"It is a dreadful crime of which he stands accused, one for which there is no remission—no pardon here or hereafter," she said sorrowfully.
"He is innocent," sobbed Hellayne. "He is as pure as the light, as the flowers. There is some dreadful mistake. He must be saved before it is too late! Oh—dear mother—could you not intercede for him with His Eminence?"
The Abbess regarded her as if she thought her protege had suddenly lost her reason. To intercede with the Cardinal-Archbishop for one who stood committed of so heinous an offence, taken in the very act,—one who, perchance, was implicated in all those other terrible outrages committed in the various sanctuaries of Rome! Nevertheless she made allowance for Hellayne's hysterical plea.
"Has he never mentioned these matters to you?" She queried kindly, hoping to draw the girl out.
"What matters?" Hellayne queried, with wide eyes, and the question convinced the Abbess that the woman knew nothing.
"These dark practices," replied the Abbess. "For this is not the first offence. Even within this very moon cycle the Holy Host has been taken from the Church of Our Blessed Lady yonder. And all efforts to discover the guilty one have failed."
"I had not heard of it," said Hellayne. "I have not been long in Rome. Nor has he. About a month, I should say."
"A month?"
"And he knew nothing of this. Nor knew he even one person in this whole city."
"Wherefore then came he?"