"Spare me! Mercy! O do not—"
Ninety-One crept through the narrow aperture, out upon the roof, and dragged Tarleton after him. Then there were two forms standing erect for a moment, in the gloom, and then the blast bore away the sound of voices, and a howl that was heard, far and long, through the night.
"This way! We've caught the old fox," said a well known voice, and the red face of Blossom, adorned with carbuncles, appeared in the doorway, while the lantern which he held, filled the garret with light.
"This way," he sprang through the doorway, and followed by half a dozen men in thick coats, and with maces in their hands, he ran toward the window, "he's out upon the roof."
He held the lantern over his head, and looked without, while the snow and sleet beat in his face. From the garret-window the roof fell with a sudden slope, for the space of two yards, and there it ended. By the lantern light, he saw some rude traces of footsteps in the snow, and the print of a hand. A glance was sufficient. When he turned to confront his comrades, his red face was white as a sheet—
"By G—d the old convic' has gone an' jumped from the roof,—four storys high—as I'm a sinner!"
[CHAPTER VII.]
IN THE BANQUET-ROOM ONCE MORE.
Meanwhile in the banquet-room, the Legate of the Pope, with the form of his daughter, in her male attire, nestling on his breast, raised his head, and surveyed the faces of the spectators, who had not yet recovered from their surprise. His face pale and worn, as with years of consuming thought, his eyes bright as with the fire of a soul never at rest, held every gaze enchained as he spoke,—