“My mind is troubled,” replied Amine. “Leave me, father, it will be a kindness.”
Father Mathias quitted the cell, pleased with the last words of Amine. The idea of her husband’s danger seemed to have startled her.
Amine threw herself down on the mattress in the corner of the cell, and hid her face.
“Burnt alive!” exclaimed she after a time, sitting up and passing her hands over her forehead. “Burnt alive! and these are Christians. This, then was the cruel death foretold by that creature, Schriften—foretold—yes, and therefore must be—it is my destiny—I cannot save myself. If I confess then, I confess that Philip is wedded to a sorceress, and he will be punished too. No, never—never; I can suffer; ’tis cruel—’tis horrible to think of,—but ’twill soon be over. God of my fathers, give me strength against these wicked men, and enable me to hear all, for my dear Philip’s sake.”
The next evening, Father Mathias again made his appearance. He found Amine calm and collected: she refused to listen to his advice or follow his injunctions. His last observation, that “her husband would be in peril if she was found guilty of sorcery,” had steeled her heart, and she had determined that neither torture nor the stake should make her confess the act. The priest left the cell, sick at heart; he now felt miserable at the idea of Amine’s perishing by so dreadful a death; accused himself of precipitation, and wished that he had never seen Amine, whose constancy and courage, although in error, excited his admiration and his pity. And then he thought of Philip, who had treated him so kindly—how could he meet him? And if he asked for his wife, what answer could he give?
Another fortnight passed, when Amine was again summoned to the Hall of Judgment, and again asked if she confessed her crimes. Upon her refusal, the accusations against her were read. She was accused by Father Mathias with practising forbidden arts, and the depositions of the boy Pedro and the other witnesses were read. In his zeal, Father Mathias also stated that he had found her guilty of the same practices at Terneuse; and, moreover, that in the violent storm, when all expected to perish, she had remained calm and courageous and told the captain that they would be saved; which could only have been known by an undue spirit of prophecy, given by evil spirits. Amine’s lip curled in derision when she heard the last accusation. She was asked if she had any defence to make.
“What defence can be offered,” replied she, “to such accusations as these? Witness the last—because I was not so craven as the Christians, I am accused of sorcery. The old dotard! but I will expose him. Tell me, if one knows that sorcery is used, and conceals or allows it, is he not a participator and equally guilty?”
“He is,” replied the Inquisitor, anxiously awaiting the result.
“Then I denounce—” and Amine was about to reveal that Philip’s mission was known, and not forbidden by Fathers Mathias and Seysen; when, recollecting that Philip would be implicated, she stopped.
“Denounce whom?” inquired the Inquisitor.