Evaline, without lifting her eyes from the floor, sank on her knees before him, and raised her clasped hands in the air. “I am a poor, lost maid!” she said, in a hollow voice. “Enough!” exclaimed Bernard. Without a word more, he pushed past her, and turned towards the priest. On coming up with him, he first glanced earnestly in his face; and then, as if assured that he was not mistaken, extended his hand, and slapped him lustily on his shoulder. “John Paul,” he said, “I attach thee, as a seminary priest, of high treason! Master Headborough do thine office!” A dead silence followed the utterance of these words, and the awful fate with which they threatened the priest, and which was no less than an ignominious death, seemed to strike each of the auditors with dejection and terror. But the silence was of brief duration. The priest then, as if all resolution had failed him, fell on his knees, and raised his hands in supplication. “Oh, spare me!” he cried, with chattering teeth. “I did it from no harm, but for the love of God. The spirit which moved me thereto is willing, but the flesh is weak.” “Thou shouldst have thought of that afore,” said Bernard. “Thou hast come hither, at thine own peril, to war against our anointed Queen, and thou must abide by the issue.” As he thus delivered himself, a cry of agony, which made his heart thrill again, broke on his ear. Turning round, he perceived (what his fears had led him to anticipate) that it had proceeded from Evaline, who was now stretched senseless on the floor. Sir Edgar and Don Felix, who were only a pace or two distant, quickly sprang to the assistance of the forlorn girl, as did Martha also. Lifting her up, they discovered that she had swooned. “Let us bear her to her chamber,” said Sir Edgar. “If she recover here, the scene may shock her again.” Accordingly, they caught her in their arms, and, without further speech, raised her up between them, and bore her from the chapel. Adam Green, who had assisted them to raise her, was about to follow them, when Bernard called him back. “Master Adam,” said Bernard, with a significant look, “hast thou never a cup of liquor, in this noble mansion, for Master Headborough here. Prithee, an’ thou lovest me, take him to thy larder, and let him refresh awhile.” “A right excellent instance,” remarked the constable. “The law stands, sirs”-- “Come thou with me,” interposed Adam. The constable, seeing in the “instance” the promise of a cup of liquor, to which even law might be considered a secondary matter, readily agreed, and suffered Adam to lead him forth. When they had passed out, Bernard appeared to muse a moment, and then, arousing himself, glanced anxiously round the chapel.