Carver made no reply, but his lip slightly quivered.
“Miserable man,” continued Pole, looking at him compassionately, “I pity you, and would save you if I could. I see the struggle going on in your breast. Wrestle with the demon who would gain the mastery over your soul, and cast him from you. Pride stifles the better emotions of your heart. Do not restrain them.”
“If I listen to him much longer, my resolution will fail me,” murmured Carver. “I cannot resist his influence.”
“Ere long you will be in a better frame of mind,” continued Pole, “and more accessible to the arguments I would employ.”
“Think it not,” interrupted Carver, at once recovering his sternness. “You will never convert me to Popery and idolatry.”
“I may at least make you sensible of your errors, and lead you to repentance,” said Pole. “The rest lies with Heaven.”
“He shall remain in your Eminence’s charge during a short space,” said Mary, “in the hope that you may be able to bring him to a full sense of his enormities, and prepare him for his end. His life is forfeited.”
“So the death to which I am doomed be the same as that wherewith the staunchest adherents of our faith are menaced, I am content,” said Carver.
“Thou shall have thy wish,” rejoined Mary. “Thy death shall be by fire.”
“Then I shall gain my crown of martyrdom,” cried Carver, exultingly.