"The trial is over," said Leonora. "Your father would not preside; but his creatures have condemned him. No time was allowed to summon other witnesses. Some poison, concealed in the case of a portrait known to be Lorenzo's, was found in the unhappy lady's chamber; a girl called Giovanetta testified that her mistress and Friar Peter both told her that two papers--one of which she tried upon a dog who died instantly, and the other which her mistress took--were given to the countess by her husband. Some other small circumstances of suspicion appeared, and on this he was condemned, although there were numerous inconsistencies. He is innocent, believe me; but in two hours he will be done to death before the south gate, unless your father can be persuaded to respite him. There are many in the town that are sure of his innocence, but too few I fear-- "He is innocent! he is innocent!" cried Leonora, with her brow burning, and her cheek pale. "He is innocent as a babe. I will go down--I will return with you--I will see my father--I will save him or die with him." "But, lady, they will let no one enter the town," said Leonardo; "they have trebled the sentries at the gates. All may come forth who will, but no one can return. So they told me as I passed; and, unless you have the key of the postern, as you once had, I fear--" "I have--I have," said Leonora; "stay but one moment." She flew into the house and was but an instant gone. Leonardo saw her hide something like a small vial in her bosom, but the large key was in her hand; and merely beckoning him to follow, she ran down the steps of the terrace, and through the garden toward the gate. Leonardo followed rapidly, merely saying to the girl---- "Send down my horse to the gate." Leonora was at the postern first, however, but her hands so trembled she could not put the key in the lock. The painter took it from her, opened the little gate, and, passing in, she sped on towards the citadel. She did not observe that Leonardo was no longer with her; but, with frantic speed, and hair escaped from all its bindings, she sped on through the almost deserted streets till she reached the gates of the citadel. "Where is my father?" she cried; "where is the Lord of Imola?" "Why, lady," replied a man standing beside the sentinel, "he is not here; he is in the bishop's piazza, waiting till the execution is over. This is a terrible day, and will bring ruin on the city, I can see." But ere his last words were uttered, Leonora was gone. Ramiro d'Orco truly stood in the square before the bishop's palace, which was not two hundred yards from the south gate. His arms were crossed upon his chest; his head was held high, his brow contracted; his jaws so firmly set, that when he spoke, in answer to any of the lords and officers who surrounded him, the sounds issued from between his teeth, and his lips were hardly seen to move.