Marjorie Bowen

“ The old man rode away sorrowfully. Della Scala watched him disappear behind the rocks and trees.
He was the last, and silence fell.
"They are gone!" breathed Mastino. "They are gone!"
His eyes fell to his shield; from rim to rim it was defaced and dented, and the ladder of the Scaligeri was beaten from its boss. The ground around was piled with arms, and Mastino put his hand up to his eyes, staggering. The ladder of the Scaligeri was beaten from his shield!
"Some men remain, my lord," said Tomaso timidly, at last, with a boyish effort at some consolation. ”

“ The taunts were bitter and savage, and hurled in a fury of scorn and hate; but Mastino della Scala, save for that one movement, neither flinched nor stepped out the way of the onward rush, but bore for a long hour of that summer day that wild ride past of the Veronese and the batter on his shield of the daggers that disdained to slay him.
"Stop! in the name of heaven, stop!" shrieked Tomaso, and held his hands against his ears. ”

“ THE PRICE OF DISHONOR He who was once the great Lord of Verona and a proud and stainless knight stood without Brescia, awaiting the price of his dishonor. It was mid-day, of a swooning heat, and great purple clouds lay heavily about the horizon, with a somberness that foretold a storm. ”