his brother had left him; hastily he glanced behind, and saw the couched
lance and horrent crest of the horseman close at his rear; despairingly
he looked up, and behold! his brother bursting through the tangled
brakes that clothed the mountain, and bounding to his succour.

"Save me! save me, brother!" he shrieked aloud, and the shriek reached
Cola's ear;--the snort of the fiery charger breathed hot upon him;--a
moment more, and with one wild shrill cry of "Mercy, mercy" he fell
to the ground--a corpse: the lance of the pursuer passing through and
through him, from back to breast, and nailing him on the very sod where
he had sate, full of young life and careless hope, not an hour ago.

The horseman plucked forth his spear, and passed on in pursuit of
new victims; his comrades following. Cola had descended,--was on the
spot,--kneeling by his murdered brother. Presently, to the sound of
horn and trumpet, came by a nobler company than most of those hitherto
engaged; who had been, indeed, but the advanced-guard of the Colonna. At
their head rode a man in years, whose long white hair escaped from his
plumed cap and mingled with his venerable beard. "How is this?" said the
chief, reining in his steed, "young Rienzi!"

The youth looked up, as he heard that voice, and then flung himself
before the steed of the old noble, and, clasping his hands, cried out
in a scarce articulate tone: "It is my brother, noble Stephen,--a boy,
a mere child!--the best--the mildest! See how his blood dabbles the
grass;--back, back--your horse's hoofs are in the stream! Justice, my
Lord, justice!--you are a great man."

"Who slew him? an Orsini, doubtless; you shall have justice."