As he spoke, the officer threw a glance at the dial of the square, and walked coolly away. The action left the priest and the prisoner again alone between the columns. It was evident that the former could not yet believe in the reality of the execution.
"Hast thou no hope, Jacopo?" he asked.
"Carmelite, in my God.
"They cannot commit this wrong! I shrived Antonio—I witnessed his fate, and the Prince knows it!"
"What is a Prince and his justice, where the selfishness of a few rules! Father, thou art new in the Senate's service."
"I shall not presume to say that God will blast those who do this deed, for we cannot trace the mysteries of his wisdom. This life and all this world can offer, are but specks in his omniscient eye, and what to us seems evil may be pregnant with good.—Hast thou faith in thy Redeemer, Jacopo?"
The prisoner laid his hand upon his heart and smiled, with the calm assurance that none but those who are thus sustained can feel.
"We will again pray, my son."
The Carmelite and Jacopo kneeled side by side, the latter bowing his head to the block, while the monk uttered a final appeal to the mercy of the Deity. The former arose, but the latter continued in the suppliant attitude. The monk was so full of holy thoughts that, forgetting his former wishes, he was nearly content the prisoner should pass into the fruition of that hope which elevated his own mind. The officer and executioner drew near, the former touching the arm of Father Anselmo, and pointing towards the distant dial.
"The moment is near," he whispered, more from habit than in any tenderness to the prisoner.