wretch, whoe’er thou art, that readest these
lines, fall on thy knees, and invoke as I have
done, His sustaining mercy, who alone can
nerve thee to meet the vengeance of Tolfi,
armed with his tremendious engine, which in
a few hours must crush you, as it will the
needy wretch that made it. ”
A deep groan burst from Vivenzio. He
stood like one transfixed, with dilated eyes, expanded
nostrils, and quivering lips, gazing at
at this fatal inscription. It was as if a voice
from the sepulchre had sounded in his ears,
“Prepare!” Hope forsook him. There
was his sentence, recorded in these dismal
words. The future stood unveiled before him,
ghastly and appalling. His brain already feels
the descending horror,—his bones seemed to
crack and crumble in the mighty grasp of the
iron walls! Unknowing what it is he does,
he fumbles in his garment for some weapon of
self-destruction. He clenches his throat in
his convulsive gripe, as though he would
strangle himself at once. He stares upon the
walls, and his warring spirit demands, “ Will
they not anticipate their office if I dash my head
against them? ” An hysterical laugh chokos
him as he exclaims, “why should I? He
was but a man who died first in their fierce
embrace; and I should be less than man not
to do as much? ”
The evening sun was descending, and
Vivenzio beheld its golden beams streaming
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