er, and is apt to give utterance in unguarded moments to
words against the will."

"Thou hast reason, my child. I but put the question to try thee. I will
undertake this business for thee. That evil one's sin has been committed
against the Church, and it is fitting that the Church should inflict the
punishment."

"Thou wilt cause her to be flung into the moat?" shuddered the Lady
Adelaide.

"The moat!" echoed the priest. "Thinkest thou, my daughter, that the
Church is wont to carry out her dealings by ordinary means? Signal as this
woman's sin has been, signal must be her expiation."

"_Can_ it be expiated?"

"Never, either in this world or the next. And every moment of delay that
we voluntarily make in hurling her to her doom, must draw down wrath on
our own heads from the saints on high."

The Lady Adelaide meekly bowed _her_ head, as if to deprecate any wrath
that might just then be falling.

"Thy lady in waiting, Lucrezia, is true, I have reason to believe,"
continued the monk.

"I believe her to be true," answered the Lady Adelaide.

"We may want her co-operation," he concluded, "for I opine that thou, my
daughter, wilt not deign to aid in this; neither do I think thou art
fitted for it."

III.

The castle was wrapped in silence, it being past the hour at which the
household retired to repose. Gina Montani was in her nightdress, though as
yet she had not touched her hair, which remained in long curls, as she had
worn it in the day. Suspense and agitation caused her to linger, and she
sat at her dressing-table in a musing attitude, her head resting on her
hand, wondering what would be the ending to all that the day had brought
forth. She had dismissed her attendant some time before. With a deep sigh
she rose to continue her preparations for rest, when the door softly
opened, and the Signora Lucrezia appeared.

"You need not prepare yourself for bed," she observed, in a low, distinct
whisper; "another sort of bed is preparing for you."

"What do you mean?" demanded the startled girl.

"That you are this night to die."

Gina shrieked.

"I may tell you," interrupted the lady, "that screams and resistance will
be wholly useless. Your doom is irrevocable, therefore it may save you
trouble to be silent."

"You are speaking falsely to me. I have done nothing to deserve death."

"Equivocation will be alike unavailing," repeated Lucrezia. "And if you
ask what you have done--you have dared to s