Chapter 16

These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence,
Therefore, I pray you, stay not to discourse,
But mount you presently.
--Shakspeare.

An hour had slid by, in hasty and nearly incoherent questions and
answers, before Middleton, hanging over his recovered treasure with
that sort of jealous watchfulness with which a miser would regard his
hoards, closed the disjointed narrative of his own proceedings by
demanding--

"And you, my Inez; in what manner were you treated?"

"In every thing, but the great injustice they did in separating me so
forcibly from my friends, as well perhaps as the circumstances of my
captors would allow. I think the man, who is certainly the master
here, is but a new beginner in wickedness. He quarrelled frightfully
in my presence, with the wretch who seized me, and then they made an
impious bargain, to which I was compelled to acquiesce, and to which
they bound me as well as themselves by oaths. Ah! Middleton, I fear
the heretics are not so heedful of their vows as we who are nurtured
in the bosom of the true church!"

"Believe it not; these villains are of no religion: did they forswear
themselves?"

"No, not perjured: but was it not awful to call upon the good God to
witness so sinful a compact?"

"And so we think, Inez, as truly as the most virtuous cardinal of
Rome. But how did they observe their oath, and what was its purport?"

"They conditioned to leave me unmolested, and free from their odious
presence, provided I would give a pledge to make no effort to escape;
and that I would not even show myself, until a time that my masters
saw fit to name."

"And that time?" demanded the impatient Middleton, who so well knew
the religious scruples of his wife--"that time?"

"It is already passed. I was sworn by my patron saint, and faithfully
did I keep the vow, until the man they call Ishmael forgot the terms
by offering violence. I then made my appearance on the rock, for the
time too was passed; though I even think father Ignatius would have
absolved me from the vow, on account of the treachery of my keepers."

"If he had not," muttered the youth between his compressed teeth, "I
would have absolved him for ever from his spiritual care of your
conscience!"

"You, Middleton!" returned his wife looking up into his flushed face,
while a bright blush suffused her own sweet countenance; "you may
receive my vows, but surely you can have no power to absolve me from
their observance!"

"No, no, no. Inez, you are right. I know but little of these
conscientious subtilties, and I am any thing but a