Her misery has turned her brain; she is mad; heed her not; be
silent all of ye! See how she glares upon the prisoner! Is that the
look of sanity? By St. Francis, we have done wrong to call her hither!
Stand back, good fathers. Remove the prisoner; and let Donna Marie be
conducted from the hall. Our Consort should have warned us of this!"
"Forbear, my liege!" replied the Sub-Prior sternly. "The blaspheming
words were all too calmly and collectively spoken for the ravings of
madness. Let not the false unbeliever pass hence till at least she
has done reverence to the sacred symbol, she has, by daring denial,
insulted. As thou wouldst save thine own soul from hell-fire, my
liege, interfere not in this!"
As he spoke, several soldiers had endeavored rudely to drag Arthur
from Marie: he strove fiercely for freedom, for but one hour's power
to protect her, but in vain. And the look she fixed upon him, as he
was torn from her, from its contrast with her previous profound calm,
did indeed seem almost of madness. The excitement which had enabled
her to make this dread avowal--an avowal comprising such variety, and
terrible danger, that the magnitude of the sacrifice comprised in the
confession can now scarcely be understood; danger, not merely from the
vengeance of the church for long years of fraud, nor from the secret
and awful tribunal of whose existence she was conscious (though not of
its close vicinity); not merely these, but danger from the wrath, and
terrors of the secret members of her own faith, who might naturally
imagine their own safety endangered in the suspicion, engendered by
her rash confession.
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