In front of the band of warriors, a group of noble lords and high-born dames, plumed cavaliers and gay-robed damsels,—all mounted on prancing steeds, swept circling around the figure of a fair and beautiful Ladye, whose jet-black barb, with its watchful groom, stood reined in their midst.
Every tongue was silent, and every eye was fixed upon the death-like paleness of the maiden’s countenance, contrasting strangely with the gorgeous robes of purple and gold that drooped round her young and lovely form.
Her head bowed slowly on the neck of her steed, and the tears of a never-dying grief came gushing between the fair and delicate fingers that strove to veil her face.
She wept, the fair Ladye Annabel, whose steed was about to spring forward in the triumphal procession, that would soon give Florence its lovely queen; the coronet was on her brow, the swords of a thousand warriors were at her beck, and yet she wept.
Suddenly a wild murmur ran through the warrior-throng.
Uprising in the light of the burning Convent—that dark haunt of blood and awe, now toppling to its foundation, a gray rock, its base concealed by stunted shrubs, while its brow was turned to the flame-beams, attracted the gaze of every eye, as a strange spectacle hushed the whispers of every voice.
A hand, white as marble, was thrust from behind the rock, lifting a goblet of gold in the light of the setting sun.
Deep muttered whispers broke along the warrior-throng, every voice spoke of some new omen crowning the horrors of the convent during the last hour of its existence, and the murmurs of the lords and ladies clustering at her side, attracted the attention of the Ladye Annabel.
She slowly turned, she gazed upon the uplifted hand with the goblet of gold rising above the verge of the gray rock—not more than twenty paces from her side—she gazed in wonder and in awe.
And as she gazed, a wan and haggard face appeared above the rock, and a wasted and trembling form, clad in garments of price all soiled and torn, stood on the verge of the massive stone, flinging the goblet wildly aloft, as a peal of maniac laughter came thrilling to the maiden’s ear.