“He is dead—my father”—again sounded the husky voice of the Cavalier. “Thou, Annabel, art all that is left to me—I am—”
“A murderer—a parricide!” cried a sharp and piercing voice, that thrilled to the very heart of the cavalier.
He turned hurriedly as he grasped the maiden with his good right arm, he turned and beheld—the Scholar Aldarin.
His glance was fixed and stern, while, with one hand half-upraised, with his thick eyebrows darkening in a frown, he stood regarding the Cavalier with a look that was meant to rend his inmost heart.
“What means this outcry in the presence of the dead?” exclaimed Adrian in a determined tone—“Let our past disputes be forgotten, old man, in this terrible hour. See you not, my father lies stark and dead?”
“Murdered by thee, vile parricide!”—rang out the voice of the Signior Aldarin, as, with a determined step, he advanced to the bedside—“Ho! Guards, I say”—he shouted, raising his voice—“Vassals of Albarone, to the rescue!”
The eye of the young Cavalier brightened, his brow was knit, and his form erected to its full height as he spoke, in a quiet, determined tone.
“Look ye, old man, thou mayst taunt and gibe with thy magpie tongue, as long as the humor pleases thee. My father’s brother need fear no wrong from me—this maiden’s father can fear no harm from Adrian Di Albarone. Heap taunt on taunt, good Signior, but see that this spirit of insult is not carried into action. I am lord in the castle of my fathers!”
“Father, what mean those wild words, these looks of anger?” shrieked the Ladye Annabel, as she awoke from her swoon of terror, and, supported by the arm of Adrian, glanced round the scene—“Surely, my father, you speak not aught against Lord Adrian?”
And as she spoke, the chamber was filled with men-at-arms, in their glittering armor, and servitors of Albarone, all attired in the livery of the house, who came thronging into the apartment, and circled round the scene, while their mouths were agape, and their eyes protruding with astonishment.