“Ay, but dost thou understand my words?” said the Templar; “for the sound of my voice is frightful in mine own ears. I scarce know on what ground we stand, or for what purpose they have brought us hither.⁠—This listed space⁠—that chair⁠—these faggots⁠—I know their purpose, and yet it appears to me like something unreal⁠—the fearful picture of a vision, which appals my sense with hideous fantasies, but convinces not my reason.”

“My mind and senses keep touch and time,” answered Rebecca, “and tell me alike that these faggots are destined to consume my earthly body, and open a painful but a brief passage to a better world.”