An exclamation from Perez roused her. The turrets of Segovia were
visible in the distance, glittering in the brilliant sun; but her
blood-shot eye turned with sickening earnestness more towards the
latter object than the former. It had not yet attained its full
meridian--a quarter of an hour, perhaps twenty minutes, was still
before them. But the strength of their horses was flagging, foam
covered their glossy hides, their nostrils were distended, they
breathed hard, and frequently snorted--the short, quick, sound of
coming powerlessness. Their steady pace wavered, their heads drooped;
but, still urged on by Perez's encouraging voice, they exerted
themselves to the utmost--at times darting several paces suddenly
forward, then stumbling heavily on. The cold dew stood on Marie's
brow, and every pulse seemed stilled. They passed the outer
gates--they stood on the brow of a hill commanding a view of the whole
city. The castle seemed but a stone's throw from, them; but the sound
of muffled drums and other martial instruments were borne towards them
on the air. Multitudes were thronging in one direction; the Calle
Soledad seemed one mass of human heads, save where the scaffold raised
its frightful sign above them. Soldiers were advancing, forming a
thin, glittering line through the crowds.
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