She raised her heavy head, and with an expression almost of joy, extended her hands towards him; but the ponderous fetters weighed them down.
The priest lifted the chain, and smiled sadly but kindly upon her.
"Pax Domine sit semper vobiscum," said he, making use of his invariable phrase.
"Good Father St. Bernard!" she exclaimed, "can this be the work of Heaven or of the fiend?"
"Of the fiend, daughter—canst thou doubt it?"
"I endure agony that is unutterable when thinking of Roland and of my mother. Oh, that she might hear nothing of all this! I have yet so much to suffer!——"
The old priest covered his face with the wide sleeve of his cassock, and wept, for he had still warm and acute feelings, though a long and ascetic life had somewhat blunted them and estranged him from the world.
"Can a merciful Heaven afflict me thus, father?"
"Hush, lady; whatever his miserable creatures may do, God is ever merciful and just. We know not but this visitation, terrible though it is, may be the means of averting some still greater calamity."
"Can any calamity be greater than death?"