'Oh, mad brute!" cried Varillo. "Tell me which way to go!—where are the brethren?"
"Outside!" he answered "Safe!—away at the farther end of the garden, digging their own graves, as usual! Do you not hear the bell? We are alone in the building!—I have locked the doors,—the fire is kindled inside! We shall be dead before the flames burst through!"
"Madman!" shrieked Varillo, recoiling as the thick volumes of smoke rolled up from the blazing altar. "Die if you must!—but I will not! Where are the windows?—the doors?—"
"Locked and bolted fast," said Ambrosio, with a smile of triumph. "There is no loophole of escape for you! The world might let you go free to murder and betray,—but I—Ambrosio,—a scourge in the Lord's hand—I will never let you go! Pray—pray before it is too late! I heard the devil tempt you—I heard you yield to his tempting! You were both going to ruin a woman—that is devil's work. And God told me what to do—to burn the evil out by flame, and purify your soul! Pray, brother, pray!—for in the searching and tormenting fire it will be too late! Pray! Pray!"
And pressing his hands again upon the organ he struck out a passage of chords like the surging of waves upon the shore or storm-winds in the forest, and began to sing,
"Confutatis maledictis
Flammis acribus addictis
Voci me cum benedictis!"
Infuriated to madness but too physically weak to struggle with one who, though wandering in brain, was sound in body, Varillo tried to drag him from his seat,—but the attempt was useless. Ambrosio seemed possessed by a thousand electric currents of force and resolution combined. He threw off Varillo as though he were a mere child, and went on singing—
"Oro supplex et acclinis
Cor contritum quasi cinis:
Gere curam mei finis.
. . . .
Lacrymosa dies illa,—"
Driven to utter desperation, Varillo stood for a moment inert,—then, suddenly catching sight of a rope hanging from one of the windows close at hand, he rushed to it and pulled it furiously. The top of the window yielded, and fell open on its hinge—the smoke rushed up to the aperture, and Florian, still clinging to the rope, shouted, "Help!—Help!" with all the force he could muster. But the air blowing strongly against the smoke fanned the flames in the body of the chapel,—they leaped higher and higher,—and—seeing the red glow deepening about him, Ambrosio smiled.—"Cry your loudest, you will never be heard!" he said—"Those who are busy with graves have done with life! You had best pray while you have time—let God take you with His name on your lips!"
And as the smoke and flame climbed higher and higher and began to wreathe itself about the music gallery, he resumed his solemn singing.