The reader will recollect that when Flora Francatelli was released from the chair at the bottom of the pit or well, Sister Alba had led her along a narrow, dark passage communicating with the chamber of penitence.

In a small dome-like cavity, hollowed out of the roof of this passage, hung a large bell; and in a cell opening from the side of the passage immediately beneath the dome, dwelt an old nun, who, for some dreadful misdeed committed in her youth, had voluntarily consigned herself to the convent of the Carmelites, and, having passed through the ordeal of the chamber of penitence, had accepted the office of sextoness in that department of the establishment.

It was her duty to keep the chamber of penitence clean, maintain tapers constantly burning before the altar, supply also the cells of the penitents themselves with lights, and toll the bell whenever occasion required. She it was who had visited Flora’s cell the first night of her arrival at the convent, to renew the taper that burnt before her crucifix, and to exchange the maiden’s attire for the conventual garb.

This old nun it was, then, who suddenly tolled the bell, at the moment when Piero and Stephano were menacing the abbess and Sister Alba with their vengeance, and when the Marquis of Orsini was bearing away Flora to the robbers’ hold, that she might have the companionship of Giulia.

The way in which the old nun rang the bell was such that the inmates of the convent would perceive it to be an alarm; and moreover, so sudden was its startling clang, that Stephano and Piero abandoned their hold upon the abbess and Sister Alba, and retreated a few paces, uncertain how to act; hence the exclamation of the superior of the convent, “We are saved! we are saved!”

But little did that stern, imperious woman know of the desperate characters of those with whom she had now to deal. Ashamed of their momentary hesitation, Stephano and Piero rushed on the abbess and Sister Alba, and dragged them, in spite of their deafening screams, into that fatal cell, where they threw them headlong over the lifeless corpse of their victim.

Scarcely, however, had they closed the door on the wretched woman, when the Marquis of Orsini returned; and, too well divining what had passed, he exclaimed, “In the name of Heaven, captain!—by all that is holy, Piero! I implore you not to consummate this dreadful crime!”

“My lord,” said Stephano, “ere we entered on this expedition to-night, you bound yourself by an oath to obey me as the leader. I command you then not to interfere with our proceedings; but, on the contrary, go and ascertain whence comes the clanging of that infernal bell.”

The marquis turned aside, sick at heart at the deed of vengeance which was in progress, but unable to remonstrate further, in consequence of the oath which he had taken. It was, however, a relief for him to move away from the vicinity of the living tomb, whence emanated the shrieks of the abbess and the nun; and guided by the sound of the bell, he rushed, with whirling brain and desperate resolution, into the passage leading from the chamber of penitence.

In a few moments the clanging of the bell ceased, for the marquis had discovered the old sextoness in her cell, and compelled her to desist.

All the events yet recorded in the preceding and the present chapter had occurred with a rapidity which the reader can scarcely comprehend, because their complicated nature and variety have forced us to enter into minute details requiring a considerable time to peruse. Those events which we are now about to describe also succeeded each other with marvelous speed, and occupied an incredibly short space of time, although our narrative must necessarily appear prolix in comparison.

Extraordinary was the excitement that now prevailed in all the subterranean department of the convent. The victims of a stern but just vengeance were sending forth appalling screams from the fatal dungeon; and some of the penitents in their cells, which were still guarded by the sentinels, were also giving vent to their affright by means of piercing shrieks, though others remained tranquil in hope of the promised release.

Stephano had entirely recovered his presence of mind, and now issued his orders with wondrous rapidity.

Pointing to the door by which the abbess and Sister Alba had entered the chamber of penitence, he said, “Lomellino, that is the way to the upper part of the convent—there can be no doubt of it! Take Piero and half a dozen of the men, and hasten up that staircase. Secure the front gate of the building, and possess yourself of the plate and treasure. But no violence, remember—no violence to the nuns.”

Lomellino, Piero, and six of the banditti hastened to obey these commands, while Stephano remained below to act as circumstances might require. He went the round of the five cells belonging to the penitents, and enjoined those who were yielding to their terrors to hold their peace, as they had nothing to fear, but much to gain—at least, he observed, if they valued their freedom; and to those who were tranquil he repeated the assurances of speedy liberation already given by his men.

For thirty years the old woman had not seen a being of the male sex; and she was terrified by the appearance of an armed man in that place which she had so long deemed sacred against the possibility of such an intrusion.

“Fear nothing,” said the marquis, “no one will harm you. But what will be the effect of that alarm which you have rung?”

“Merely to warn those above that something unusual is taking place below,” answered the old woman.

“And by what means can access be obtained to this subterrane?” demanded the marquis.

“There is a staircase leading from the chamber of penitence up into the hall of the convent——”

“Of the existence of that staircase I am aware,” interrupted the marquis, who had seen the abbess and Sister Alba enter the chamber of penitence a few minutes previously, as stated in the preceding chapter; “but are there no means of ingress or egress?”

“Yes; follow me,” said the sextoness.

Taking up a lamp from the table in her cell, she led the way to the further end of the passage, threw open a door, and thrusting forth the light beyond the opening, exclaimed in a tone denoting a reminiscence the bitterness of which long years had scarcely mitigated—“That is the road whereby I came hither; and many, many others have traveled the same downward path!”

The marquis seized the lamp, and beheld, a few paces from from him, a wicker chair, to which two ropes, hanging perpendicularly down, were fastened. He raised his eyes, following the direction of the ropes, but as there was now no other light in the pit than the feeble, flickering one shed by the lamp which he held, his glances could not penetrate the dense obscurity that prevailed above.

“What means this chair, with its two ropes? and for what purpose is this narrow, square compartment, the mouth of which is shrouded in darkness?” inquired Manuel.

“This is the method of descent to this region, for all those who come to this convent either as willing penitents, or who are sent hither against their inclination,” returned the sextoness. “And though I came a willing penitent, yet never, never while the breath shall animate this poor, weak form, and reason shall remain, can I forget the mental agony, the intense anguish, of that fearful descent. Ah! it is a cruel engine of torture, although it tears not the flesh, nor racks the limbs, nor dislocates the joints. And even though thirty long years have passed since I made that dread journey,” she continued, glancing upwards—“thirty years since I last saw the light of day—and though I have since learned and seen how much of the horror of that descent is produced by the delusion of mechanical ingenuity—yet still I shudder, and my blood runs cold within me.”

“To me, old woman,” said the marquis, “your words are an enigma. But you have excited my curiosity: speak quickly, and explain yourself, for I may not linger here.”

“Behold this basket,” returned the nun, without further preface—“these ropes connect it with complicated machinery in some chamber adjoining the well itself. In that basket those who are doomed to pass the ordeal of penitence are lowered from an apartment above. This apartment is really but a short distance overhead: but the art of the mechanist has so contrived the four wooden walls of the well, that when the descent of the basket ceases, those walls rise slowly upward, and thus descent appears to be continued. Then, when the affrighted female stretches forth her hands wildly, she encounters the ascending walls, and she believes that she is still going down—down—down! Oh! signor, it is most horrible, but a fitting prelude to the terrors of that place!”

And she pointed back toward the chamber of penitence. The marquis was about to make some observation in reply to the strange disclosures of the old sextoness, when suddenly the din of a tumult, occurring, as it seemed, in that department of the convent far overhead, reached his ears, commencing with the rushing of many feet—the ejaculations of hostile bands—and then continuing with the clash of arms, and the shrieks of affrighted women—until, in a few moments, those ominous sounds were broken in upon and dominated by the wild, terrific cry of “Fire! fire!”

“Oh! wherefore have I tarried here so long?” exclaimed the marquis; and he was about to return to the chamber of penitence, when a sudden blaze of light appeared at the mouth of the pit, thirty yards above. Looking hastily up, he beheld the flames rolling over the entrance of that well at the bottom of which he stood; and, in another minute, the forked fire burst from the sides, forcing for itself a way through the wooden walls; and the old dry timber and planks yielded to the devouring element as if they had been steeped in oil.

But while the marquis was still standing at the bottom looking up the pit, the clash of weapons, the tread of many steps, and the vociferations of combatants appeared to grow nearer; then in another moment he became aware that the hostile sounds came down the well, and proceeded from the room far above, where the fire as well as the war was raging.

Manuel had again turned around to hurry back to the chamber of penitence, when a loud cry of despair came vibrating down, and in another instant the heavy form of a man was precipitated into the well. The wicker chair fortunately broke his fall, and he rose with a dreadful imprecation.

“Piero!” cried the marquis.

“Ah! my lord, is it you?” said the bandit faintly, as he staggered back and fell heavily on the floor. “This is a bad business—the sbirri were alarmed, and broke in—Lomellino has got away, but the rest who were with me are slain——”

“And you are wounded, Piero,” ejaculated the marquis, rushing forward to assist the bandit, from whose breast he now perceived the blood to be flowing.

“Never mind me, my lord!” said Piero faintly. “Haste and tell Verrina that—our men fought well—it was not their fault—nor mine—the nuns must have given—the—alarm——”

His voice had grown fainter as he spoke: and, while the marquis was endeavoring to raise him, he fell back again, and expired with the name of Carlotta upon his tongue.

The combat had ceased above, but the flames had increased in the well to such an extent that the marquis was compelled to beat a rapid retreat toward the chamber of penitence, whither the old sextoness had already fled. At the entrance of that apartment he met Stephano, who, alarmed by the clashing of arms and the cries of “fire” that had reached his ears, and which seemed to come from the direction of the passage, was hurrying thither to learn the cause. In a few words the marquis informed him of all that had occurred.

“Back to the cavern, my friends!” cried Stephano, in a loud tone. “If the sbirri discover us there, we will resist them to the death.”

And followed by the marquis and two or three of his men, the captain passed through the aperture made from the cell recently occupied by Flora and the countess, into the treasure-chamber.

But scarcely had those few individuals effected their retreat in this manner, when a tremendous crash was heard, cries and shrieks of horror and dismay burst from those who had not as yet passed through the opening, and then the roof of the chamber of penitence and all the adjacent cells gave way with a din as of a thousand cannon, burying beneath their weight the sextoness, the five penitents, the inmates of Carlotta’s cell, and seven of the banditti.

Those who were in the treasure-chamber felt the ground shake beneath their feet; the sides—although hollowed from the solid rock—appeared to vibrate and groan, and the aperture leading into the subterrane of the convent was closed up by the massive masonry that had fallen in.

Flora and Giulia threw themselves into each other’s arms, weeping bitterly; for they saw how dearly their freedom had been purchased, and they trembled for the result.

But the Marquis of Orsini, although greatly shocked at the terrible sacrifice of human life which had occurred, exerted himself to console and reassure the two terrified ladies. pwalOLc2m17e2FhMnq7ETp23KgIU3ZhWVY/FAIlVwQhV3J9ure0SnYJvk6LZdY1P

Stephano Verrina was not the man to allow his energies to be paralyzed by the reverse he had just sustained. He immediately commanded a general muster of his men to be held in the banqueting-hall, that he might accurately ascertain the loss his corps had sustained.

Giulia and Flora were left in the treasure-chamber to snatch a few hours’ repose, if they could, as it was now past two o’clock in the morning, and the marquis accompanied Stephano to the banqueting-hall. Scarcely were the men mustered, when the usual signals announcing the approach of a member of the band were heard, and in a few moments Lomellino appeared amongst the troop.

All crowded round him to hear the account which he had to give of his expedition and its failure.

His tale was soon told. It seemed that on reaching what might be properly termed the main building of the convent, he found the greatest alarm and confusion prevailing amongst the nuns, the shrieks of the abbess, Sister Alba, and the penitents, and the alarm of the bell, having reached the ears of the recluses. Their consternation was increased almost to madness when they suddenly perceived several armed men emerging from the private staircase leading to the subterranean department, and Lomellino found it impossible to tranquilize them either by threats or fair speaking. A guard of sbirri must have been passing at the time, for loud knocks resounded at the gate, which the old portress immediately opened before Lomellino or any of his men could interfere to prevent her. A number of police officers rushed in, and then commenced a terrific combat between the banditti and the sbirri, the former of whom were forced into an apartment, the door of which was originally locked, but was burst open in the deadly struggle. There the strife was continued, when suddenly the cry of “Fire” arose, and the flames, which had caught a bed in the apartment, spread rapidly to the cumbrous and time-worn woodwork that supported the ceiling. How the fire originated, Lomellino knew not, but as some of the nuns carried lamps in their hands, and rushed wildly about in all directions in their terror, it was not very difficult to hazard a conjecture as to the cause of the conflagration. From that apartment, where the fire began, the flames drove the combatants into an inner room, and there Lomellino saw his comrade Piero hurled down some steep place, he himself being too sorely pressed by his assailants to be able to repair to his assistance.

At length, seeing that all his companions were slain, Lomellino had fought his way desperately through the police-officers, and had succeeded in escaping from the convent, though closely pursued by three of the sbirri. They were rapidly gaining upon him, when an awful crash suddenly met their ears, as they were hurrying along the street leading to the wood; and, looking back, Lomellino beheld a tremendous pillar of flame shoot up from the place where the convent had stood, to the very sky, rendering for the space of a minute everything as light as day around. The building had fallen in, and Heaven only knows how many of the nuns and sbirri had escaped, or how many had perished beneath the ruins! Those officers who were in pursuit of Lomellino were so astounded by the sudden din and the column of flame, that they remained rooted to the spot where they had turned to gaze on the evidence of the catastrophe: and Lomellino had succeeded in effecting a safe and unobserved return to the stronghold.

This account was particularly welcome to the robbers, inasmuch as it convinced them that the sbirri had no clew to the secret entrance of their stronghold, and that none of their band had been captured in the conflict: for they would rather hear of the death of their comrades than that they had been taken prisoners; because, were the latter the case, the tortures of the rack or the exhortations of the priest might elicit confessions hostile to the interests of the corps.

Stephano Verrina now proceeded to count his men, who had mustered fifty strong previously to the expedition of that fatal night, which, it was ascertained, had reduced the number to thirty-six—seven, including Piero, having been slain by the sbirri, and as many having perished by the falling in of the chamber of penitence.

The captain then addressed the troop in the following manner:

“Worthy comrades,—our number is sadly reduced; but regrets will not bring back those gallant fellows who are gone. It, therefore, behooves us to attend to our own interests; and, for that purpose, I demand your attention for a few minutes. In pursuance of the resolution to which we came the night before last at the general council that was held, the treasures and possessions amassed during many years of adventure and peril have been fairly divided, and each man’s portion has been settled by lot. The fourteen shares that revert to us by the death of our comrades shall be equally subdivided to-morrow; and the superintendence of that duty, my friends, will be the last act in my chieftainship. Yes, brave comrades,—I shall then leave you, in accordance with the announcement I made the night before last. It will grieve me to part with you; but you will choose another captain——”

“Lomellino! Lomellino!” exclaimed the banditti with one accord; “he shall succeed our gallant Verrina!”

“And you could not make a better choice,” continued Stephano. “Lomellino——”

“Pardon me, captain,” interrupted the individual thus alluded to: “but is not that little expedition to take place on Monday, in case the lady requires it? We have received her gold as an earnest——”

“And double that amount was promised if the affair should turn out successful,” added Stephano. “But I have reasons of my own, which you may perhaps understand, Lomellino, for desiring that all idea of that business should be abandoned. And in order that the band may not be losers by this change of intentions, I will give you from my own share of our long accumulated treasures——”

“No! no!” cried the banditti, enthusiastically; “we will not receive our gallant Stephano’s gold! Let him act according to his own wishes!”

“I thank you, my friends, for this generosity on your part,” said Stephano.

Their meeting then broke up; and the robbers sat down to the banqueting table, to luxuriate in the rich wines with which the stronghold was well stored.

The Marquis of Orsini was compelled, through fear of giving offense, to share in the festival.

“This resolution to abandon the command of your gallant band is somewhat sudden, meseems, Signor Stephano,” he said: for not having been present at the council held two nights previously, he was unaware of the captain’s intention until it was alluded to in that individual’s speech on the present occasion.

“Yes, my lord,” was the reply; “the resolution is sudden, But,” he added, sinking his voice to a whisper, “a certain little blind god is at the bottom of it.”

“Ah! signor, you are in love!” said the marquis, laughing.

“And therefore, I mean to turn honest man,” observed Verrina, also laughing. “In truth, I am not sorry to have found a good excuse to quit a mode of life which the headsman yearns to cut short. Not that I reck for peril; but, methinks, twenty years of danger and adventure ought to be succeeded by a season of tranquillity.”

“Love has a marvelous influence over you, Signor Verrina,” said the marquis; “for love alone could have inspired such sentiments in your breast.”

“I am fain to confess that your lordship is not far wrong,” returned the bandit. “I have discovered a woman who is worthy of me—although she may not consider me to be altogether deserving of her. But of that no matter; for I am not accustomed to consult the inclinations of others, when mine own are concerned. And now a word in respect to yourself, my lord. When do you propose to quit this place? for according to my promise, you are now the master of your own actions.”

“The mysterious assault made upon the convent—the destruction of the entire establishment—and the lives that have been lost, will doubtless create a terrible sensation in Florence,” replied the nobleman; “and should it transpire that I was in any way implicated——”

“That is impossible, my lord,” interrupted Stephano. “These men whom you behold around you could alone betray that secret; and you must have seen enough of them——”

“To know that they are stanch and true,” added the marquis. “Yes, on reflection, I perceive that I have nothing to fear; and therefore, with your leave, the countess, her young companion, and myself will take our departure to-morrow.”

“In the evening, when it is dusk,” said Stephano. “But your lordship will not remain in Florence?”

“The news which you brought me, a few days ago, of the arrest of that poor Israelite on a ridiculous but most monstrous charge, has affected me strangely,” observed Manuel; “and as it is in my power to explain away that charge, I must tarry in Florence the necessary time to accomplish this object. The Count of Arestino will imagine that his wife has perished in the ruins of the convent; and hence her temporary concealment in the city will be easily effected.”

“Well, my lord,” said Stephano, “it is not for me to dictate nor to advise. But as I always entertain an esteem for a man with whom I have measured weapons—and as I have somehow formed a liking for your lordship—pardon my boldness—I should recommend you not to remain in Florence on account of the Jew. The Lady Giulia might be discovered by her husband, and you would lose her again. To tell your lordship the truth,” he added, in a low and confidential tone, “a friend of mine, who commands a trading vessel, sails in a few days from Leghorn for the Levant; and I intend to be a passenger on board, in company with the sweet lady whom I have honored with my affections. What says your lordship? will it suit you to embark in that vessel?”

“A thousand thanks, Signor Verrina,” replied the marquis; “but I must remain at Florence to prove the innocence of that poor, persecuted Jew.”

Stephano offered no further remonstrance; and the conversation which ensued possessed not the least interest for our readers.

On the following evening the Marquis, Giulia, and Flora quitted the robbers’ stronghold—all three were carefully blindfolded, and safely conducted amidst the dangers of the egress by Stephano, Lomellino, and another bandit. When in the grove with which the entrance of the stronghold communicated, the bandages were removed from their eyes, and the two ladies, as well as the marquis, were once more enabled to rejoice in their freedom.

According to a previous arrangement between them, and in consequence of the intention of the marquis to remain a few days in Florence, Giulia accompanied Flora to the dwelling of the young maiden’s aunt, who was rejoiced to behold the reappearance of her niece, and who willingly afforded an asylum to the countess.

The marquis, having conducted the two ladies to the hospitable cottage of this good woman, returned to his own dwelling, his protracted absence from which had caused serious apprehensions amongst the few domestics whom his means permitted him to maintain. Ere we conclude this chapter, we shall observe in a few words that the greatest excitement prevailed in Florence relative to the attack on the convent and its destruction. Many of the nuns had escaped from the building at the commencement of the fire; and these took up their abode in another institution of the same order. But the thrilling events which occurred in the chamber of penitence did not transpire; nor was it ascertained who were the sacrilegious invaders of the establishment, nor by what means they had obtained an entry. pwalOLc2m17e2FhMnq7ETp23KgIU3ZhWVY/FAIlVwQhV3J9ure0SnYJvk6LZdY1P