A single candle burned in the place, and its dim fitful light rather augmented than diminished the gloom.
Margaret was absorbed in the most profound grief and terror; and her mental sufferings were revealed in heart-rending sobs.
The nature of her doom had already been communicated to her!
Skilligalee's countenance was ashy pale; but, much as he felt, he knew the Zingarees too well to undertake the vain task of imploring their mercy on behalf of the culprit.
"Is every thing ready?" demanded the king.
"Every thing," answered one of the gipsy-gaolers.
With these words the man opened a massive door leading into a cellar, at the end of which there was another door, affording admittance into a second and smaller vault.
"Margaret," cried the king, in a loud tone, "your doom is prepared. Brethren, take warning against treachery and ingratitude from this last act of justice!"
The two gipsies who had been entrusted with the custody of the criminal, raised her between them, and bore her through the first cellar into the interior vault.
But she uttered not a scream—nor a sob: she had fallen into a state of apathy bordering upon insensibility, the moment the rough hands of those men had touched her.