tee A TN 
) OSs 
398 The Cup of Honours. [Ocr. 
‘ , : JNGOSH 92001 
and his voice died away, “ evil was the day I first met thee, Malatesta.”’, 
He sank upon his knee in prayer. Reed ben 
«Would you desire to see that tempter again, or have you forsworn all 
connexion with him ?” said the confessor. ane 
From the bottom of my soul I have forsworn”—was the answer of 
the penitent. ee 
«. Then, more fool you,” exclaimed the confessor, throwing back his, 
cloak: “ once more—and your life is saved. Make that. prayer,.to 
me. 
The miserable Count looked up in astonishment. Malatesta stood 
before him: but with his former handsome countenance darkened into 
gloomy rage. “ Hear me, fool; that look of horror is absurd. I can 
save you:—nay, you can save yourself.” He took a lamp from his 
bosom, and opened a small trap-door in the pavement. “ Under this 
stone,” said he, “is the powder magazine. The king and his nobles are 
now in the fort waiting to see you set out for the scaffold. Ihave a key 
to every door of the prison: we can escape in a moment, and the next 
mioment may see the fort and all that it contains blown into the air. 
Vengeance, my friend,—glorious, complete, magnificent vengeance. 
But command me, to lay this lamp upon the train. Nay more, the - 
extinction of your enemies would leave the world clear for you—from.a 
dungeon you might be in a palace—from a scaffold you might mount a 
throne. One word—! The monk waved the lamp before his eyes, and 
the sudden thought of vengeance and mighty retribution, the whole 
filling of the whole of human ambition, smote through him like lightning. 
The conflict was fierce: he grasped the lamp, and felt that he had the 
fates of adynasty in his hand. But aninward voice, such as he had not heard 
for many a year, seemed suddenly to awake him. He flung the lamp on 
the ground: “ No more blood—no more blood!”—was all that he could 
utter, as, faint and half-blind, he took up a goblet in which some wine 
had remained, and hastily put it to his parched lip. He saw it suddenly 
covered with sculptures of the same strange character that had startled 
him in the cave of the Solfatara. ‘ Leave me, Malatesta,” said he, as 
he dropped the cup on the table. “I deserve to die : life is distasteful to 
me. Yet I would have avoided the shame of a public execution.” 
« Then drink,” said the capuchin, pouring wine into the cup: “ shame 
will never reach the man that drinks this liquor.” The perfume of it 
filled the cell. 
«« Never out of that cup—that cup of crime!” groaned the victim. 
«“ Worship me, slave,!” echoed in thunder through the air. 
« Leave me, fiend,” was the scarcely audible sound from Man- 
fredonia’s lips. ; 
«“ Then die.”—The form snatched up the cup, and dashed the wine 
on the Count’s forehead, as he knelt in remorse and agonizing prayer. 
He felt it like a gush of fire—uttered a cry, and was dead ! 
* * * Oi * * * 
* * * * * * * 
The storm of that morning is still remembered in Naples. The wind 
unroofed a number of the principal mansions along the shore, tore the 
scaffold into a thousand fragments, and dispersed the multitude. The 
sea rising, committed great damage among the more exposed buildings, 
and swept away all the smaller vessels, and every thing that is generally 
