"Regina! Madonna Nostra Reale! Subito!"
The city rang with their shouts—the voice of a multitude magnificent in righteous emotion—from the gruff tones of the men of the populace hoarse with anger, to the strident cries and sobs of the women and the high treble of little children; and clear and calm throughout the chorus, the clarion-notes of command.
The mighty sound penetrated to the depths of the Citadel, waking the Cyprian force from its stupor of despondency, rousing the dormant manhood within them.
It reached the chamber of the captive Queen, who had known no thrill of hope since that night of horror.
"My God! my God!" she cried, with streaming eyes. "I thank thee!—Madonna mia Sanctissima! My people are calling for me!"
"In the name of Her Majesty!"
"Surrender command to the Admiral of Cyprus!"
To no mighty force could those strong bars have been more swiftly withdrawn; nor was there need of contest to displace the trembling guards of Naples, as the men of Cyprus within the fort hastened to obey the mandate from without, saluting as the massive gates creaked upon their hinges and protesting that further haste had been impossible.