es, father, I am," he replied, with an effort.

"Recollect, then, my son," continued the old man, "that you are under
the assured protection of the sword, and that you may open your heart to
me without fear of consequences. Say, then, in the first place, who are
you?"

"I am no other, father," answered Florian, with returning energy, "than
I have already acknowledged to you; and I was the early friend and
schoolfellow of the man whose blood I have shed upon the scaffold. But I
must and will have clear proof of _every_ crime imputed to Bartholdy,"
he exclaimed in wild emotion. "Again I see his large dim eyes fixed on
me in reproach; and if you cannot give me evidence that he deserved his
fate, my remorse will goad me on to suicide or madness."

It was now evident to the old man that the suspicions he had founded
on Florian's acknowledged intimacy with Bartholdy were groundless.
Recollecting, too, the undeviating truth and honesty of Florian's
character, he felt all the injustice of his suspicions; and his
compassion for the tortured feelings of his son-in-law became actively
excited. He clearly saw that nothing but the truth, and the whole truth,
would satisfy him; he determined, therefore, to call upon the criminal's
confessor; and, after prevailing upon the exhausted Florian to go to
bed, he watched by him until he saw his wearied senses sealed up in
sleep, and then departed in quest of farther intelligence.

After three hours of undisturbed repose, which restored, in some
measure, the exhausted strength of Florian, he awoke, and saw his
father-in-law sitting by his bed, with a confident and cheerful
composure of look, which spoke comfort to his wounded spirit.

"Florian," he began, "I have cheering news for you. I have seen the
confessor of Bartholdy, a good old man, who feels for, and wishes to
console you. He has long known the habits and character of the criminal.
More he would not say, but he will receive you this evening at his
convent, and will not only impart to you the consolations of religion,
but reveal as much of the criminal's previous life as the sacred
obligations of a confessor will permit. Meanwhile, my son, you must
rouse yourself from this stupor, and accompany me in a walk round the
city ramparts."

After a restorative excursion, they repaired, at the appointed hour, to
the Jesuit convent, and were immediately conducted to the cell of the
confessor, an aged and venerable priest, who gazed for