haggard face, that still had so much left of the old bright classic beauty.
"You have saved us! You!"
She doubted her own senses; she thought she dreamt as madly as though she were dreaming that the heavens opened and the angels and archangels of mediæval story descended with the sword of Michael, with the spear of Ithuriel, to their rescue.
He drew his breath with a great sigh, and his voice came in broken whispers.
"You said right—there are things gods would not pardon,—your wrongs are of them. You stung me at last!"
She did not answer; she gazed at him with blind tearless eyes that saw his face, but only saw it as in the mists of dreams.
He pressed the sword that bad broken off in his loins closer and harder to staunch the blood, while his voice rose ringing and resonant.
"Our day has come! They have Palermo; Naples must follow. The king has enough to do to think of his capital. They fear the news should get to the populace. We have done a bold stroke to-day; they have been hunting us down like wolves, but we have turned and torn them. The sentinel killed, the rest was easy. Ah! look you,—there is ven-
