“Who will be the minister of this doom? Who will receive the consecrated steel, and strike it to the tyrant’s heart?”
There was a low, deep murmur, a pause of hesitation, and then the priests communed with each other in muttered whispers.
“Who will minister this doom?” again echoed the High Priest, while the sound of footsteps startled the silence of the place. “Who will receive the consecrated steel, and strike it to the tyrant’s heart?”
“Behold the minister!” cried a deep-toned voice as the strange figures strode toward the table. “Give me the steel!”
“It is Albertine!” echoed the members of the Order, and the wan face and flashing eyes of the monk were disclosed by the falling cowl.
“Behold the minister of this doom!” he shouted, advancing to the doomsman. “Death to the tyrant! Give me the steel!”
And as he spoke, the cowl fell from the face of the figure who stood beside the monk, and the torch bearers, the monks, and the High Priest, looked from their muffled robes in wonder and in awe, and beheld the face of—Adrian Di Albarone.
CHAPTER THE FOURTH.
THE CHAPEL OF ST. GEORGE OF ALBARONE.
THE SOLEMN FUNERAL RITES OF THE MIGHTY DEAD, CONVEYED TO THE TOMB, NOT AS THE VICTIM, BUT THE CONQUEROR.
The beams of the midnight moon, streaming through the emblazoned panes of the lofty arching windows, mingled with the blaze of long lines of funeral torches, making the chapel of St. George of Albarone as light as day, when illumined by the glare of the thunder storm, and revealing a strange and solemn scene—the last rites of religion celebrated over the corse of the mighty dead.