By the light of a torch the officer read,
"In the event of being unable to hold out, signal and make a sally according to directions to be given verbally by the bearer. Castriot."
Turning to the crowd, the commandant addressed them.
"Brave men! Epirots and Dibrians! We are being led into some mistake. My message makes it evident that on this man's life depends the life of every one of us——"
His voice was drowned by wild cries that came from a distant part of the town. The cries were familiar enough to all their ears; but they had heretofore heard them only from beneath the walls without. They were the Turkish cries of assault. "Allah! Allah! Allah! Allah!" rolled like a hurricane along the streets of Sfetigrade. The gates had been thrown open by some Dibrian, whom superstition and a thirst-fevered brain had transformed into a traitor.
"Quick!" cried Constantine. "Fire three powder flashes from the bastion, and follow me."
"Brave girl!" said he to Morsinia, grasping her hand and drawing her toward the citadel.
"It is too late!" replied the commandant. "All the ports are occupied by the enemy. We can but die in the streets."
"To the north gate, then! Burst it open, and cut your way to the east. Castriot will meet you there. I will to the bastion."
"We must go with them," said Morsinia. "Better die in the streets than be taken here."