"Spare thy speech and listen. We could not bring the maiden hither, insomuch the nature of her malady admits not of removal: but her evidence and accusation are duly attested, taken at her own request, not many hours ago. The substance of her deposition is as follows: a confession to her of thine intention to murder Conrad Bergmann, the artist aforesaid, being jealous of his attentions; and furthermore, in the agony of guilt, thou didst confess in her presence, having first strangled, and afterwards thrown him into the river, hoping thereby to conceal thy crime; then forcing her to swear she would keep the matter secret, and threatening her life in case it were divulged. This outrage, and this alone, hath nigh driven her frantic; her life being in jeopardy from thy violence. What sayest thou, Sigismund de Vessey?"
"A lie, most foul and audacious! trumped up by that impostor! Leonora? Impossible. I would not believe though it were from her own lips. Some demon hath possessed her. This disorder is more than common madness."
He looked around. The whole was like the phantasma of some terrible dream. Bewildered, and hardly knowing what course to pursue, in vain he attempted to shake the testimony of the hoary villain before him; and having at present none other means of rebutting the accusation, he was ordered into close custody until the morrow.
Utterly unprepared with evidence, he knew not where to apply. That he was the victim of some foul plot, so far appeared certain; but for what purpose, and at whose instigation, was inexplicable.
Ere an hour had elapsed, De Vessey found himself in one of the cells of a public dungeon, with ample leisure to form plans for proving his innocence. He determined early on the morrow to acquaint his friends, and employ a celebrated advocate to expose this villanous doctor, who no doubt had designs either on his purse or person.
In a while, the prisoner fell asleep from fatigue and exhaustion. He was awakened by a sudden glare across his eyelids. At first, imagining he was under the influence of some extravagant dream, he made little effort to arouse himself. A figure stood beside the couch; a lamp lifted above his head. A friar's cowl concealed his features; his person too was enveloped in a coarse garment, with a huge rosary at his girdle.
"Mortal, awake and listen," said the unknown visitor, "Art weary of life, or does this present world content thee?"
"Who art thou?" said De Vessey, scarcely raising himself from the pallet.
"I am thy friend, thy deliverer an' thou wilt."
"Thanks!" said the knight, springing from his recumbent posture.