Amesa had lost all his bravado. He trembled as would the meanest of men who should bow his neck to the sword. He confessed his crime, and piteously begged for his life; or, at least, that time should be given him to make preparation for what he dreaded worse than death. A spirit already damned seemed to have taken possession of his quivering frame.
"Your life, Amesa," said the chief, "is forfeit for your crimes. On the citadel walls of Croia, when we shall have returned there, as the sun sets, so shall your life! Jesu grant that, through your repentance and the prayers of Mother Church, your soul may rise again in a better world!"
"Amen!" responded all.
The army returned from the Thessalian border through the country northward, everywhere received with ovations by the people. The fate of Amesa, though commiserated, was as generally commended. No one, however attached by association to the once popular Voivode, raised a voice in dissent from the sentence, or in pity for the culprit.
CHAPTER LVII.
The news reached Morsinia at Croia long before the return of the army. She took little joy in the hearty and generous acclaim that welcomed her to her inheritance. She had no vanity to be stimulated by the popular stories which associated her beauty with her wealth. Her thoughts seemed to be palled with heaviness, rather than canopied by the bright prospects which fortune had spread for her.
When Castriot officially announced to her the restoration of the DeStreeses' property, she refused to enter upon her estates, which were to come to her through the ceremony of blood in the execution of her enemy.
"No! Let them be confiscate to the State. I cheerfully surrender their revenues for Albania. I ask nothing more than to be the instrument of so aiding our noble cause and its noble leader," said she.
"Albania will insist that you shall obtain your right. From voivode to lowest peasant, the people will be content only as the daughter of DeStreeses graces his ancient castle."