se of those herbs. "The word! the word! I have the first--the
second word! Help me, mother!" cried Amine, as she sat by the side of
the bed, in the room, which was now so full of smoke that nothing could
be distinguished. "It is of no use," thought she, at last, letting her
hands fall at her side; "I have forgotten the art. Mother! mother! help
me in my dreams this night."

The smoke gradually cleared away, and, when Amine lifted up her eyes,
she perceived a figure standing before her. At first she thought she
had been successful in her charm; but, as the figure became more
distinct, she perceived that it was Father Mathias, who was looking at
her with a severe frown and contracted brow, his arms folded before him.

"Unholy child! what dost thou?"

Amine had roused the suspicions of the priests, not only by her
conversation, but by several attempts which she had before made to
recover her lost art; and on one occasion, in which she had defended it,
both Father Mathias and Father Seysen had poured out the bitterest
anathemas upon her, or any one who had resort to such practices. The
smell of the fragrant herbs thrown into the censer, and the smoke, which
afterwards had escaped through the door and ascended the stairs, had
awakened the suspicious of Father Mathias, and he had crept up silently,
and entered the room without her perceiving it. Amine at once perceived
her danger. Had she been single, she would have dared the priest; but,
for Philip's sake, she determined to mislead him.

"I do no wrong, father," replied she calmly, "but it appears to me not
seemly that you should enter the chamber of a young woman during her
husband's absence. I might have been in my bed. It is a strange
intrusion."

"Thou canst not mean this, woman! My age--my profession--are a
sufficient warranty," replied Father Mathias, somewhat confused at this
unexpected attack.

"Not always, father, if what I have been told of monks and priests be
true," replied Amine. "I ask again, why comest thou here into an
unprotected woman's chamber?"

"Because I felt convinced that she was practising unholy arts."

"Unholy arts!--what mean you? Is the leech's skill unholy? Is it
unholy to administer relief to those who suffer?--to charm the fever and
the ague, which rack the limbs of those who live in this unwholesome
climate?"

"All charms are most unholy."

"When I said charms, father, I meant not what you mean; I simply would
have