“Nay, nay, call me not shadow, I’ll never darken thy way to the gallows. But tell me, fair sir, did not the dagger pierce the old man’s heart?”
“It grazed the heart, but did not pierce it. Any city gossip might tell thee this, old thunder cloud!”
“And so the old man lives?”
“He doth! Thou art wondrous sorry that he still breathes the air, I warrant me?”
“Nay, nay, good youth. I bear Sir Geoffrey no harm, but dost see—the wheel, the axe and the boiling lead, all were ready for the boy Guiseppo, and, and, but ’tis the will of heaven! I can bear disappointment, he, he, he, in all matters, save in one. Thy neck boy, ha, ha, ha, the Doomsman’s fingers itch for thy neck!”
And while the peasant-group, the three buxom damsels, and the light-brained postillion, shrunk back from the touch of the distorted being with disgust, and stood thrilled with the fear of his words of omen, the Doomsman glided away, mingling with the vast crowd who thronged the streets of the wide city.
Standing upon the throne of gold, attired in the purple robes of a prince, Adrian Di Albarone, glanced with a brightening eye, and a swelling heart, upon the gorgeous scene around him, and then his glance was fixed upon the fair and lovely maiden by his side, whose eyes of dreamy beauty were downward cast, while a soft flush deepened the hue of her cheek, as she seemed to shrink from the gaze of the vast multitude, extending over the pavement, and along the aisles of the cathedral.
Adrian cast his eyes upon the throng around the throne.
There stood bold Robin, the stout Yeoman, attired in a garish appareling, which he seemed to like not half so well as his plain suit of buff, defended by armor plates of steel; and there his locks of gray, falling on his knightly surcoat, emblazoned on the breast with the red cross of the crusaders, stood the brave Sir Geoffrey O’ Th’ Longsword, attended on either side by the gallant esquires Damian and Halbert, each with a grim smile on his scarred face, as he surveyed the pomp and show glittering along the cathedral aisles.
Standing at the back of his father, his eye downcast, and his thoughts, Guiseppo seemed musing on the fearful blow, which had well nigh burdened his soul with the nameless crime. He said nothing, nor spoke of the pomp around him, but with folded arms stood silent and apart.