‘She is distraught,’ said the Dominican as a sigh of fear and wonder went round the vault, ’and blasphemes in her madness.  Forget her words.  Shrive her, brother, swiftly ere she adds to them.’

Then the black-robed, keen-eyed priest came to her, and holding the cross before her face, began to mutter I know not what.  But she rose from the chair and thrust the crucifix aside.

‘Peace!’ she said, ’I will not be shriven by such as you.  I take my sins to God and not to you—­you who do murder in the name of Christ.’

The fanatic heard and a fury took him.

‘Then go unshriven down to hell, you—­’ and he named her by ill names and struck her in the face with the ivory crucifix.

The Dominican bade him cease his revilings angrily enough, but Isabella de Siguenza wiped her bruised brow and laughed aloud a dreadful laugh to hear.

‘Now I see that you are a coward also,’ she said.  ’Priest, this is my last prayer, that you also may perish at the hands of fanatics, and more terribly than I die to-night.’

Then they hurried her into the place prepared for her and she spoke again: 

‘Give me to drink, for we thirst, my babe and I!’

Now I saw the abbess enter that passage whence the victim had been led.  Presently she came back bearing a cup of water in her hand and with it a loaf of bread, and I knew by her mien that my draught was in the water.  But of what befell afterwards I cannot say certainly, for I prayed the Dominican to open the door by which we had entered the vault, and passing through it I stood dazed with horror at some distance.  A while went by, I do not know how long, till at length I saw the abbess standing before me, a lantern in her hand, and she was sobbing bitterly.

‘All is done,’ she said.  ’Nay, have no fear, the draught worked well.  Before ever a stone was laid mother and child slept sound.  Alas for her soul who died unrepentant and unshriven!’

‘Alas for the souls of all who have shared in this night’s work,’ I answered.  ‘Now, mother, let me hence, and may we never meet again!’

Then she led me back to the cell, where I tore off that accursed monk’s robe, and thence to the door in the garden wall and to the boat which still waited on the river, and I rejoiced to feel the sweet air upon my face as one rejoices who awakes from some foul dream.  But I won little sleep that night, nor indeed for some days to come.  For whenever I closed my eyes there rose before me the vision of that beauteous woman as I saw her last by the murky torchlight, wrapped in grave clothes and standing in the coffin-shaped niche, proud and defiant to the end, her child clasped to her with one arm while the other was outstretched to take the draught of death.  Few have seen such a sight, for the Holy Office and its helpers do not seek witnesses to their dark deeds, and none would wish to see it twice.  If I have described it ill, it is not that I have forgotten,