Torquemada, the Dominican.

This strange man, though the author of cruelties at which nature
recoils, had some veins of warm and gentle feeling streaking, as it
were, the marble of his hard character; and when he had thoroughly
convinced himself of the pure and earnest zeal of the young convert, he
relaxed from the grim sternness he had at first exhibited towards her.
He loved to exert the eloquence he possessed, in raising her spirit,
in reconciling her doubts. He prayed for her, and he prayed beside her,
with passion and with tears.

He stayed long with the novice; and, when he left her, she was, if
not happy, at least contented. Her warmest wish now was to abridge the
period of her novitiate, which, at her desire, the Church had already
rendered merely a nominal probation. She longed to put irresolution
out of her power, and to enter at once upon the narrow road through the
strait gate.

The gentle and modest piety of the young novice touched the sisterhood;
she was endeared to all of them. Her conversion was an event that broke
the lethargy of their stagnant life. She became an object of general
interest, of avowed pride, of kindly compassion; and their kindness to
her, who from her cradle had seen little of her own sex, had a great
effect towards calming and soothing her mind. But, at night, her dreams
brought before her the dark and menacing countenance of her father.
Sometimes he seemed to pluck her from the gates of heaven, and to sink
with her into the yawning abyss below. Sometimes she saw him with her
beside the altar, but imploring her to forswear the Saviour, before
whose crucifix she knelt. Occasionally her visions were haunted, also,
with Muza--but in less terrible guise She saw his calm and melancholy
eyes fixed upon her; and his voice asked, "Canst thou take a vow that
makes it sinful to remember me?"

The night, that usually brings balm and oblivion to the sad, was thus
made more dreadful to Leila than the day.

Her health grew feebler, and feebler, but her mind still was firm. In
happier time and circumstance that poor novice would have been a great
character; but she was one of the countless victims the world knows
not of, whose virtues are in silent motives, whose struggles are in the
solitary heart.

Of the prince she heard and saw no more. There were times when she
fancied, from oblique and obscure hints, that the Dominican had been
aware of Don Juan's disguise and visit. But, if so, that k