and defenders, revolutionists and royalists, alike were mute and awed before the courage of one woman. Then, with the fury of a mighty oath; a fresh command was hissed in its ferocity from the garden gloom, where the chiefs looked on into the courts and chambers.
"Make her captive, dead or living!"
There were ruffians in that Royal Guard, brigands of the Abruzzi, mountaineers of Calabria, who had imbrued their hands in innocent blood, and knew no check upon their crimes, though they would mutter Aves for their black and poisonous souls like any nun before her crucifix. These heard but to obey. They launched themselves upon her; they flung themselves through the press to seize her; their swords flashed naked above her head; their ravenous eyes fed gloatingly upon her jewels and her beauty; their brutal hands stretched ruthlessly to grasp and crush the gold of the shining hair, the mould of the delicate limbs, the fairness of the transparent skin; their gripe was on her shoulder, their breath was on her bosom. With the horror, and the grace, of outraged dignity, Idalia shook their hold from her, and drew herself from the loathsome insult of their villanous contact; her eyes shone with the lustre of a passionate scorn, her voice mellow, imperious, un-
