All reports agreed that the Wanderer had never before been known
to make a woman the object of his temptation, or to entrust her with the
terrible secret of his destiny(16); and the Inquisitors were heard to
say to each other, “Now that we have got the Delilah in our hands, we
shall soon have the Sampson.”

  (16) From this it should seem that they were unacquainted with the
  story of Elinor Mortimer. “It was on the night previous to her examination, (of which she was
unapprized), that Isidora saw the door of her cell opened, and a figure
appear at it, whom, amid the dreary obscurity that surrounded her, she
recognized in a moment,--it was Fra Jose. After a long pause of mutual
horror, she knelt in silence to receive his benediction, which he gave
with feeling solemnity; and then the good monk, whose propensities,
though somewhat “earthly and sensual,” were never “devilish,” after
vainly drawing his cowl over his face to stifle his sobs, lifted up his
voice and “wept bitterly.”

“Isidora was silent, but her silence was not that of sullen apathy, or
of conscience-seared impenitence. At length Fra Jose seated himself on
the foot of the pallet, at some distance from the prisoner, who was also
sitting, and bending her cheek, down which a cold tear slowly flowed,
over her infant. “Daughter,” said the monk, collecting himself, “it is
to the indulgence of the holy office I owe this permission to visit
you.”--“I thank them,” said Isidora, and her tears flowed fast and
relievingly. “I am permitted also to tell you that your examination will
take place to-morrow,--to adjure you to prepare for it,--and, if there
be any thing which”---- “My examination!” repeated Isidora with
surprise, but evidently without terror, “on what subject am I then to be
examined?”--“On that of your inconceivable union with a being devoted
and accursed.” His voice was choaked with horror, and he added,
“Daughter, are you then indeed the wife of--of--that being, whose name
makes the flesh creep, and the hair stand on end?”--“I am.”--“Who were
the witnesses of your marriage, and what hand dared to bind yours with
that unholy and unnatural bond?”--“There were no witnesses--we were
wedded in darkness. I saw no form, but I thought I heard words
uttered--I know I felt a hand place mine in Melmoth’s--its touch was as
cold as that of the dead.”--“Oh complicated and mysterious horror!” said
the priest, turning pale, and crossing himself with marks of unfeigned
terror; he bowed his head on his arm for some time, and remained silent
from unutterable emotion. “Father,” said Isidora at length, “you knew
the hermit who lived amid the ruins of the monastery near our house,--he
was a priest also,--he was a holy man, it was he who united us!” Her
voice trembled.---- “Wretched victim!” groaned the priest, without
raising his head, “you know not what you utter--that holy man is known
to have died the very night preceding that of your dreadful union.”

“Another pause of mute horror followed, which the priest at length
broke.--“Unhappy daughter,” said he in a composed and solemn voice, “I
am indulged with permission to give you the benefit of the sacrament of
confession, previous to your examination. I adjure you to unburden your
soul to me,--will you?”--“I will, my father.”--“Will you answer me, as
you would answer at the tribunal of God?”--“Yes,--as I would answer at
the tribunal of God.” As she spake, she prostrated herself before the
priest in the attitude of confession. * * * * * * *

“And you have now disclosed the whole burden of your spirit?”--“I have,
my father.” The priest sat thoughtfully for a considerable time. He then
put to her several singular questions relative to Melmoth, which she was
wholly unable to answer. They seemed chiefly the result of those
impressions of supernatural power and terror, which were every where
associated with his image. “My father,” said Isidora, when he had
ceased, in a faultering voice, “My father, may I inquire about my
unhappy parents?” The priest shook his head, and remained silent. At
length, affected by the agony with which she urged her inquiry, he
reluctantly said she might guess the effect which the death of their
son, and the imprisonment of their daughter in the Inquisition, must
have on parents, who were no less eminent for their zeal for the
Catholic faith, than for their parental affection. “Are they alive?”
said Isidora.--“Spare yourself the pain of further inquiries, daughter,”
said the priest, “and be assured, that if the answer was such as could
give you comfort, it would not be withheld.”

“At this moment a bell was heard to sound in a distant part of the
structure. “That bell,” said the priest, “announces that the hour of
your examination approaches--farewell, and may the saints be with
you.”--“Stay, father,--stay one moment,--but one moment!” cried Isidora,
rushing franticly between him and the door. Fra Jose paused. Isidora
sunk before him, and, hiding her face with her hands, exclaimed in a
voice choaked with agony, “Father, do you think--that I am--lost for
ever?”--“Daughter,” said the priest in heavy accents, and in a troubled
and doubting spirit, “Daughter,--I have given you what comfort I
could--press for no more, lest what I have given (with many struggles of
conscience) may be withdrawn. Perhaps you are in a state on which I can
form no judgment, and pronounce no sentence. May God be merciful to you,
and may the holy tribunal judge you in its mercy also.”--“Yet stay,
father--stay one moment--only one moment--only one question more.” As
she spoke, she caught her pale and innocent companion from the pallet
where it slept, and held it up to the priest. “Father, tell me, _can_
this be the child of a demon?--can it be, this creature that smiles on
me--that smiles on you, while you are mustering curses against it?--Oh,
holy drops have sprinkled it from your own hand!--Father, you have spoke
holy words over it. Father, let them tear me with their pincers, let
them roast me on their flames, but will not my child escape--my innocent
child, that smiles on you?--Holy father, dear father, look back on my
child.” And she crawled after him on her knees, holding up the miserable
infant in her arms, whose weak cry and wasted frame, pleaded against the
dungeon-life to which its infancy had been doomed. “Fra Jose melted at the appeal, and he was about to bestow many a kiss
and many a prayer on the wretched babe, when the bell again was sounded,
and hasting away, he had but time to exclaim, “My daughter, may God
protect you!”--“God protect me,” said Isidora, clasping her infant to
her bosom. The bell sounded again, and Isidora knew that the hour of her
trial approached. CHAPTER XXXVII. Fear not now the fever’s fire,
      Fear not now the death-bed groan;
    Pangs that torture, pains that tire
      Bed-rid age with feeble moan. MASON.