“‘Remove his slouched hat, one of ye,’ exclaimed the Doomsman, ‘see ye not that both of my hands are employed in holding his carcass.’
“Hugo reached forth his hand and removed his slouched hat—‘O! an’ I live till fourscore, I’ll never forget the scene that followed.’
“There, his arms ignominiously bound, resting in the embrace of the Doomsman, lay the Duke of Florence, his face pale with ire, his mouth frothing like a madman’s, and his eyes bloodshot; and there stood the Doomsman, his gray eyes protruding with astonishment, until they seemed about to drop from their sockets, his mouth agape and his tongue lolling out upon his bearded chin; and there, likewise, stood Hugo and Balvardo, looking first at one another, then at the Duke, and then clasping their hands, they fall upon their knees and screaming for mercy—and there in the back-ground, his cloak muffled over his face, and his frame shaking with laughter while his eyes run over with tears of mirth, stands his grace’s page, the trim Guiseppo. Was’t not a rich scene, Rosalind?”
CHAPTER THE TENTH.
THE MEMORY OF GUILT.
On the stately couch in the Red-Chamber, with the Count Aldarin bending over him, lay his Grace the Duke of Florence, attired in his boots and hose, with his under shirt thrown back, revealing the left shoulder of the Prince laid open in a deep gash.
As the Count Aldarin, holding a light in one hand peered earnestly at the wound, the Duke exclaimed—
“A horrid gash, Count? eh! Damnation! to be foiled by the villain twice—bound in my own dungeon like a criminal—struck down in that cursed cavern like a dog—damnation seize the—ah! Count, some wine; for the Saint’s sake, some wine, I pray thee.”
The Count turned hurriedly to the beaufet, and filling a goblet with wine that sparkled in the light with a ruddy glow, he hastened to give it to the wounded Duke, who raised it until it nearly touched his lips, when, as if struck by a strange fancy, he suddenly held it out at arm’s length exclaiming as he gazed at Aldarin with a lack-lustre eye—
“I say Count, suppose there should be some white dust at the bottom of this goblet?—and—and—a ring? eh? Count?—Ugh!—Take it away—ugh!”
He flung the goblet from him, scattering the wine over the couch, while the vessel rolled clanging over the marble floor.