One among the condemned, however, was an exception to these remarks.
It was an aged man, somewhat bowed down, with a serene, though
dejected countenance, and a beaming, melancholy eye. It was the
alchymist. The populace looked upon him with a degree of compassion,
which they were not prone to feel towards criminals condemned by the
inquisition; but when they were told that he was convicted of the
crime of magic, they drew back with awe and abhorrence.
The procession had reached the grand square. The first part had
already mounted the scaffolding, and the condemned were approaching.
The press of the populace became excessive, and was repelled, as it
were, in billows by the guards. Just as the condemned were entering
the square, a shrieking was heard among the crowd. A female, pale,
frantic, dishevelled, was seen struggling through the multitude. "My
father! my father!" was all the cry she uttered, but it thrilled
through every heart. The crowd instinctively drew back, and made way
for her as she advanced.
The poor alchymist had made his peace with Heaven, and, by a hard
struggle, had closed his heart upon the world, when the voice of his
child called him once more back to worldly thought and agony.
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