“You, Amine Vanderdecken, being accused—­”

Another violent struggle; and from the crowd darted a young man, who rushed to where Amine was standing, and caught her in his arms.

“Philip!  Philip!” screamed Amine, falling on his bosom; as he caught her, the cap of flames fell off her head and rolled along the marble pavement.  “My Amine—­my wife—­my adored one—­is it thus we meet?  My lord, she is innocent.  Stand off, men,” continued he to the officers of the Inquisition, who would have torn them asunder.  “Stand off, or your lives shall answer for it.”

This threat to the officers, and the defiance of all rules, were not to be borne; the whole Cathedral was in a state of commotion, and the solemnity of the ceremony was about to be compromised.  The Viceroy and his followers had risen from their chairs to observe what was passing, and the crowd was pressing on, when the Grand Inquisitor gave his directions, and other officers hastened to the assistance of the two who had led Amine forward, and proceeded to disengage her from Philip’s arms.  The struggle was severe.  Philip appeared to be endued with the strength of twenty men; and it was some minutes before they could succeed in separating him, and when they had so done, his struggles were dreadful.

Amine, also, held by two of the familiars, shrieked, as she attempted once more, but in vain, to rush into her husband’s arms.  At last, by a tremendous effort, Philip released himself, but as soon as he was released, he sank down helpless on the pavement; the exertion had caused the bursting of a blood-vessel, and he lay without motion.

“Oh God!  Oh God! they have killed him—­monsters—­murderers—­let me embrace him but once more,” cried Amine, frantically.

A priest now stepped forward—­it was Father Mathias—­with sorrow in his countenance; he desired some of the bystanders to carry out Philip Vanderdecken, and Philip, in a state of insensibility, was borne away from the sight of Amine, the blood streaming from his mouth.

Amine’s sentence was read—­she heard it not, her brain was bewildered.  She was led back to her seat, and then it was that all her courage, all her constancy and fortitude gave way; and during the remainder of the ceremony, she filled the Cathedral with her wild hysterical sobbing; all entreaties or threats being wholly lost upon her.

All was now over, except the last and most tragical scene of the drama.  The culprits who had been spared were led back to the Inquisition by their godfathers, and those who had been sentenced were taken down to the banks of the river to suffer.  It was on a large open space, on the left of the Custom-house, that this ceremony was to be gone through.  As in the Cathedral, raised thrones were prepared for the Grand Inquisitor and the Viceroy, who, in state, headed the procession, followed by an immense concourse of people.  Thirteen stakes had been set up, eight