holy martyrs; he brought heart and soul to his task; and the more he
saw of Marie, the more painfully did he deplore her blind infatuation,
and the more ardently desire, to save her from the eternal
perdition which, as a Jewess, must await her. He poured forth such
soul-breathing petitions, for saving grace to be vouchsafed to her, in
her hearing, that Marie felt as if she would have given worlds, only
to realize the belief for which he prayed; but the more her heart was
wrung, the more vividly it seemed that her own faith, the religion of
her fathers through a thousand ages, impressed itself upon her mind
and heart, rendering it more and more impossible for her to forswear
it, even at the very moment that weak humanity longed to do it, and so
purchase peace. Naturally so meek and yielding, so peculiarly alive
to the voice of sympathy and kindness, it was inexpressibly and
harrowingly distressing to be thus compelled to resist both; to think
also of all Isabella's gentle, cherishing, and manifested affection;
and to know that the only return she demanded, she dared not, might
not give. To some dispositions these considerations would have been of
no weight whatever; to Marie they were so exquisitely painful, that
she could scarcely understand how it was that, feeling them thus
acutely, she could yet so clearly, so calmly, reply to Father Denis,
bring argument for argument, and never waver in her steadfast
adherence to, and belief in her own creed. The very lessons of her
youth, which she had thought forgotten in the varied trials which
had been her portion since, returned with full--she fancied
superhuman--force and clearness to her mind, rendering even the very
wish to embrace the Catholic religion, futile. There was a voice
within her that _would_ be heard, aye above every human feeling, every
strong temptation. She could not drown its clear ringing tones; even
where her mental sufferings seemed to cloud and harrow up the brain,
to the exclusion of every distinct idea, that voice would breathe its
thrilling whisper, telling her it was vain to hope it, she could not
be in heart a Catholic; and so she dared not be in words.

A romance is no place for polemical discussion, and we will therefore
leave those painful arguments unrecorded. Suffice it, that Marie's
intimate acquaintance with the Holy Scriptures in their original
tongue--the language of her own people--gave her so decided an
advantage over the old monk, that,