“And now you say that you reject the creed?”
“Since I have witnessed the conduct of those who profess it, I do. At the time of my marriage I was disposed towards it.”
“What is the amount of your property in the Father Mathias’s hands.”
“Some hundreds of dollars—he knows exactly.”
The Grand Inquisitor rang a bell; the jailors entered, and Amine was led back to her dungeon.
“Why should they ask so often about my money?” mused Amine; “if they require it, they may take it. What is their power? What would they do with me? Well, well, a few days will decide.” A few days;—no, no, Amine; years, perhaps would have passed without decision, but that in our months from the date of your incarceration, the auto-da-fé, which had not been celebrated for upwards of three years, was to take place, and there was not a sufficient number of those who were to undergo the last punishment to render the ceremony imposing. A few more were required for the stake, or you would not have escaped from those dungeons so soon. As it was, a month of anxiety and suspense, almost insupportable, had to be passed away before Amine was again summoned to the Hall of Justice.
Amine, at the time we have specified, was again introduced to the Hall of Justice, and was again asked if she would confess. Irritated at her long confinement and the injustice of the proceedings, she replied, “I have told you once for all, that I have nothing to confess; do with me as you will, but be quick.”
“Will torture oblige you to confess?”
“Try me,” replied Amine, firmly, “try me, cruel men, and if you gain but one word from me, then call me craven. I am but a woman, but I dare you—I defy you.”
It was seldom that such expressions fell upon the ears of her judges, and still more seldom that a countenance was lighted up with such determination. But the torture was never applied until after the accusation had been made and answered.