"Have I not done enough?"
"Your hesitation proves your guilt," said Alan.
"That proof is wanting, then?" returned the priest; "my hand is upon her throat—what more?"
"As you hope for mercy in your hour of need, swear that you never conspired against her life, or refused her mercy."
"I swear it."
"May the dead convict you of perjury if you have forsworn yourself," said Alan; "you are free. Take away your hand!"
"Ha! what is this?" exclaimed the priest. "You have put some jugglery upon me. I cannot withdraw my hand. It sticks to her throat, as though 'twere glued by blood. Tear me away. I have not force enough to liberate myself. Why do you grin at me? The corpse grins likewise. It is jugglery. I am innocent. You would take away my life. Tear me away, I say: the veins rise; they blacken; they are filling with new blood. I feel them swell; they coil like living things around my fingers. She is alive."
"And you are innocent?"
"I am—I am. Let not my ravings convict me. For Jesu's sake, release me."
"Blaspheme not, but arise. I hold you not."