University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.
THE FATE OF THE BETRAYER.

SWEETER THAN THE LOVE OF WOMAN,
DEARER THAN GLORY TO THE WARRIOR,
POWER TO THE PRINCE, OR HEAVEN TO
THE DEVOTEE, IS THE CONSUMMATION
OF A LONG SOUGHT AND SILENTLY TREASURED
REVENGE.

“Where am I?” shrieked the Duke, as he stood
upon the platform of the convent tower. “'Tis
a hideous dream, 'tis a fearful nightmare! Ha!
my brain reels. I'll gaze no longer down the fearful
abyss! Is there none to awake me, none? Horror
of horrors! This demon hand will strangle
me, closer and tighter it winds around my throat,
ah!”

A wild laugh of intense joy came from the chest
of the Monk. “I feast upon thy misery,” he cried
“wretch, I banquet upon thy agony! Ha, ha, ha!
The glory of this moment I would not barter for
all the joys of heaven! Dost thou shiver, dost
thou tremble, well thou mayst! Look down, far,
far below! Dost see any hope there, what says
the whitened precipice? Hath the dark abyss no
voice? Look above, canst glean naught from the
frown of the tower that is over thy doomed and
devoted head? Or mayhap the secret door may
afford thee consolation? Speak—thou for whose
crime earth hath no word, hell no name, speak
that I may feast upon the music of thy quailing
voice!”

Tighter he wound his grasp around the throat
of the trembling wretch, and with his dark eye
flashing with all the frenzy of supernatural revenge
he shook the form of the Duke over the awfu
abyss.

“1s't thou, good Albertine? Hold, hold, or I

shall fall. 'Tis a fearful steep! Behold, a flock of
snow white sheep are grazing in you distant
vale, they seem but as mice at this fearful height.
Thou, thou wilt not harm me, good Albertine?”

“Look, look!—Behold her pale form is floating
in the moonlight, her face is wan, and her look
is that of despair! Ha! her glazing eyes are fixed
upon thee—thee—her BETRAVER! She beckons me
over the steep!—I come—I come!”

“Nay, good Albertine, grasp me not so tight!—
Bring to mind the days when we were sworn
friends—”

“Friends? Doomed man, the memory of former
days shall but hurl added torture upon
thy head!—Friends?—Ah! like a dream it comes
over my mind! I was a peasant boy—thou didst
raise me to rank and power, and I have loved ye
as brother loves brother. Could my life have served
thee, it would have been laid at thy feet. My
life thou did'st not take. No! no! But the treasured
hope of years, the glowing fancies of a
musing boy, the anticipations of happiness that
haunted my dreams by night, and lived in
my thoughts by day; these—at one fell remorseless
blow, thou did'st sweep away. It was upon her
grave; the grave of thy victim, that one thought
possessed my soul. For years and years have I
planned, have I schemed, nay wept, prayed for
the fulfilment of that thought. And now it is
fulfilled. I have thee in my grasp! Think'st
thou a thousand worlds would buy thy craven life?
That heaven or hell would tear thee from my
hand?”

Again he gave utterance to the frenzied joy of his
soul in a loud wild laugh, that burst fearfully upon
the midnight air.

“Albertine spare me, spare me! Take not my
life.”

“Spare thee? and you pale form waving me onward?
spare thee? wretch I tell thee all nature
is celebrating thy doom! The moon is sinking
below the horizon, and the stars gleam thro' the
gathering pall of darkness like funeral fires!
Spare thee!”

“Ha! whence come those shouts! I may yet be
be saved!”

“Thou mayst be saved—ha—ha—ha! It gives
me joy to drag thee o'er this steep, craving and
hoping for life, to thy latest grasp! Look around
Urbano, Duke of Florence, look around and behold
the fair and beautiful earth, scene of thy
crimes—nay, nay THY CRIME—behold the earth
for the last time!”

It was a weird and awful scene. The dizzy
height of the platform rock, the vast azure with
its boundless horizon, all beaming with the grandeur
of the stars, the massive hills sweeping
around the mountain-lake, darkening the clear
waters with their midnight shadow, the pile of
rocks uprising beyond the darkness of the unathomable
abyss, the silence and the awe that
rested upon the hour, broken by the sound of far-off
shouts, while on the very verge of the eastern
sky, bloody and red, the full-orbed moon was sinking
slowly down, casting a dim and lurid light
over mountain and stream, convent and plain—all
formed a scene of dark and fearful interest. The
Universe, awful and vast seemed to hold a strange
sympathy with the Revenge of Albertine the Monk,
the stars gave their solemn light to the scene,
and the blood-red moon lit up the funeral pile
of the Doomed.

“I gazed around, 'tis an awful scene. And
thou, thou wilt spare me, good Albertine?”

“As thou didst spare thy victim, when her
voice rung in thy ears of stone, shrieking for pity!”
The response came hissing thro' the clenched
teeth of Albertine! “Betrayer, I again tell thee all
nature is celebrating thy doom! The moon is
sinking below the horizon, and the stars gleam
thro' the gathering pall of darkness like funeral
fires!”

Thrilled with terror and appalled to the very
soul, by the erect form and flashing eye of the
Monk, the Duke stood trembling and quivering
like a reed, on the verge of the platform rock.

“Choose the manner of thy death! Leap from
the rock, or behold, I raise before thy very eyes
this dagger; the dagger of the Holy Steel!”

“Thou wilt not slay me thus, good Albertine,”
shrieked the Duke. “Mercy—for the sake of God
—mercy!”

“Thine own mercy I give back to thee! Leap
from the rock, or this dagger seeks thy heart.
Ha! that pale form, that dim and shadowy face,
floating in the midnight air, with the eyes of
speechless woe! She beckons me onward. He
comes, pale spirit—thy betrayer comes! An instant,
and lo! before the bar of eternity he shall
tremble at the frown of the Unknown!”

It was a scene of sickening horror, yet dignified
and consecrated by the mighty revenge of the

monk. His face pale as death, his lips livid with
fear, his eyes rolling and vacant in their glance,
the Duke stepped trembling backward, while the
monk strode one step forward, raising the keen
steel aloft, with a slow movement, yet with a
quick eye and a determined arm.

“Leap—leap—or the dagger seeks thy heart!”

The Duke looked wildly around, and, shaking
his hands aloft, gnashed his teeth in very despair.
Another moment! The monk alone stood on the
platform, while a rushing sound swept through
the air, far, far below, as though a weight of iron
had been toppled from the rock. Albertine slowly
advanced to the edge of the platform, and gazed
into the void below. With a fixed and glaring
eye, with the dagger raised aloft in his right hand,
he gazed below, and beheld the folds of a garment
waving through the darkened air, while a yell
most fearful and maddening to hear, came shrieking
from the darkness of the void, resounding to
the very heavens above, until the air grew animate
with the sound of despair—unutterable despair.

Then came a crashing sound, as though a heavy
body had fallen against the projecting points of
the rugged rocks, and then all became silent. Silence
gathered over the universe, like one vast
brooding shadow of omen and doom.

The wild flush of excitement vanished from the
face of the monk. With a calm brow, a compressed
lip, a cheek pale as death, and a full dark eye,
that seemed blazing forth from the shadow of the
brow, he folded his arms silently on his breast,
and looked up to the midnight heavens.

“She beckons me over the beckons, she beckons
me; and, with her burning eyes fixed upon my
face, she waves her hands, and bids me—on, on!
She points to the scenes of the past: God of my
soul, how real, how vivid, how like the pictures of
memory! The cottage in the vale; the sunshine
sleeping on the roof sheltered by vines; the lordly
hall and the friend—the friend—the outrage, the
lifeless form, and then comes the spirit of my desolation,
laughing with scorn as he points to the
shadow blackening o'er the dial plate of destiny!

“Nay, nay, wave not thy hands with that slow
and solemn motion—glide not so ghastily to and
fro—thine eyes burn in my very soul! I come,
I come! Albertine glides onward to his bride!”

With folded arms, with calm and immovable
countenance, fixing his glance upon the vacant air,
without a fear, a sorrow, or a sight, the avenger
stepped from the platform rock, and with the speed
of an arrow driven home by the strong arm of the
archer, he sunk into the darkness of the abyss.
There was a low moaning exclamation of joy,
and the setting moon looked on the falling form no
more.