at, my own--my betrothed? She my accuser?"

"Spare thy speech and listen. We could not bring the maiden hither,
insomuch as the nature of her malady admits not of removal: but her
evidence and accusation are duly attested, taken at her own request,
not many hours ago. The substance of her deposition is as follows:--A
confession to her of thine intention to murder Conrad Bergmann, the
artist aforesaid, being jealous of his attentions; and furthermore, in
the agony of guilt, thou didst confess in her presence, having first
strangled, and afterwards thrown him into the river, hoping thereby to
conceal thy crime; then forcing her to swear she would keep the matter
secret, and threatening her life in case it were divulged. This
outrage, and this alone, hath nigh driven her frantic; her life being
in jeopardy from thy violence. What sayest thou, Sigismund de
Vessey?"

"A lie, most foul and audacious, trumped up by that impostor! Leonora?
Impossible. I would not believe though it were from her own lips. Some
demon hath possessed her. This disorder is more than common madness."

He looked around. The whole was like the phantasma of some terrible
dream. Bewildered, and hardly knowing what course to pursue, in vain
he attempted to shake the testimony of the hoary villain before him;
and having at present none other means of rebutting the accusation, he
was ordered into close custody until the morrow.

Utterly unprepared with evidence, he knew not where to apply. That he
was the victim of some foul plot so far appeared certain; but for what
purpose, and at whose instigation, was inexplicable.

Ere an hour had elapsed De Vessey found himself in one of the cells of
a public dungeon, with ample leisure to form plans for proving his
innocence. He determined early on the morrow to acquaint his friends,
and employ a celebrated advocate to expose this villainous doctor, who
no doubt had designs either on his purse or person.

In a while the prisoner fell asleep from fatigue and exhaustion. He
was awakened by a sudden glare across his eyelids. At first, imagining
he was under the influence of some extravagant dream, he made little
effort to arouse himself. A figure stood beside the couch, a lamp
lifted above his head. A friar's cowl concealed his features; his
person, too, was enveloped in a coarse garment, with a huge rosary at
his girdle.

"Mortal, awake and listen," said the unknown visitor. "Art weary of
life, or does this pre