Besides--for why should I conceal the virtuous movements of my mind--I felt
a repugnance in leaving Isabel to perpetual imprisonment, or to the chance
of being buried alive; but feeling at the same time, that if successful in
delivering her from confinement, I should in that case have sufficiently
acquitted myself of obligations, and satisfied my scruples, I resolved that
upon the first favourable opportunity I would dispose of Isabel, and
recover my independence.
And now, the crisis was at hand. Slow, heavy steps, as of persons
carrying a burden, were heard approaching: other, and more hesitating
steps, mingled with these. At length they reached the massive iron door,
and the burden was put down. The thickness of the door was too great, to
permit the words spoken without to be heard within; but for some time
the monotonous sound of a voice continued--doubtless, a prayer of length
and efficacy by the Franciscan. The voice ceased; the chains and bolts
were one by one withdrawn; the door slowly swung back, and a glare of
flambeaux flashed into the cell. Isabel lay on the pallet, while I stood
motionless in the middle of the floor--my face turned towards the door,
and my hood partly thrown back.
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