The rage of the proselyting chief, which had been hitherto with difficulty restrained, now broke through all bounds. He caught the crucifix from the table, unsheathed his sword, and holding them both before his son, exclaimed, 'better to be childless than have a heretic for a son! Choose instantly. Abjure your false belief, or die by my hands!'
'You gave me life, my father,' said Oswald; and you can also take it from me. I remain stedfast in the truth. Therefore end quickly with me, in God's name.'
'God of Abraham strengthen me! cried the father, looking wildly towards heaven and raising his weapon; but Bibran and Lamormaine caught his arm.
'God does not require a father to sacrifice his son,' said the governor.
'Would you give the heretics cause to curse our holy faith through your senseless fury?' cried the Jesuit to him, in a tone of reprehension.
'Take him to prison!' commanded Dohna, who had returned to the room. 'He may there consider until morning, whether he will or will not abjure his heresy.' Should he continue obstinate, I will then permit justice to take its course upon the murderer of my officer.'
'God grant thee his light and peace, my poor father! Then shall we again meet above!' cried Oswald with filial tenderness to the colonel, who, exhausted by excess of anger, stared wildly about him as if bereft of consciousness, and finally rushed from the room without speaking.
CHAPTER XIII.
Overcome by sorrow for his father's anger, and racked with anxiety for the fate of his beloved Faith, whom he could protect no longer, Oswald sat in the criminal's apartment of the guard-house, looking listlessly through his grated window upon the snow-covered market-place. It was a cold still night, and the stars shone through the clear atmosphere with unusual brilliancy. The persecutors and the afflicted were finally at peace, and had forgotten their insolence and their sufferings in the embraces of sleep. The clocks of the church towers struck the midnight hour. The guard was aroused for the purpose of relieving the sentinels on post, and the rattling of arms resounded through the guard-house. The noise, however, soon subsiding, quiet again prevailed, and Oswald, to whom the confused and restless working of his mind had become almost insupportable, laid his weary head upon the table and tried to sleep. Just then the bolts were drawn and his door was softly opened. A corporal of the Lichtensteins, with a dark lantern, and accompanied by two soldiers, entered the prison. Releasing the prisoner from his chains, he commanded him, 'follow me to the count!'
'Am I already sentenced?' asked Oswald, with bitterness. 'Am I to be executed secretly, under the veil of night? It is a sad confession that your deeds will not bear the light of day!'