"Oh, that I could shake off the conviction that this were not so—that my soul, though heavily laden, might still be saved! Oh, that I dared to hope this!"
"I must interrupt him if he pursues this strain," said the listener.
Rougemont's device to perplex Auriol.
"Whether my crimes are real or imaginary—whether I snatched the cup of immortality from my grandsire's dying lips—whether I signed a compact with the Fiend, and delivered him a victim on each tenth year—I cannot now know; but if it is so, I deeply, bitterly regret them, and would expiate my offences by a life of penance."
At this moment Rougemont, attired in a dress similar to that of the prisoner, marched up the steps, and cried, "What ho, Auriol!—Auriol Darcy!"
"Who speaks?" demanded Auriol. "Ah! is it you, Fiend?"