“We shall see,” said the Grand Inquisitor; “take her away.”
Amine was led back to her cell. In the mean time, Father Mathias had had several conferences with the Inquisitor. Although in his wrath he had accused Amine, and had procured the necessary witnesses against her, he now felt uneasy and perplexed. His long residence with her—her invariable kindness till the time of his dismissal—his knowledge that she had never embraced the faith—her boldness and courage—nay, her beauty and youth—all worked strongly in her favour. His only object now was to persuade her to confess that she was wrong, induce her to embrace the faiths, and save her. With this view he had obtained permission from the Holy Office to enter her dungeon and reason with her,—a special favour which, for many reasons, they could not well refuse him. It was on the third day after her second examination, that the bolts were removed at an unusual hour, and Father Mathias entered the cell, which was again barred, and he was left alone with Amine. “My child! my child!” exclaimed Father Mathias, with sorrow in his countenance.
“Nay, father, this is mockery. It is you who brought me here—leave me.”
“I brought you here, ’tis true; but I would now remove you, if you will permit me, Amine.”
“Most willingly; I’ll follow you.”
“Nay, nay; there is much to talk over, much to be done. This is not a dungeon from which people can escape so easily.”
“Then tell me what have you to say; and what is it must be done?”
“I will.”
“But stop; before you say one word, answer me one question as you hope for bliss. Have you heard aught of Philip?”
“Yes, I have. He is well.”