While he spoke, the father listened with deep attention, looked with compassion alternately upon him and Ellena; and some harassing objection seemed to contend with the pity, which urged him to assist the strangers. He enquired how long Jeronimo had been absent, and shook his head significantly when he learned that the gate of the avenue was fastened by a double lock. "You are betrayed, my children," laid he, "you have trusted with the simplicity of youth, and the cunning of age has deceived you."
The terrible conviction affected Ellena to tears; and Vivaldi, scarcely able to command the indignation which a view of such treachery excited, was unable to offer her any consolation.
"You, my daughter, I remember to have seen in the church this morning," observed the friar; "I remember too, that you protested against the vows you were brought thither to seal. Alas! my child, was you aware of the consequence of such a proceeding?"
"I had only a choice of evils," Ellena replied.
"Holy father," said Vivaldi, "I will not believe, that you are one of those who either assisted in or approved the persecution of innocence. If you were acquainted with the misfortunes of this lady, you would pity, and save her; but there is now no time for detail; and I can only conjure you, by every sacred consideration, to assist her to leave the convent! If there were leisure to inform you of the unjustifiable means, which have been employed to bring her within these walls—if you knew that she was taken, an orphan, from her home at midnight—that armed ruffians brought her hither—and at the command of strangers—that she has not a single relation surviving to assert her right of independence, or reclaim her of her persecutors.——O! holy father, if you knew all this!"——Vivaldi was unable to proceed.
The friar again regarded Ellena with compassion, but still in thoughtful silence. "All this may be very true," at length he said, "but"——and he hesitated.
"I understand you, father," said Vivaldi—"you require proof; but how can proof be adduced here? You must rely upon the honour of my word. And, if you are inclined to assist us, it must be immediately!—while you hesitate, we are lost. Even now I think I hear the footsteps of Jeronimo."
He stepped softly to the door of the chamber, but all was yet still. The friar, too, listened, but he also deliberated; while Ellena, with clasped hands and a look of eager supplication and terror, awaited his decision.
"No one is approaching," said Vivaldi, "it is not yet too late!—Good father! if you would serve us, dispatch."
"Poor innocent!" said the friar, half to himself, "in this chamber—in this fatal place!"—