moment did the fiery chargers halt in
their headlong way. On, on they went; on, over wide moors and craggy
steeps; on, through the rushing torrent and the precipitous glen;
on, through the forest and the plain, with the same unwavering pace.
Repeatedly did Marie's brain reel, and her heart grow sick, and her
limbs lose all power either to guide or feel; but she neither spoke
nor flagged--convulsively she grasped the reins, and closed her eyes,
as the voice and hand of her companion urged their steeds swifter and
yet swifter on.

An exclamation from Perez roused her. The turrets of Segovia were
visible in the distance, glittering in the brilliant sun; but her
blood-shot eye turned with sickening earnestness more towards the
latter object than the former. It had not yet attained its full
meridian--a quarter of an hour, perhaps twenty minutes, was still
before them. But the strength of their horses was flagging, foam
covered their glossy hides, their nostrils were distended, they
breathed hard, and frequently snorted--the short, quick, sound of
coming powerlessness. Their steady pace wavered, their heads drooped;
but, still urged on by Perez's encouraging voice, they exerted
themselves to the utmost--at times darting several paces suddenly
forward, then stumbling heavily on. The cold dew stood on Marie's
brow, and every pulse seemed stilled. They passed the outer
gates--they stood on the brow of a hill commanding a view of the whole
city. The castle seemed but a stone's throw from, them; but the sound
of muffled drums and other martial instruments were borne towards them
on the air. Multitudes were thronging in one direction; the Calle
Soledad seemed one mass of human heads, save where the scaffold raised
its frightful sign above them. Soldiers were advancing, forming a
thin, glittering line through the crowds. In their centre stood the
prisoner. On, again, dashed the chargers--scarcely a hundred yards
separated them from the palace-gate. Wildly Marie glanced back once
more--there were figures on the scaffold. And at that moment--borne in
the stillness more loudly, more heavily than usual, or, at least, so
it seemed to her tortured senses--the huge bell of the castle chimed
the hour of noon!

CHAPTER XXVI.

"The outmost crowd have heard a sound,
Like horse's hoof on harden'd ground;
Nearer it came, and yet more near--
The very deathsmen pause to hear!"

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

In his private closet,