Thrilled with terror and appalled to the very soul, by the erect form and flashing eye of the Monk, the Duke stood trembling and quivering like a reed, on the verge of the platform rock.
“Choose the manner of thy death! Leap from the rock, or behold, I raise before thy very eyes this dagger; the dagger of the Holy Steel!”
“Thou wilt not slay me thus, good Albertine,” shrieked the Duke. “Mercy—for the sake of God—mercy!”
“Thine own mercy I give back to thee! Leap from the rock, or this dagger seeks thy heart. Ha! that pale form, that dim and shadowy face, floating in the midnight air, with the eyes of speechless woe! She beckons me onward. He comes, pale spirit—thy betrayer comes! An instant, and lo! before the bar of eternity he shall tremble at the frown of the Unknown!”
It was a scene of sickening horror, yet dignified and consecrated by the mighty revenge of the monk.
His face pale as death, his lips livid with fear, his eyes rolling and vacant in their glance, the Duke stepped tremblingly backward, while the monk strode one step forward, raising the keen steel aloft, with a slow movement, yet with a quick eye and a determined arm.
“Leap—leap—or the dagger seeks thy heart!”
The Duke looked wildly around, and, shaking his hands aloft, gnashed his teeth in very despair.
Another moment!
The monk alone stood on the platform, while a rushing sound swept through the air, far, far below, as though a weight of iron had been toppled from the rock.