A
shudder shook him. It was the first life he had taken, and that carrion
at his feet filled him with sickly horror. Not for a kingdom--not to
save his vile soul from the eternal damnation that act had earned it--
would he have dared stoop to pluck the dagger from the back of the wretch
he had murdered. With something like a scream he turned, and fled in a
panic from the spot. Panting with horror, yet subconsciously aware of
the work he had to do, he paused a moment to wave a kerchief, then dashed
down the steps to the postern.
With trembling fingers he unlocked the door and set it wide to Gian
Maria's men, who, in answer to his signal, were now hurrying forward with
a bridge composed of pine trees, that they had hastily and roughly put
together during the previous day. This, with some efforts and more noise
than Gonzaga relished, was thrust across the moat. One of the men crept
across, and assisted Gonzaga to make fast his end.
A moment later Gian Maria and Guidobaldo stood in the castle-yard, and
after them came almost every man of the five score that Gian Maria had
brought to that siege. This was what Francesco had confidently expected,
knowing that it was not his cousin's way to run any risks.
The Duke of Babbiauo, whose face was disfigured by a bristling hedge of
reddish stubble--for in obedience to the vow he had made, he now carried
a fortnight's growth of beard on his round face--turned to Gonzaga.
"Is all well?" he asked, in a friendly tone, whilst Guidobaldo
contemptuously eyed the popinjay.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313