After consulting the Prince by a look, Osbert caused the litter to be set down in the middle of the chamber. As the curtains were drawn aside by Rodomont, and the livid features of Derrick Carver were fully revealed to view, Philip narrowly watched the effect of the ghastly spectacle on De Noailles; but he stood the ordeal firmly. “Raise thyself, Carver,” cried Rodomont to the prisoner. “Where am I?” groaned the wretched man. “In the presence of the Prince of Spain,” rejoined Rodomont. “Art thou prepared to answer his interrogations?” “I am too feeble to talk,” replied Derrick Carver, sinking backwards. “I have a potent elixir with me which will restore his natural forces,” said Malwood. “Give me the phial. I will administer the dose,” cried Rodomont, pouring a few drops down the prisoner’s throat. “Enough!—enough!” exclaimed Malwood, staying his hand. “By the girdle of Saint Francis! it acts like magic,” cried Rodomont. “The colour is coming to his cheeks, and his eyes look brighter.” “His pulse begins to beat firmly,” said Malwood. “He is now able to answer any question your Highness may desire to put to him,” he added to the Prince. At a sign from Philip, Father de Castro here approached the litter. “Who art thou?” demanded Derrick Carver, slightly raising himself, and regarding the priest sternly. “I am the confessor of the Prince of Spain,” replied the other; “and lost as thou now art, steeped in sin, it will gladden me to reconcile thee to Heaven. Dire as is thine offence, and justly as it calls for condign punishment, I will strive to intercede for thee with his Highness, provided thou wilt make clean thy breast and recant thine errors.” “Think not to move me,” replied Derrick Carver. “I have the stuff in me of which martyrs are made, as you will find. If I be doomed to a death of torture, Heaven will give me constancy to bear it. I grieve not for myself, but for my fellow countrymen, who have much bitter persecution to endure.” “Pity is wasted on him, Father,” said Rodomont. “No, my son,” rejoined De Castro. “Our Church is never without commiseration for the most hardened sinner, who may be received into its bosom even at the last hour.” “You prate of pity, yet would enforce obedience to your doctrines by torture and burnings,” said Derrick Carver. “If I mistake not, you are the ruthless Father de Castro, who hath written and preached on the punishment of heretics, and hath been the means of consigning many true believers in the Gospel to the flames.” “I am he you suppose, unhappy man,” replied De Castro. “I am a physician to those who are sick of soul. If the only remedy for their disease be fire, ought I to hesitate to prescribe it?” “Then treat me as thou hast treated others, merciless priest,” rejoined Derrick Carver. “Thou wilt see what will ensue. Cast abroad my ashes to the winds, and they will cause a tempest which will crush thee and the Prince thy master.”