“I see his form”—she murmured—“and yet ’tis a dream—they seize him, they—O, heaven help me, they raise their swords above his head—”
“Maiden, fling thy robe!—fling the death-pall over the funeral lamps!”—a solemn voice broke on the air directly overhead.
She looked above, she shrieked with horror, for the cold strange eyes of the Demon-Figure met her gaze.
Meanwhile, breasting his way through the opposing crowd of foemen, the azure knight neared the person of the Duke, he stood before the tyrant face to face.
“Die, tyrant!” he shouted, as springing back to give effect to his blow, he threw his sword on high. It descended full upon the shoulder of the Duke, and severing his armor, snapped suddenly short, and the azure knight was left defenceless in the hands of his enemies.
“Up with the caitiff’s vizor,” shouted the Duke. “Let us see the bravo’s face. Up with his vizor.”
The captive knight cast a glance around, and beheld his followers—the dying and the dead—strewn over the floor of the cavern. The brave old Esquires lay side by side, their sinewy hands still grasping their broken swords, and their gray hair dabbled in blood.
“Sir Duke,” exclaimed the captive, “behold the bravo!” He raised his vizor, and the features of Adrian Di Albarone, pale and sunken, were revealed. “Behold the bravo!”
“Now, by the body of God!” shouted the Duke, boiling with passion, “thou shalt not escape me this time.—Dog——”
“These hands itch for thy blood”—shrieked a shrill and ringing voice, and Adrian beheld the distorted form and mis-shapen features of the Doomsman, pressing forward from the throng of men-at-arms, with his talon-like fingers grasping the air, while his face wore the expression of a demon in human guise,—“These hands itch for thy blood! Ha!—ha! Once escaped—the second time, the hot iron, the melted lead and the wheel of torture, wait not for thee in vain! Ha, ha,—hark how the cavern roof joins in my laugh. Great Duke, the Doomsman claims his victim!”