With cries of execration, with yells of vengeance, the men-at-arms gathered around the fratricide, and as their brandished swords shone in the light, they bore him towards the castle gate, leaving the slab of stone before the pillars of the castle door to the solitary companionship of the father and son.
It was true--darkly and fearfully true--Guiseppo was the son of Sir Geoffrey o’ th’ Longsword.
Guiseppo was kneeling upon the stone; his arms were gathered around the form of his father, and his eyes were fixed in one long gaze upon the face of the dying man.
He marked the hue of that venerable countenance as it grew paler every moment: the lip white and colorless, the eyes wild and wavering in their glance, the livid circles gathering like the taint of corruption beneath each eye; he beheld the signs and heralds of coming death; he heard the quick gasping struggle for breath, and yet he spoke no word, he uttered no sound of agony.
“I see her face in thine,” murmured the old man, as he gazed upwards upon the countenance of his son. “It is no dream,--and--and--thy dagger is resting in my heart!”
“Boy, look not upon me with such fearful agony--thou art forgiven!” gasped the old man. “Raise the hilt of my sword to my lips; I would kiss the cross ere I die. And now thy hand is firm, seize the haft of the dagger, and draw the blade from my heart.”
Guiseppo gazed upon the face of his father with a vacant look, yet still he uttered no word.
“Draw the dagger from my heart!” gasped the dying man.
Guiseppo seized the haft of the dagger, and slowly drew the blade from the heart of the murdered man.
THE ELEMENTS ARISE IN BATTLE, DARKENING THE EARTH WITH THEIR STRIFE, AS THE WIND SHRIEKS THE DEATH-WAIL OF ALDARIN THE SCHOLAR.
Onward toward the castle gate, walking to his death, and _yet receding from the grave at every step_, with the fierce faces of the avengers frowning around him, with cries of execration and deep muttered oaths of vengeance deafening his ear, onward toward the castle gate, with an even step and an erect form, strode the Scholar Aldarin an icy smile on his lip, and a sombre light in his eye.
He knew not why they bore him onward--fearless of death, come in what form it might, he cared not.