Amine retired to her room—but not to sleep. Once more did she attempt the ceremonies used by her mother, changing them each time, as doubtful of her success. Again the censer was lighted—the charms essayed; again the room was filled with smoke as she threw in the various herbs which she had knowledge of, for all the papers thrown aside at her father’s death had been carefully collected, and on many were directions found as to the use of those herbs. “The word! the word! I have the first—the second word! Help me, mother!” cried Amine, as she sat by the side of the bed, in the room, which was now so full of smoke that nothing could be distinguished. “It is of no use,” thought she, at last, letting her hands fall at her side; “I have forgotten the art. Mother! mother! help me in my dreams this night.”
The smoke gradually cleared away, and, when Amine lifted up her eyes, she perceived a figure standing before her. At first she thought she had been successful in her charm; but, as the figure became more distinct, she perceived that it was Father Mathias, who was looking at her with a severe frown and contracted brow, his arms folded before him.
“Unholy child! what dost thou?”
Amine had roused the suspicions of the priests, not only by her conversation, but by several attempts which she had before made to recover her lost art; and on one occasion, in which she had defended it, both Father Mathias and Father Seysen had poured out the bitterest anathemas upon her, or any one who had resort to such practices. The smell of the fragrant herbs thrown into the censer, and the smoke, which afterwards had escaped through the door and ascended the stairs, had awakened the suspicious of Father Mathias, and he had crept up silently, and entered the room without her perceiving it. Amine at once perceived her danger. Had she been single, she would have dared the priest; but, for Philip’s sake, she determined to mislead him.
“I do no wrong, father,” replied she calmly, “but it appears to me not seemly that you should enter the chamber of a young woman during her husband’s absence. I might have been in my bed. It is a strange intrusion.”
“Thou canst not mean this, woman! My age—my profession—are a sufficient warranty,” replied Father Mathias, somewhat confused at this unexpected attack.
“Not always, father, if what I have been told of monks and priests be true,” replied Amine. “I ask again, why comest thou here into an unprotected woman’s chamber?”
“Because I felt convinced that she was practising unholy arts.”
“Unholy arts!—what mean you? Is the leech’s skill unholy? Is it unholy to administer relief to those who suffer?—to charm the fever and the ague, which rack the limbs of those who live in this unwholesome climate?”
“All charms are most unholy.”