“Has ---- given up its model of devils!” muttered Balvardo, in the background. “‘Slife, I can murder a man in hot blood or cold blood, but as for this heaping taunt on taunt--I like it not--by the Blood o’ th’ Turk!”
“He is dead--cold and dead,” murmured the Ladye Annabel, as she gazed upon the pallid face of Adrian. “He does not breathe; Mother of Heaven, I cannot feel the beating of his heart!”
Ere the words had passed her lips, the dying man sprang with one bound to his feet; and while his bloodshot eyes rolled ghastlily from face to face, he flung his arms aloft, and tottered across the chamber, laughing wildly and with maniac glee, as he pointed to the dark object rising from the floor, covered with the folds of the dark robe, that swept over its surface like a pall of death.
“Monk, behold--behold the doom of Adrian of Albarone!” he shouted with a wild and husky voice, as he stooped, with a sudden movement, and tore the robe from the object which it concealed. “There, there stands the assassin, here the victim, and--ha, ha, ha!--_behold the coffin!_”
He swayed heavily from side to side; he flung his arms hurriedly aloft in the vain effort to preserve his balance, and then, with a fixed and staring eye, he gazed upon the face of Albertine with a look that froze his blood.
“Monk, I trusted thee, and thou art false!”
The sound of a falling body echoed around the room, and the lifeless form of Adrian Di Albarone lay extended across the coffin, while the out-spread hands clutched the dark panels with the convulsive grasp of death.
“Wait one hour,” muttered the monk to Balvardo; “wait one hour, ere thou bearest the corse to the grave. ’Tis now the midnight hour: an hour from this time, the Duke--ha, ha!--will wed his bride; an hour from this time, and thou mayst bear the corse to the grave!”
“Be it so,” growled Balvardo. “Then this pestilent Adrian will trouble me no more! Blood o’ Mahound, the grave is a wondrous sure prison; it needs nor bolt nor bar; old Death stands jailor at its door!”
“Ladye!” cried the monk, as he advanced to the side of the Ladye Annabel, raising the maiden, whose senses seemed stupified with horror, from the floor, “behold the corse of thy love! Advance, Ladye--rest thee by its side--gather the head of the corse to thy bosom! Watch beside the corse one hour--a single hour--and let nor man nor devil wrest the lifeless body from thy grasp!”