"Your interview must be short—very short,", said the jailer, as he turned and left them for a few minutes together.
"God help and comfort thee, my daughter!" added the unhappy father, as he held her to his breast, and printed a kiss upon her brow. "I had feared that I should die without bestowing my blessing on the head of my own child, and that stung me more than death. But thou art come, my love—thou art come! and the last blessing of thy wretched father——"
"Nay! forbear! forbear!" she exclaimed; "not thy last blessing!—not thy last! My father shall not die!"
"Be calm! be calm, my child!" returned he; "would to Heaven that I could comfort thee!—my own! my own! But there is no hope—within three days, and thou and all my little ones will be——"
Fatherless—he would have said, but the words died on his tongue.
"Three days!" repeated she, raising her head from his breast, but eagerly pressing his hand—"three days! Then there is hope—my father shall live! Is not my grandfather the friend of Father Petre, the confessor and the master of the king? From him he shall beg the life of his son, and my father shall not die."
"Nay! nay, my Grizel," returned he; "be not deceived—there is no hope—already my doom is sealed—already the king has signed the order for my execution, and the messenger of death is now on the way."
"Yet my father SHALL not!—SHALL not die!" she repeated, emphatically, and, clasping her hands together. "Heaven speed a daughter's purpose!" she exclaimed; and, turning to her father, said, calmly—"We part now, but we shall meet again."
"What would my child?" inquired he eagerly, gazing anxiously on her face.
"Ask not now," she replied, "my father—ask not now; but pray for me and bless me—but not with thy last blessing."