“In a few moments you shall know more!” exclaimed Nisida; and as she spoke, with an almost superhuman strength she dragged, or rather, flung the prostrate woman into the vault, rushing in herself immediately afterward, and closing the door behind her.
“Holy God!” shrieked Margaretha, gazing wildly round the damp and naked walls of solid masonry, and then up at the lamp suspended to the arched ceiling, “is this the place? But no! you are ignorant of all that; it was not for that you brought me hither! Speak, lady, speak! Where is Antonio? What have I done to merit your displeasure? Oh, mercy! mercy! Bend not those terrible glances upon me! Your eyes flash fire! You are not Nisida—you are an evil spirit! Oh, mercy! mercy!”
And thus did the miserable woman rave, as, kneeling on the cold, damp ground she extended her tightly-clasped hands in an imploring manner toward Nisida, who, drawn up to her full height, was contemplating the groveling wretch with eyes that seemed to shoot forth shafts of devouring flame! Terrible, indeed, was the appearance of Nisida! Like to an avenging deity was she—no longer woman in the glory of her charms and the elegance of her disguise, but a fury—a very fiend, an implacable demoness, armed with the blasting lightnings of infernal malignity and hellish rancor!
“Holy Virgin, protect me!” shrieked Margaretha, every nerve thrilling with the agony of ineffable alarm.
“Yes, call upon Heaven to aid you, vile woman!” said Nisida, in a thick, hoarse, and strangely altered voice, “for you are beyond the reach of human aid! Know ye whose remains—or rather the mangled portions of whose remains—lie in this unconsecrated ground? Ah! well may you start in horror and surprise, for I know all—all!”
A terrific scream burst from the lips of Margaretha; and she threw her wild looks around as if she were going mad.
“Detestable woman!” exclaimed Nisida, fixing her burning eyes more intently still on Margaretha’s countenance: “you are now about to pay the penalty of your complicity in the most odious crimes that ever made nights terrible in Florence! The period of vengeance has at length arrived! But I must torture ere I slay ye! Yes, I must give thee a foretaste of that hell to which your soul is so soon to plunge down! Know, then, that Antonio—your son Antonio—is no more. Not three hours have elapsed since he was slain—assassinated—murdered, if you will so call it—and by my commands.”
“Oh! lady, have pity upon me—pity upon me, a bereaved mother!” implored the old woman, in a voice of anguish so penetrating, that vile as she was, it would have moved any human being save Nisida. “Do not kill me—and I will end my miserable days in a convent! Give me time to repent of all my sins—for they are numerous and great! Oh! spare me, dear lady—have mercy upon me—have mercy upon me!”
“What mercy had you on them whose mangled remains are buried in the ground beneath your feet?” demanded Nisida, in a voice almost suffocated with rage. “Prepare for death—your last moment is at hand!” and a bright dagger flashed in the lamp-light.
“Mercy—mercy!” exclaimed Margaretha, springing forward, and grasping Nisida’s knees.