The girl went unwillingly, for she liked not the change from light-hearted mirth to stern sadness in her gay mistress; and she would fain have taken the other powder with her, but she dared not disobey. "What means this deep gloom that is upon me?" said Eloise to herself, as soon as the girl was gone. "It must be the approach of the attack the friar mentioned. It is time to take the medicine--nay, more than time, I fear. I will swallow it at once, though I love not drugs. This at least has life in it--not death;" and, with that conviction, she mixed the powder Mardocchi had left with some water, and drank it. "It is very sweet," she said, "but it burns my throat;" and, seating herself, she took up a book of prayers and began to read. Ten minutes after the silver bell rang violently once and again, for the maids heard not the first summons. At the second, Giovenetta started up and ran to the chamber of her mistress; but, as she approached, she heard the sound of a heavy fall, and when the door was opened, she and another who followed found Eloise upon the floor in strong convulsions. "Oh, she is poisoned!" cried Giovanetta, wringing her hands. "My husband! my husband!" murmured Eloise, with a terrible effort: "my husband; tell him I never sinned against him as he thought--tell him I have been faithful to him--oh, girls, raise me up! I am choked--I cannot breathe." They raised her and laid her on her bed, and for a moment or two she seemed relieved; but then a still more terrible paroxysm succeeded, and, ere any assistance could be sought, the light, thoughtless spirit passed away to seek mercy at the throne of God. CHAPTER XLIII. In the court-yard of the castle of Imola were many horses and attendants, and in the great hall various personages of high and low degree. A scene very frequent in ancient and modern time, and which never loses its terrors, was there going on. It was the trial of a man accused of a capital offence. The Lord of Imola, possessing, as he had stipulated, what was then called high and low justice, sat upon the raised seat at the end of the hall, and by his side appeared the young Prefect of Romagna, whom he had asked to assist him by his advice in a case which seemed to present some difficulties. The hour was about twenty minutes after noon, and the testimony had all been taken. Before the tribunal stood a man, between two guards, of some forty years of age, and of a ferocious aspect. But his cheek was pale, and his eye dim with fear; for he had heard it distinctly proved that he had been taken in the act of a coldblooded brutal assassination of a young girl. "I refuse this tribunal," he cried, hoarsely. "I do not acknowledge the power of this court. I am of noble blood, as every one here knows; and you have no authority to sentence me, Ramiro d'Orco." "What say you, my lord prefect?" asked Ramiro, in his cold, quiet tones. "I leave you to pass sentence."