“Listen, Brothers of the Invisible, listen to the last words ye shall ever hear from your High Priest. Our oath is fulfilled, the Tyrant is dead, Florence is free! And here in this lofty tower, environed by flame, with the roaring of the fire in our ears, and the lurid smoke rolling up to the heavens, with flame and death all round, here in this dark and blood-stained House of St. Benedict, do I, your High Priest and Sire, dissolve the Order of the Monks of the Holy Steel!”
“When Wrong arises, then shall ye again spring into life, when Murder walks abroad in the sunshine, laughing in the face of God, then shall His ministers again raise the Invisible steel! Till then I dissolve your band, give back your oath.”
“Prince and peasant, lord and monk—off with your sacred garments, off with the vestments in which ye have been robed as the avengers of God, off with hood and cowl—stand forth as ye are and raise the shout—Live the Ladye Annabel. Live the Queen!”
“Live the Ladye Annabel—” the shout rang pealing to the tower-roof—“Live the Queen!”
It was like magic!
Down fell hood and cowl, down fell sable vestments and midnight robes, and there disclosed in the light of the flaming brand, stood the prince in his jewelled robes, the knight in the surcoat of glittering velvet, the lord in his gay doublet, the merchant in his silken tunic, the peasant in coat of serge, the priest arrayed in sacerdotal white, glittering with the sacred insignia of gold, the scholar in his flowing gown of sable, all stood there, rising stately erect in the light, proud representatives of their various classes, types of the Gothic Man,[9] however named, or styled, all joined in the holiest cause on earth, the freedom of their native land, lifting up their hands and voices in one wild burst of enthusiasm, as they hailed the Ladye Annabel, Queen of Florence, chosen by the people, chosen by the lords, chosen by the priests, chosen by God!
A strange smile of delight stole over the lovely face of the Ladye Annabel, as standing calm and erect, her blue eyes was fixed on the vacant air, with the gaze of one entranced by some vision of far-off bliss.
“We shall meet again,—” she said and smiled—“Oh joy, we shall meet again!”
“Buried alive—ho, ho!” shrieked the ancient man, in a low chaunting voice—“Ha—ha! The stone rolls back—I have the brand, and then—ho, ho, hurrah! Buried alive!”