“My Philip—my Philip!—you indeed press me hard; but, father, if I confess I am wrong, when I feel that I am not—”
“Feel that you are not!”
“Yes. I invoked my mother’s assistance; she gave it me in a dream. Would a mother have assisted her daughter if it were wrong?”
“It was not your mother, but a fiend who took the likeness.”
“It was my mother. Again you ask me to say that I believe that which I cannot.”
“That which you cannot! Amine Vanderdecken, be not obstinate.”
“I am not obstinate, good father. Have you not offered me what is to me beyond all price, that I should again be in the arms of my husband? Can I degrade myself to a lie?—not for life, or liberty, or even for my Philip.”
“Amine Vanderdecken, if you will confess your crime before you are accused, you will have done much; after your accusation has been made, it will be of little avail.”
“It will not be done, either before or after, father. What I have done I have done, but a crime it is not to me and mine—with you it may be, but I am not of yours.”
“Recollect also that you peril your husband, for having wedded with a sorceress. Forget not; to-morrow I will see you again.”