CHAPTER XIV.

     “Like other tyrants, Death delights to smite
     What smitten most proclaims the pride of power,
     And arbitrary nod.”

     YOUNG.

It is probable that Nelson never knew precisely what passed between Ghita and the lady mentioned in the last chapter.  At all events, like every other application that was made to the English admiral in connection with this sad affair, that of Ghita produced no results.  Even the mode of execution was unchanged; an indecent haste accompanying the whole transaction, as in the equally celebrated trial and death of the unfortunate Duc d’Enghien.  Cuffe remained to dine with the commander-in-chief, while Carlo Giuntotardi and his niece got into their boat and took their way through the crowded roadstead toward the Neapolitan frigate that now formed the prison of the unfortunate Caraccioli.

A request at the gangway was all that was necessary to procure an admission on board the ship.  As soon as the Signor Giuntotardi reached the quarter-deck he let his errand be known, and a messenger was sent below to ascertain if the prisoner would see two visitors, the name of the uncle being alone given.  Francesco Caraccioli, of the Princes Caraccioli, or, as he was more commonly called in English, Prince Caraccioli, was now a man approaching seventy; and, being a member of one of the most illustrious houses of lower Italy, he had long been trusted in employments of high dignity and command.  On his offence—­its apology—­the indecent haste of his trial and execution, and the irregularity of the whole proceedings, it is now unnecessary to dwell; they have all passed into history, and are familiarly known to the world.  That very morning had he been seized and sent on board the Foudroyant; in the cabin of that vessel had a court of his own countrymen convened; and there had he been hastily condemned to death.  The hour of doom was near, and he was already in the ship where the execution was to take place.

The messenger of Carlo Giuntotardi found this unfortunate man with his confessor, by whom he had just been shrived.  He heard the request with cold indifference, but granted it on the instant, under the impression that it came from some dependent of his family or estates, who had a last favor to ask, or an act of justice to see performed.

“Remain here, father, I beseech you.” said the prisoner, perceiving that the priest was about to retire; “it is some contadino, or some tradesman, whose claims have been overlooked.  I am happy that he has come:  one would wish to stand acquitted of injustice before he dies.  Let them come in, my friend.”

A sign was given with these words, the door of the cabin was opened, and Ghita, with her uncle, entered.  A pause of quite a minute followed, during which the parties regarded each other in silence, the prisoner endeavoring in vain to recall the countenances of his guests, and the girl trembling, equally with grief and apprehension.  Then the last advanced to the feet of the condemned man, knelt, bowed her head, and said: