ay the request of their beloved Sovereign Lady--for so had her
misfortunes and her graces and high demeanor won their loyalty.

The prisoner stood before her judges, when they led her into the Hall of
the Assizes, mercifully swathed from head to foot in the filmy silken
veil usually worn by the women of Nikosia; but through the snowy folds
which concealed the features, there came the gleam of the fantastic
jewelled garb, and the lines of the pose--proudly defiant--were plainly
discernible--it could be none other than the young and beautiful and
high-born Dama Ecciva de Montferrat.

The young maids of honor turned sad eyes upon each other, each seeking
to touch the hand of her nearest companion, by way of assurance, while
all waited, in a stress of suspense that was near despair.

Throughout the trial, the splendid assembly followed every phase with
breathless attention, yet with conflicting emotions,--for the prisoner
was one of their peers and all felt the case to be momentous; while, as
the masterly arguments proceeded, and the evidence seemed irrefutable,
perhaps few among them could have determined how it should be most
wisely decided, in view of the waverings and discontent which had
threatened to undermine the Government.

And now the judges and the learned men had withdrawn for private
consultation, and the assembly waited for the verdict in a hush through
which one might have counted the heart-beats sounding in tumultuous
rhythm; but the girlish prisoner still kept her defiant
attitude--tapping the pavement impatiently with her tiny booted foot--as
making light of any crime that might be imputed to Dama Ecciva de
Montferrat.

Then, more swiftly than one might tell it, a blaze of irrepressible
human passion broke upon the decorous quiet of the Chamber; the nobles
sprang to their feet, struggling for expression; for the awful
announcement "_Guilty_," although they had awaited it, brought a sudden
desperate realization of the fearful consequences, as, almost without
pause, the penalty was declared and a piercing shriek rent the air.

"Not _death!_--Holy Saints--NOT DEATH!"

They could see the sinuous figure writhing and panting convulsively
under her wrappings, then tearing her veil like a frenzied woman, as she
sank fainting upon the pavement; and the crowd made way in awe-struck
silence for the Lady Beata with the maidens of the court who closed
about the tortured figure in shielding ministration.

A sta