It was one of those glorious evenings on the Adriatic shores. The sun had set; but the rich orange glow in the west, still marked the gorgeous pomp of his departure; mingling its fervid gold with the intense blue of the southern sky. The vivid glare of light was sobered into a depth of color,—the heat of day was tempered into a soft luxurious warmth, that filled the air with voluptuous beauty. The nearer trees were embrowned in shadow; the mountain horizon lay empurpled in distance. All was steeped in the sumptuous hues, and balmy repose of evening in a meridional clime. The sole enjoyer of the scene, at this hour, was a solitary horseman, pacing slowly along the road; which lay rather inland, the sea-coast screened from view by trees, and broken ground, and such intervening objects. It was scarcely more than a bridle-way; little frequented by travellers, although it led to the principal place in Illyria, where the reigning duke held his court; strangers mostly arriving by ship, and proceeding from the harbour into the capital.