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 awful abyss.

“Is’t thou, good Albertine? Hold, hold, or I shall fall. ’Tis a fearful steep! Behold, a flock of snow-white sheep are grazing in yon 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 BETRAYER! 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 accumulated 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 yon 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 through the gathering pall of darkness like funeral fires! _Spare thee!_”

“Ha! whence come those shouts! I may yet 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 unfathomable 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 gaze 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 through 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 through 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 tremblingly 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 steep, 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 ghastly 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 sigh, the avenger stepped from the platform rock, and with the speed of an arrow driven home by the strong arm of the archer, he sank 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.