Marjorie Bowen

“ Tomaso sprang into the tent, a piteous young figure, wet to the skin.
"Oh, my lord!—I will take thee to her. Come away! Come with me!"
His voice broke into a passion of sobs, and Mastino dropped his hands and paused.
"Your lady lies still in her litter," said a soldier.
"Out yonder in the rain, you rascal!" cried Della Scala. "What is she doing there?"
He flung from the tent, and Tomaso after him, the bitter sobs catching at his throat.
"I cannot bear it," he cried. "It is doom itself. Oh, my master! my dear master!" ”

“ Along the steps a soldier came lazily, and Mastino sprang on him and strangled him before he could cry out, bearing the body noiselessly to the ground. Then, listening, he heard from within the palace a laugh and a voice—Visconti's. Della Scala looked round. How was he to get to him? He must feel Visconti's blood run warm over his hands, and quickly.
"How it blazes! The soldiers will have poor spoil," said Visconti. "But we will build another town, de Lana: we are rich enough." ”

“ The Duke looked round wildly.
"A town, a fortune to the one who will have compassion"; and with a shrug and a grimace, a rough soldier stepped forward, his drawn sword in his hand, and opening the door, pushed something back before him and went out. ”