“Dost think that will save you from the punishment—you know what my father decrees to any one assisting an escape—first the rack—and then the fagots!” This awful doom comes from the girl’s lips cool as from an iceberg; and gazing at her, Chester knows his betrothed is Alva’s daughter.
“No—no! Mercy!” sobs the Countess.
“Then down on your knees and swear to me by the cross of Christ that you will not breathe of my betrothal [[233]]to living thing. Swear it—down on your knees and swear it!” cries Hermoine in awful voice.
“I—I swear,” gasps the duenna.
“On your knees and with the cross upon your lips. Down! Swear it by the Seven Saints of Christendom, by the Twelve Evangelists, by the Four Apostles, by all the sacraments of the church, by the body of our Lord to hold, despite anathema and dispensation both—swear!”
And sinking to the floor the Countess de Pariza, affrighted, takes the oath prescribed by Alva’s daughter, who places the crucifix upon her lips.
“What need of such long testament?” asks Guy, who has looked upon the scene astonished, Miss Hermoine, giving him new views of her character.
“Because I don’t trust her,” answers the girl. “It will be cunning priest that will get her out of that. Break it and your soul flies straight through purgatory to unending torment, Countess de Pariza.”
“I—I always thought you loved me,” gasps the duenna, rising from her knees.
“Loved you?” ejaculates her charge, a strange light in her eyes. “Dost think I have forgotten when I was twelve years old you slapped my ears? Don’t think I fear you, though! Let that be for your Moorish slave girl who goes to your dressing closet as to the torture chamber. I heard her shriek under your scourge the other morning. But don’t dare, with coward nature, to revenge yourself on her. Beware of me, I hate cruelty! I am Alva’s daughter!”