"The dreadful tale has reached even my hovel!" she exclaimed shuddering: "this night my father is to be put upon the rack. He is old and feeble; he will sink under the torture, and confess to deeds of which his soul knows nothing: therefore help, Frank, help, before it is too late. Your hand plunged us into this abyss; your hand must snatch us from it. You have solemnly sworn it to us, and must redeem your word, that God may one day not forget you in your dying hour."
"Leave us alone," said Francis to the jailer; and when the latter had gone, he exclaimed to Agatha, "What would you have of me? You ask help of one who is himself most helpless. Would I be here, if I had the influence which you attribute to me?"
"Your father is all-powerful in this city," cried Agatha, wringing her hands. "It is a trifle for him to help the man who is now to suffer for having saved your life."
"My father's hands are bound by the bishop and the furious nobles. Could he govern at his pleasure, he had surely saved his own son from the grief and shame of a prison. But I have done what I could, and your father's cause is commended to good hands."
"I will believe it," said Agatha, suppressing her feelings, "though I find you terribly cold to a sorrow that concerns you so nearly."
She was henceforth silent, leaning her head on the shoulder of Francis, who embraced her in indescribable anxiety, while the silence of death prevailed in the dungeon. On a sudden, through the nightly stillness broke a hollow shriek from the lower chambers. Francis had a foreboding of what it meant, and shuddered; Agatha listened intently to the groans, which with every moment sounded sharper and more agonized.
"Eternal mercy!" she suddenly cried in wild horror; "that is my father's voice!"
"Perhaps we deceive ourselves," said Francis, endeavouring to soothe her.
"That is my father's voice," screamed Agatha; "I should know it amidst thousands. It must be the pangs of hell that can extort such cries from the iron old man. Gracious heavens! And I hear his shrieks and cannot help him!"
"Cease," cried Francis, beside himself; "you torture yourself and me with more bitter cruelty than any he can suffer on the rack; and you torture us in vain, for by the Almighty I cannot help, though with my own blood I would purchase his!"