“Oh God! Oh God! they have killed him! monsters—murderers!—let me embrace him but once more!” cried Amine, frantically.
A priest now stepped forward—it was Father Mathias—with sorrow in his countenance; he desired some of the bystanders to carry out Philip Vanderdecken, and Philip, in a state of insensibility, was borne away from the sight of Amine, the blood streaming from his mouth.
Amine’s sentence was read—she heard it not, her brain was bewildered. She was led back to her seat, and then it was that all her courage, all her constancy and fortitude gave way; and during the remainder of the ceremony, she filled the cathedral with her wild hysterical sobbing; all entreaties or threats being wholly lost upon her.
All was now over except the last and most tragical scene of the drama. The culprits who had been spared were led back to the Inquisition by their godfathers, and those who had been sentenced were taken down to the banks of the river to suffer. It was on a large open space, on the left of the custom-house, that this ceremony was to be gone through. As in the cathedral raised thrones were prepared for the Grand Inquisitor and the who, in state headed the procession, followed by an immense concourse of people. Thirteen stakes had been set up, eight for the living, or the dead. The executioners were sitting on, or standing by, the piles of wood and faggots, waiting for their victims. Amine could not walk she was at first supported by the familiars, and then carried by them, to the stake which had been assigned for her. When they put her on her feet opposite to it, her courage appeared to revive, she walked boldly up, folded her arms and leant against it.
The executioners now commenced their office: the chains were passed round Amine’s body—the wood and faggots piled around her. The same preparations had been made with all the other culprits, and the confessors stood by the side of each victim. Amine waved her hand indignantly to those who approached her, when Father Mathias, almost breathless, made his appearance from the crowd, through which he had forced his way.
“Amine Vanderdecken—unhappy woman! had you been counselled by me this would not have been. Now it is too late, but not too late to save your soul. Away then with this obstinacy—this hardness of heart; call upon the blessed Saviour, that he may receive your spirit—call upon his wound’s for mercy. It is the eleventh hour, but not too late. Amine,” continued the old man with tears, “I implore you, I conjure you. At least, may this load of trouble be taken from my heart.”
“‘Unhappy woman!’ you say?” replied she, “say rather, ‘unhappy priest:’ for Amine’s sufferings will soon be over, while you must still endure the torments of the damned. Unhappy was the day when my husband rescued you from death. Still more unhappy the compassion which prompted him to offer you an asylum and a refuge. Unhappy the knowledge of you from the first day to the last. I leave you to your conscience—if conscience you retain—nor would I change this cruel death for the pangs which you in your future life will suffer. Leave me—I die in the faith of my forefathers, and scorn a creed that warrants such a scene as this.”
“Amine Vanderdecken,” cried the priest on his knees, clasping his hands in agony.
“Leave me, Father.”
“There is but a minute left—for the love of God—”