"I know nothing, and therefore can declare nothing." "You have held that tone long enough. Do you imagine that we are to be deceived by your inventions? Tell what you know, or in twenty minutes you will be led to the rampart and shot." "I am in your power, and you can do what you will." The commissioner spoke in German to the corporal of the guard, who took Morton into custody, and was leading him from the room. "Stop," cried the official, from his seat. Morton turned. "You are destroying yourself, young man." "It is false. You are murdering me." "Do not answer me. I tell you, you are murdering yourself. Are you the fool to fling away your life in a fit of obstinacy?" "Are you the villain to shoot innocent men in cold blood?" The commissioner swore a savage oath, and with an angry gesture sent the corporal from the room. The corporal led his prisoner along the corridor, which had grown ruefully familiar to Morton's eye; but instead of following the way which led to the latter's cell, he turned into a much wider and more commodious passage. Here, at his open door, stood Padre Luca, confessing priest of the castle. Padre Luca had mistaken his calling, when he took it upon him to discharge such a function. He was too tender of heart, too soft of nature; ill seasoned, moreover, to his work, for he had been but a week in the fortress, and this was the first victim whom it behooved him to prepare for death. And when he saw the young prisoner, and learned the instant doom under which he stood, his nerves grew tremulous, and he found no words to usher in his ghostly counsels. Corporal Max Kubitski, with a face unperturbed as a block, unfettered Morton's wrists, left him with the confessor, and withdrew, placing a soldier on guard at the door without. Morton sat silent and calm. The hand of Padre Luca quivered with agitation. "My son," he began; and here his voice faltered. "I trust," he said, finding his tongue again, "that you are a faithful child of our holy mother, the church, and that the heresies and infidelities of these times----" "Father," said Morton, willingly adopting the filial address to the kind-hearted priest, "I am a Protestant. I was born and bred among Protestants. I respect your ancient church for the good she has done in ages past, and for the good men who have held her faith; but I do not believe her doctrine, nor approve her practice." The priest's face betrayed his discomposure. "My son, my dear son, it is not too late; it is never too late. Listen to the truth; renounce your fatal errors. I will baptize you; and when you are gone, I will pray our great saint of Milan to intercede for you, and I will say masses for your soul." Morton smiled faintly, and shook his head. "I thank you; but it is too late for conversion. I must die in my heresy, as I have lived."