Mortadello

OR, THE ANGEL OF VENICE 61 MONICA. Once—kiss your wife ! The guard comes. Enter a Soldier, covered with blood, his right arm hanging use- less by his side. He staggers and gasps. SOLDIER. Pardon me ! All’s lost. MONICA. Nay, say nothing yet ! Be of good courage. God’s a host they have not met ! ORLANDO. What is it ? SOLDIER. The damned hunchback ’tis so bloodily That bears it. The two gates are his. We can but die. ORLANDO. Is he run mad ? A convent ! SOLDIER. Mad ! he’s mad with lust And blood. Yet by his side he had the Archbishop. ORLANDO. Trust His wit to find a trick for that ! SOLDIER. So now we fight In the very court. ORLANDO. I’ll hurl me at his throat to-night ! Come, sir, your sword in your left hand ! Strike one last blow ! SOLDIER. I am your servant to command. ORLANDO. [To MONICA.] Now pray ! MONICA. O no ! I will compel the Christ to hear ! My fierce demands Shall strike again the Roman’s spear in those pale hands ! Go, and God guard you ! ORLANDO. Never fear ! our storm-star stands. [ORLANDO, with drawn sword, and the soldier rush out. MONICA kneels again at the prie-Dieu, with outstretched hands, the nails clenched tightly into