached an open gallery--on his eyeGleamed the last star of night, the clearing sky:Yet scarcely heeded these--another lightFrom a lone chamber struck upon his sight.Towards it he moved; a scarcely closing doorRevealed the ray within, but nothing more.With hasty step a figure outward passed,Then paused, and turned--and paused--'tis She at last!No poniard in that hand, nor sign of ill--"Thanks to that softening heart--she could not kill!"Again he looked, the wildness of her eyeStarts from the day abrupt and fearfully.She stopped--threw back her dark far-floating hair,That nearly veiled her face and bosom fair,As if she late had bent her leaning headAbove some object of her doubt or dread.They meet--upon her brow--unknown--forgot--Her hurrying hand had left--'twas but a spot--Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood--Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime--'tis Blood!