r rather, flung
the prostrate woman into the vault, rushing in herself immediately
afterward, and closing the door behind her.

"Holy God!" shrieked Margaretha, gazing wildly round the damp and naked
walls of solid masonry, and then up at the lamp suspended to the arched
ceiling, "is this the place? But no! you are ignorant of all that; it
was not for that you brought me hither! Speak, lady, speak! Where is
Antonio? What have I done to merit your displeasure? Oh, mercy! mercy!
Bend not those terrible glances upon me! Your eyes flash fire! You are
not Nisida--you are an evil spirit! Oh, mercy! mercy!"

And thus did the miserable woman rave, as, kneeling on the cold, damp
ground she extended her tightly-clasped hands in an imploring manner
toward Nisida, who, drawn up to her full height, was contemplating the
groveling wretch with eyes that seemed to shoot forth shafts of
devouring flame! Terrible, indeed, was the appearance of Nisida! Like to
an avenging deity was she--no longer woman in the glory of her charms
and the elegance of her disguise, but a fury--a very fiend, an
implacable demoness, armed with the blasting lightnings of infernal
malignity and hellish rancor!

"Holy Virgin, protect me!" shrieked Margaretha, every nerve thrilling
with the agony of ineffable alarm.

"Yes, call upon Heaven to aid you, vile woman!" said Nisida, in a thick,
hoarse, and strangely altered voice, "for you are beyond the reach of
human aid! Know ye whose remains--or rather the mangled portions of
whose remains--lie in this unconsecrated ground? Ah! well may you start
in horror and surprise, for I know all--all!"

A terrific scream burst from the lips of Margaretha; and she threw her
wild looks around as if she were going mad.

"Detestable woman!" exclaimed Nisida, fixing her burning eyes more
intently still on Margaretha's countenance: "you are now about to pay
the penalty of your complicity in the most odious crimes that ever made
nights terrible in Florence! The period of vengeance has at length
arrived! But I must torture ere I slay ye! Yes, I must give thee a
foretaste of that hell to which your soul is so soon to plunge down!
Know, then, that Antonio--your son Antonio--is no more. Not three hours
have elapsed since he was slain--assassinated--murdered, if you will so
call it--and by my commands."

"Oh! lady, have pity upon me--pity upon me, a bereaved mother!" implored
the old woman, in a voice of anguish so penetrating, th