No wonder that at first I could see only the face and figure
of Winifred. My consciousness had again dwindled to a single point.
In a few seconds, however, I perceived that the scene was an antique
oak-panelled chamber, corniced with large and curiously-carven
figures, upon which played the warm light from a silver lamp
suspended from the middle of the ceiling by a twofold silver chain
fastened to the feet of an angel, quaintly carved in the dark wood of
the ceiling. It was beneath this lamp that stood the majestic figure
of the beautiful stranger, the Lady Geraldine. As she bent her head
to look at her bosom, which she was about fully to uncover, the
lamp-light gleaming among the gems and flashing in her hair and down
her loosened white silken robe to her naked feet, shining,
blue-veined and half-hidden in the green rushes that covered the
floor, she seemed to be herself the source from which the lurid light
was shed about the room. But her eyes were brighter than all. They
were more dreadful by far to look at than Winifred's own--they were
rolling wildly as if in an agony of hate, while she was drawing in
her breath till that marble throat of hers seemed choking.
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