xult in their own comparative security.

One among the condemned, however, was an exception to these remarks.
It was an aged man, somewhat bowed down, with a serene, though
dejected countenance, and a beaming, melancholy eye. It was the
alchymist. The populace looked upon him with a degree of compassion,
which they were not prone to feel towards criminals condemned by the
inquisition; but when they were told that he was convicted of the
crime of magic, they drew back with awe and abhorrence.

The procession had reached the grand square. The first part had
already mounted the scaffolding, and the condemned were approaching.
The press of the populace became excessive, and was repelled, as it
were, in billows by the guards. Just as the condemned were entering
the square, a shrieking was heard among the crowd. A female, pale,
frantic, dishevelled, was seen struggling through the multitude. "My
father! my father!" was all the cry she uttered, but it thrilled
through every heart. The crowd instinctively drew back, and made way
for her as she advanced.

The poor alchymist had made his peace with Heaven, and, by a hard
struggle, had closed his heart upon the world, when the voice of his
child called him once more back to worldly thought and agony. He
turned towards the well-known voice; his knees smote together; he
endeavoured to stretch forth his pinioned arms, and felt himself
clasped in the embraces of his child. The emotions of both were too
agonizing for utterance. Convulsive sobs and broken exclamations, and
embraces more of anguish than tenderness, were all that passed between
them. The procession was interrupted for a moment. The astonished
monks and familiars were filled with involuntary respect, at the agony
of natural affection. Ejaculations of pity broke from the crowd,
touched by the filial piety, the extraordinary and hopeless anguish,
of so young and beautiful a being.

Every attempt to soothe her, and prevail on her to retire, was
unheeded; at length they endeavoured to separate her from her father
by force. The movement roused her from her temporary abandonment. With
a sudden paroxysm of fury, she snatched a sword from one of the
familiars. Her late pale countenance was flushed with rage, and fire
flashed from her once soft and languishing eyes. The guards shrunk
back with awe. There was something in this filial frenzy, this
feminine tenderness wrought up to desperation, that touched even their
hardened he