“Help, Maurico!” cried the gipsey, in her agony. “Help, my son! help, my Maurico!”
“His mother—HIS mother!” said the count. And running to her, he raised his hand, as though he would strike her. But he had not yet fallen so low as that.
She looked at him fearlessly. “I defy thee! Thou—the base son of a base father. Frown—hope!—hate, thou monster. Vengeance shall be mine. List to that, I say—‘Vengeance shall be mine!’”
He turned from her contemptuously. She to talk of vengeance! She a miserable, bound gipsey.
He to his splendid tent—she to imprisonment; and yet she had cried, “Vengeance shall be mine.”
Turn we to Castellor, where are Maurico and Leonora.
As they stood near the balcony, all in all to each other, she heard the distant clash of arms. “Prythee, wherefore that sound?”
“Thou art so brave that I fear not to tell thee all. The Count di Luna is encamped but a short mile away. Before the night is gone he will have besieged this castle. Nay, trouble not—your courage and our swords will be victorious. It is, I know, a weary prelude to our marriage, dearest. Of victory I am sure—yet should I fall—my last thought will be of thee—only of thee—Hark!—they await us in the chapel.”
As he spoke, the chanting in the neighboring chapel reached their ears, and each knew that the priest was waiting to join their hands.