se up
fiercely around him, he bore witness to the truth, and endeavoured to
support them to the last.

Meantime the unhappy Leonor de Cisneros lingered on in prison. Every
effort was made by the inquisitors and their familiars of high and low
degree to induce her to recant, but she continued contumacious. Once
only a gleam of satisfaction was seen to pass over her countenance; it
was when a few words, incautiously let drop by one of her visitors,
informed her that Don Francisco de Vivers had escaped from Spain, and
had arrived safely at Genoa.

Was it in mercy, because her bigoted persecutors yet hoped that she
would recant, that her life was still spared? or was it because their
vindictive feelings made them unwilling to liberate their captive, and
terminate her sufferings by consigning her to that death for which she
waited longingly? Often she exclaimed with the Apostle Paul, in sure
and certain hope of the resurrection of the just to happiness
unspeakable, "For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."

Year after year passed by, and still she remained a prisoner in those
dreadful dungeons. She had but numbered twenty-two summers when
consigned to them, and eight long winters of existence passed afterwards
over her head. During those weary years that heroic woman, with the
most perfect constancy, endured insults, torture, starvation, while
compelled to listen to all the arguments which cunning priests could
adduce to make her change her faith.

At length, once more she stood before the judgment-seat of the
inquisitors, among whom the Archbishop Munebrega presided. Did no
recollection of that young woman's mother, whom he had once fondly
loved, or thought he loved, cross his mind? Did he not remember Dona
Leonor herself, when in her early youth, radiant in beauty, he first
beheld her, and heard from her lips the startling acknowledgment that
she believed the simple Word of God and trusted to it? Now she stood
before him a pale wan woman, weighed down with grief and physical
suffering.

Again she was asked if she would recant, and reminded that it was for
the last time.

"Oh, no, no!" she answered, her heart bounding with joy at the
announcement. The captive was to be set free.

Now, in solemn mockery, the inquisitors arose, and pronounced Dona
Leonor de Cisneros hopelessly contumacious, and condemned her to the
flames.

A bright gleam rested on her countenance as she heard her sentence, but
she