ll, closed the door, and seated himself, on a stool--which, save the
table and the pallet, seemed the sole furniture of the dismal chamber.

"Daughter," said he, after a pause, "it is a rugged and a mournful
lot this renunciation of earth and all its fair destinies and soft
affections, to one not wholly prepared and armed for the sacrifice.
Confide in me, my child; I am no dire inquisitor, seeking to distort
thy words to thine own peril. I am no bitter and morose ascetic. Beneath
these robes still beats a human heart that can sympathise with human
sorrows. Confide in me without fear. Dost thou not dread the fate they
would force upon thee? Dost thou not shrink back? Wouldst thou not be
free?"

"No," said the poor novice; but the denial came faint and irresolute
from her lips.

"Pause," said the friar, growing more earnest in his tone: "pause--there
is yet time."

"Nay," said the novice, looking up with some surprise in her
countenance; "nay, even were I so weak, escape now is impossible. What
hand could unbar the gates of the convent?"

"Mine!" cried the monk, with impetuosity. "Yes, I have that power. In
all Spain, but one man can save thee, and I am he."

"You!" faltered the novice, gazing at her strange visitor with mingled
astonishment and alarm. "And who are you that could resist the fiat of
that Tomas de Torquemada, before whom, they tell me, even the crowned
heads of Castile and Arragon veil low?"

The monk half rose, with an impatient and almost haughty start, at
this interrogatory; but, reseating himself, replied, in a deep and
half-whispered voice "Daughter, listen to me! It is true, that Isabel of
Spain (whom the Mother of Mercy bless! for merciful to all is her secret
heart, if not her outward policy)--it is true that Isabel of Spain,
fearful that the path to Heaven might be made rougher to thy feet than
it well need be (there was a slight accent of irony in the monk's voice
as he thus spoke), selected a friar of suasive eloquence and gentle
manners to visit thee. He was charged with letters to yon abbess from
the queen. Soft though the friar, he was yet a hypocrite. Nay, hear me
out! he loved to worship the rising sun; and he did not wish always to
remain a simple friar, while the Church had higher dignities of this
earth to bestow. In the Christian camp, daughter, there was one who
burned for tidings of thee,--whom thine image haunted--who, stern as
thou wert to him, loved thee with a love he knew