“Does the old man live?”
“When thou didst leave the castle, I stood watching silently beside the door of the chamber where lay my father, my own father, stricken down by the hand—the hand of his own son.”
“You watched beside the door, while the leech who had been hurried from the City of Florence disrobed your father, and probed the dagger wound?”
“And I—I, stood trembling beside the door waiting the appearance of the leech, every moment expecting to hear the words—‘Thy father is dead! Dead—murdered by his son!’ I stood beside the chamber door, all alive with horror, my fancy picturing the dagger, which but a few hours agone, I had drawn from his heart, the point crimsoned with one fearful stain of blood, there I stood, fire in my brain, and hell in my heart, when—”
“Ha, ha, ha—Ho, ho, ho! I have the brand, the flaming brand,” a wild and maddened voice awoke the echoes of the corridor leading to the cell, with its tones of maniac yell. “Ho, ho, ho! I have the brand, the flaming brand! Look ye how it flashes on high, ’tis a serpent, a merry serpent with tongue of fire! Ha, ha, for the brand, the flaming brand!”
The small door of the cell grated on its hinges, and in the very centre of the pavement, brandishing a fire-brand over his head, there stood, a weak and trembling old man, his thin face, with the vacant eye and hanging lip, flushed with madness, while his voice half shriek and half yell, rang echoing round the room.
The brand, ha, ha, the flaming brand! Ha, ha, ye brought the old man no food! Ho, ho, ho, Old Glow-worm and his comrades starve, yet there is a merry blaze in the vault below, I trow! Rafters are all aflame, massy bolts are red with fire, and my comrades go shouting merrily through the long vaults, waving their brands on high, and singing a joyous song as they go—
“Then raise the chaunt,
Then swell the stave—
Here’s to Death, all grim and gaunt,
And to his home, the grave!”
CHAPTER THE TENTH.
THE MYSTERIES OF THE CHRONICLE.
TO BE READ BY ALL WHO WOULD LOOK BEHIND THE CURTAIN OF FATE, AND GAZE UPON THE SECRET SPRINGS THAT MOVE MEN TO DEEDS OF WOE AND WAR AND DEATH.