ast being his most faithful disciples, preaching
often in his pulpit and echoing his words.

The prisoners were bound and hurried through the streets toward the
Piazza Signoria. The soldiers made a guard of spears and shields around
them, but this did not prevent their being pelted with mud and stones.

They were lodged in separate cells, in the prison portion of the Palazzo
Vecchio, and each was importuned to recant the charges made against the
Pope and the Medici. All refused, even when told that the others had
recanted.

Savonarola's judges were chosen from among his most bitter foes. He was
brought before them, and ordered to take back his accusations.

He remained silent.

Threatened, he answered in parable.

He was then taken to the torture-cell, stripped of all clothing, and a
thin, strong rope passed under his arms. He was suddenly drawn up, and
dropped.

This was repeated until the cord around the man's body cut the skin and
his form was covered with blood.

The physically sensitive nature of the man gave way and he recanted.

Being taken to his cell he repeated all he had said against the Pope,
and called aloud, "Lord Jesus, pardon me that I forsook thy truth--it
was the torture--I now repeat all I ever said from my pulpit--Lord
Jesus, pardon!"

Again he was taken to the torture-chamber and all was gone over as
before.

He and his two companions were now formally condemned to death and their
day of execution set.

To know the worst is peace--it is uncertainty that kills.

A great calm came over Savonarola--he saw the gates of Heaven opening
for him. He was able now to sleep and eat. The great brown eyes beamed
with love and benediction, and his hands were raised only in blessing to
friend and foe alike.

The day of execution came, and the Piazza Signoria was filled with a
vast concourse of people. Every spare foot of space was taken. Platforms
had been erected and seats sold for fabulous prices. Every window was
filled with faces.

An elevated walk had been built out from the second story of the prison
to the executioner's platform. From this high scaffold rose a great
cross with ropes and chains dangling from the arms. Below were piled
high heaps of fagots, saturated with oil.

There was a wild exultant yell from the enemies of the men on their
appearance, but others of their adversaries appeared dazed at their
success, and it seemed for a few moments as if pity would take the place
of h