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 THE CATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE. 
 
 Page 21.
 
 THE SPANISH CAVALIER 
 
 A STORY OF SEVILLE. 
 
 By A. L. O. E, 
 
 
 
 rUK OATKWAV OK A srAM.Sll MANSION. 
 
 Ptge V6 
 
 ■m 
 
 'SLSOP-^RD- mpn 

 
 THE 
 
 SPANISH CAVALIER. 
 
 Jl §tonj of §ct)ille. 
 
 By 
 
 A. L. O. E., 
 
 Author of" Rescued /rom Egy/it," " The Lady 0/ Provence,' 
 "Hebrew Heroes," S'c. 
 
 T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 EDINBURGH ; AND NEW YORK. 
 1900
 
 HooO 
 
 ^ontcntB. 
 
 L THE COUNTING-HOUSE ... ... .. ... 7 
 
 II. A SAUNTER THROUGH SEVILLE ... ... ... I7 
 
 III. FADED 8PLEND0UB ... ... ... ... ,. 26 
 
 IV. PKIDE AND ITS PENALn ... ... ... ... 35 
 
 V. ANNOUNCEMENTS ... ... ... ... ... 43 
 
 VI. A sister's SACRIFICE ... ... ... ., 60 
 
 VII. DRIVEN TO THE SLAUGHTER ... ... ... .. 62 
 
 VIIL WITHOUT AND WITHIN ... ... ... ... 69 
 
 IX. THE BRIEF FAREWELL ... ... .. ... 78 
 
 X. STRUCK DOWN ... ... ... ... ... 83 
 
 XI. FAILURE ... ... ... ... ... ... 93 
 
 ■ XIL DARKNESS AND LIGHT ... ... ... ... 101 
 
 XIII. NEW LIFE ... ... ... ... ... ... 103 
 
 XIV. AN UNPARDONABLE WRONG ... ... ... ... 116 
 
 XV. CONFESSION 
 
 XVI. A MIRAGE ... 
 
 XVII. ARRESTED ... 
 
 XVIII. TURNED AWAY 
 
 XIX. WANDERING ALONE .. 
 
 122 
 132 
 147 
 165 
 161 
 
 765380
 
 IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XX. AN IDOL ON ITS PEI)E3T.\I, 
 XXI. TWO ANGELS 
 XXII. STRANGE COMPANY ... 
 
 XXIII. PREACHING IN PRISON 
 
 XXIV. A FRIEND ... 
 XXV. WARNINGS 
 
 XXVI. THE LONELY POSADA 
 XXVII. FOLLOWING SCENT .. 
 XXVIII. WANDERINGS 
 XXIX. THE EARTHQUAKE .. 
 
 XXX. PURSUED ... 
 XXXI. VENGEANCE 
 XXXII. A LAST FAREWELL .. 
 
 XXXIII. A TREASURE ^ 
 
 XXXIV. GLAD TIDINGS 
 XXXV. FICTION AND THU7 !1 
 
 170 
 181 
 185 
 193 
 201 
 212 
 220 
 231 
 239 
 247 
 253 
 262 
 270 
 275 
 234 
 291
 
 Mist of 3ElUistnitions. 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE, ... 
 
 THE GATEWAY OF A SPANISH MANSION, 
 
 THE ALCAZAR OF SEVILLE, 
 
 SPANISH SENORAS AND THEIR DUENNA, 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER THE FIGHT, 
 
 THE ENTRANCE TO THE PRISON, 
 
 A STREET IN SEVILLE, 
 
 INTERIOR OF A SPANISH POSADA, 
 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 
 Vignette 
 
 Fach 
 
 ig Page 
 
 20 
 
 24 
 
 66 
 
 184 
 
 212 
 
 220
 
 THE SPANISH CAVALIER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE COUNTING-HOUSE. 
 
 E has not made his appearance in the 
 office to-day ! " exclaimed Mr. Pass- 
 more, the working partner in an iron- 
 ware manufactory in Seville. " If this Senor Don 
 Alcala de Aguilera think it beneath his dignity to 
 keep faith with his employer, and stick to his busi- 
 ness, I'll find some one else who wiU. The high and 
 mighty caballero may smoke his cigar, or take his 
 siesta, like the rest of his lazy nation ; I'll not dis- 
 turb him, though his nap should last till the Moors 
 come again ! " Mr. Passmore rubbed his heated 
 face with his spotted handkerchief as he concluded 
 his speech, for the fiery sun of Andalusia had not 
 yet sunk, and the small office-room attached to 
 his manufactoiy glowed like one of his own furnaces.
 
 O THE COUNTING-HOUSE. 
 
 " Do Aguilcra may have been kept away by ill- 
 ness, sir," suggested Lucius Le^jine, a young English 
 clerk in the employ of the manufacturer. " He ap- 
 peared to be far from well yesterday, when trans- 
 latinof the letters from Madrid." 
 
 " And a pretty hash he made of the business," 
 exclaimed Mr. Passmore in a tone of irritation, yet 
 unable to refrain from lauohinfj. " The don's 
 thouo:hts must have been wanderinij to the Plaza 
 de Toros,* or he would scarcely have made out that 
 Tasco and Co. sent our firm an order for twenty 
 dozen bulls instead of knife-blades." 
 
 " De Aguilera is not wont to make such blunders," 
 said Lucius, who had sympathy for his fellow-clerk, 
 partly arising from a belief that their circumstances 
 were somewhat the same — that the proud Spaniard 
 had been, like himself, di-iven by necessity to work 
 under one who, by birth and education, belonged to 
 a sphere much lower than their own. " I thought," 
 continued Lepine, " that De Aguilera looked very 
 ill." 
 
 " 111 ! yes, he always looks ill — as if he fed, or 
 rather starved, on chestnuts and raisins," inter- 
 rupted Mr. Passmore, " and had never tasted a slice 
 of good roast beef in the course of his life ! I guess 
 there's many a one of the whining beggars that bc- 
 
 • Circus for bull-lights.
 
 THE COUNTING-HOUSE. 9 
 
 set one in the Calle de los Sierpes, that fares better 
 than the caballero Don Aguilera. And yet, forsooth, 
 the senor must keep his horse (a lean one, to be 
 sure), and carry himself with a lofty air, as if he 
 were, at the least, Secretary of State to Queen 
 Isabella ! I do believe that his worthiness never 
 made his appearance to-day, because I offended his 
 dignity yesterday by calling him simply ' Aguilera,' 
 without all the fine additions to a name already too 
 long, which Spaniards wear as their mules do tassels 
 and fringes, I suppose, to make one forget the length 
 of their ears ! " Mr. Passmore rubbed his hands in 
 evident enjoyment of his own joke, and laughed his 
 peculiar, explosive laugh, which reminded his hearers 
 of the snort of a hippopotamus rapidly repeated. 
 Lucius was not inclined to appreciate or join in his 
 mirth. 
 
 " By - the - by, Lepine," said the manufacturer 
 abruptly, " would you like to go to the bull-fight 
 to-morrow ? for if so, I'll treat you to a seat, as I'm 
 going myself As these affairs always come off on a 
 Sunday, there will be no business time lost." 
 
 Had the offer been an acceptable one, the coarse 
 air of patronage with which it was made would have 
 prevented the young Englishman from feeling grate- 
 ful for an invitation so proffered. But Lepine's 
 views of keeping the day of rest were by no mean.s
 
 10 THE COUNTING-HOUSE. 
 
 LQ harmony with the sickening horrors of the 
 Plaza de Toros, and he rather coldly replied, " I 
 thank you ; but I have no wish to witness a bull- 
 fight." 
 
 " Nor I, nor I ; but just for once in a way, one must 
 do at Rome as the Romans do," observed Mr. Pass- 
 more, as he fastened the clasp of the large ledger- 
 book in which he had been making some entries at 
 the end of the week. " Barbarous spectacle it is, 
 disgraceful to any civilized people, but quite in har- 
 mony with Spanish character. A century or two 
 ago," (Mr. Passmore was less accurate in his chron- 
 ology than in his accounts,) " these people had their 
 autos-da-fe,* in 1868 they must have their bull- 
 fights ; fire or blood, fire or blood, the only means 
 of rousing them up from their lazy lethargy, and 
 keeping them wide awake for a couple of hours ! " 
 Peter Passmore, himself a sharp trader and active 
 man of business, regarded idleness as one of the 
 greatest of sins 
 
 " Bull-fighting causes a waste of human life," be- 
 gan Lucius ; but his employer cut him short. 
 
 " I don't think much of that," observed Passmore. 
 " If a fellow choose to run the chance of getting a 
 honi between his ribs, I'd let him have his fancy ; 
 
 ' Public burning of those convicted of heresy, or what the Church of Rome 
 regarded as such.
 
 THE COUNTING-HOUSE. 11 
 
 if he's killed, there's but one fool less in the world. 
 Ho, ho, ho ! But it's a disgraceful waste of horse- 
 flesh. Not but that the Spaniards, to do them 
 justice, manage the thing in an economical way. 
 They send blindfold into the circus poor brutes only 
 fit to be made into dogs' meat, and the bull does the 
 job of the knacker, that's all ! " 
 
 An expression of disgust crossed the frank features 
 of Lucius Lepine. He was impatient to leave the 
 counting-house ; but as to him belonged the duty 
 of shutting up the place, he was unable to quit it 
 till his employer should please to depart. Mi\ Pass- 
 more was in a conversational mood ; and while hia 
 short, thick fingers slowly tied up some bundles of 
 papers, he went on talking, regardless either of the 
 oppressive heat of the room or the impatient looks 
 of his hearer. 
 
 " Spain will never be much of a country," said 
 Passmore, " until her people learn to do their own 
 business, manufacture their own wares, lay down 
 their own lines, instead of making over everything 
 that is useful to strangers. The dons leave others 
 to cut up their meat for them, and think it con- 
 descension enough if they open their mouths to eat 
 it! Ho, ho, ho ! Idleness is the bane of thia 
 land." 
 
 "And superstition," added Lucius Lepine.
 
 12 THIC COUNTING-HOUSE. 
 
 "Ay, superstition, as you justly observe. The 
 country is eaten up by a swarm of lazy monks and 
 friars, who tell their beads instead of tilling their 
 ground, and who make every otber day a saint's 
 day, to give the laity an excuse for being as idle as 
 they are. If I'd the rule here," continued Mr. Pass- 
 more, " I'd make a clean sweep of them all ; turn 
 the convents into parish unions, and clap into them 
 all the beggars. What Spain wants to make it a 
 fine land, as fine a country as any in Europe, is a 
 better government, a more vigilant police, brisker 
 trade, and — " 
 
 As the manufacturer paused, as if at a loss for 
 words with which to wind up his oration, Lucius 
 suggested — "a purer religion." 
 
 "Ah, there's one of your Exeter Hall notions," 
 cried Peter Passmore, tossing down on the table the 
 packet which he had just fastened up with a bit of 
 red tape ; " you young hot-brains are always ready 
 to air your romantic ideas on subjects which you 
 don't undei-stand." Let it be observed, in passing, 
 that young Lepine seldom uttered a dozen consecu- 
 tive words on any subject whatever in the presence 
 of his employer ; but the manufacturer, probably 
 from liking to monopolize the talking, was wont to 
 accuse of loquacity every one with whom he con- 
 versed. " But hark'ee, young man," continued the
 
 THE COUNTING-HOUSE. 13 
 
 principal of the firm, in a tone rather more dic- 
 tatorial than usual, "I'd advise you, whilst you 
 remain in Seville, to lock up your fanatical notions 
 as tight as you would your cash-box. The Plaza is 
 not Piccadilly, nor Isabella our good Queen Victoria. 
 The Inquisition may not be actually catching and 
 squeezing victims to death, as in the old times; but, 
 as Joe Millar would say, ' The snake is scotched, not 
 killed.' The priests, lazy as they are, will be shai-p 
 enough, in both senses of the word, if any one meddle 
 with their profits. Don't you be playing the Don 
 Quixote against what you are pleased to call super- 
 stition. It is not only in the Plaza de Toros that a 
 fool may wave a red rag, go full tilt against an 
 enemy too hard for him, and find himself caught on 
 the horns of a dilemma. You may get yourself into 
 grief," continued the oracular Passmore ; "and I've 
 no mind to spend time or money in fishing my clerk 
 out of prison, if he manage to stumble into one un- 
 awares. That's no pai-t of the bargain between us ; 
 so I give you fair warning, my lad." Taking up his 
 hat as he ended his oration, Peter Passmore quitted 
 the place. 
 
 Lepine saw the stout figure of his employer dis- 
 appear through the doorway, and gave a sigh of re- 
 lief It was during conversations like the preceding 
 that the young English gentleman most keenly re-
 
 14 THE COUNTING-HOUSE. 
 
 alizetl the trials of his position. He was isolated 
 from his family and friends in a foreign land, and 
 forced to endure the companionship of a low-minded 
 man, who regarded money-making as the great aim 
 and end of existence. Lucius was obliged to Hsten 
 with a decent appearance of respect to the advice which 
 Passmore proffered with an assumption of superior 
 wisdom, which was in itself offensive. It was some- 
 what hard for a youth, who had been one of the 
 cleverest scholars at Rugby, to receive instruction 
 on all kinds of subjects from a man who had never 
 construed a line in Horace or opened a page of 
 Cassar. 
 
 " But what could the eldest of a family of nine 
 do, without money, without interest, but take ad- 
 vantage of the first opening that presented itself to 
 him ? " mused Lepine, as, able to leave the office- 
 room at last, he locked the heavy door behind him, 
 and went forth into the street. " I knew that to 
 accept the clerkship was like plunging into a river 
 in December, and that he who would make his way 
 thus must throw off, as a swimmer does his clothes, 
 all consideration of personal inclination and family 
 pride before making the plunge. But wliat matters 
 it ! " — thus flowed on the current of thought — " I 
 am thankful to have the means of swimming, thank- 
 ful to be no drag on a widowed mother — nay, to be
 
 TUE COUNTING-HOUSE. 15 
 
 able akeady to hold out a helping hand to the young 
 ones. Anything is better than standing idly on the 
 brink of the icy stream, waiting tiU some boat 
 should chance to appear and ferry me across. The 
 struggle is strengthening, the cold is bracing, and 
 the feeling of independence is worth all that I have 
 given up for awhile. Yes, my northern constitu- 
 tion may bear it; but the strain comes much harder, 
 I fear, on poor Alcala de Aguilera. He has doubt- 
 less been brought up from childhood to regard labour 
 as degradation, and clerk-work under a despised 
 foreigner as but a degree better than the galleys. 
 He has not the buoyancy of spirit with which I am 
 blessed, and the cold which is bracing to an English- 
 man may bring deadly chill to a Spaniard. I must 
 find out De Aguilera' s house, and ascertain the cause 
 of his absence to-day. Though there may be no 
 foundation for that extraordinary report which I 
 heard this morning, and which I cannot believe to 
 be true, I shall not rest easy until I learn its false- 
 hood from himself. I trust that the cavalier's Spanish 
 courtesy will forgive my intrusion, if intrusion it be, 
 I long to penetrate through the reserve which De 
 Aguilera wraps around him like his mantero, and 
 speak to him freely as man to man, in a place where 
 we can be secure from perpetual interruptions, and 
 unfettered by the trammels of business. The ad-
 
 16 TUE COUNTING-HOUSE. 
 
 dress given me was the Calle de San Jose, m the 
 suburb of Triana, somewhere at the other side of the 
 river. As I am now pretty well up in my Spanish, I 
 think that I shall have no great difficulty in finding 
 my way."
 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A SAUNTER THROUGH SEVILLE. 
 
 UCIUS LEPINE was the son of an officer 
 of the royal navy. The youth had 
 been eagerly and successfully pursuing 
 a course of education in one of the public 
 schools of Entrland, when the sudden death of 
 his father had deprived him of the means of com- 
 [)leting it, and of leaving Rugby, as he had hoped 
 to do, at the head of the school. The widowed 
 mother of Lucius was left to support, on very 
 slender means, a numerous family, of which he was 
 the first-born. The youth's ambition had been to 
 enter one of the universities, with a desii'e — as yet 
 mentioned to no one — of preparing himself for the 
 ministry of the Church. He now saw that the 
 desire must be suppressed, the ambition relinquished. 
 Lepine's first earthly object must be to become, not 
 a burden, but a stay to his mother. Lucius had 
 for some time exerted himself unsuccessfully to dis- 
 
 (466) 2
 
 18 A SAUNTER TIIliOUGH SEVILLE, 
 
 cover some means of earning independence, when a 
 situation was offered to liini in the firm of Messrs. 
 Passmore and Perkins, which conducted an u'on- 
 ware factory in Seville. A boyish fancy, wliich had 
 induced Lucius to acquire the Spanish language 
 that he might read Don Quixote in the original, 
 great intelligence, and a talent for keeping accounts, 
 made the admiral's son peculiarly qualified to fill 
 such a situation with credit to himself and advan- 
 tage to his employers. Mr. Passmore's terms were 
 liberal : he was at least good as a paymaster, what- 
 ever he might be as a man. Lucius did not hesitate 
 long ere accepting the offer made to him. He took 
 the " plunge " so bravely, and apparently cheerfully, 
 that none, save perhaps his mother, guessed with 
 what an inward shudder of repugnance it was made. 
 When thus separated from his family and all the 
 companions of his youth, Luciu.s, who was of a 
 genial temperament, looked around him for friends 
 in wha.t was to him a land of exile. He had had 
 no letters of introduction, and the society of Mr. 
 Passmore, the working head of the firm, and of a 
 few merchants and manufacturers occasionally met 
 with at his table, by no means satisfied the yearn- 
 ing of the young man's heart for intercourse with 
 congenial spirits. The only person in Seville to- 
 wards whom Lucius felt drawn by a feeling of
 
 A SAUNTER THROUGH SEVILLE. 19 
 
 sympathy was the stately young Spaniard, De 
 Aguilera, — who had, like himself, been induced by 
 liberal offers to accept a situation in the firm of 
 Messrs. Passmore and Perkins. The aristocratic 
 bearing of Don Alcala de Aguilera, his refined 
 manners, his lofty courtesy, gave to him an interest 
 in the mind of Lucius — an interest made up of 
 mingled admiration, curiosity, and pity. The 
 Spanish clerk, compared to his English employer, 
 appeared to Lucius like a polished Toledo blade 
 compared to a kitchen utensil. Lucius was occa- 
 sionally reminded by the mien of his companion 
 of other qualities of the rapier besides its exquisite 
 polish. Insult, or what he deemed such, would 
 make the Sj^aniard's dark eyes flash with an ex- 
 pression which told that his pride was not subdued, 
 and that his anger micjht be dancjerous. It was 
 perhaps well that Mr. Passmore' s inability to speak 
 Spanish with anything approaching to fluency made 
 him generally employ Lepine as the channel of com- 
 munication between himself and De Affuilera. 
 Many a dictatorial command or coarse reproof, 
 uttered by Passmore, came softened from the lips 
 of the English gentleman, — words which, if re- 
 peated in the tone in which they had first been 
 spoken, would have made the haughty Spaniard 
 lay his hand on his stiletto.
 
 20 A SAUNTKR TIIUOUGH SEVILLE. 
 
 "Inglesitol" (Englishman!) muttered a gitana 
 (gipsy), looking after Lucius as, after courteously 
 inquiring his way, he passed down one of the nar- 
 row winding lanes which give to a great pai-t of 
 Seville the character of a labyrmth. It would have 
 needed no gipsy skill to have detected the nationality 
 of the stranger, even had the gitana but seen him 
 with his back turned towards her. The quick, 
 firm step of Lepine could not be mistaken for the 
 step of a Spaniard. But the woman had seen the 
 face, bronzed, indeed, by the southern sun, yet of 
 complexion naturally fair ; the bright gray eye ; 
 the auburn hair, clustering at the temples, and 
 shading the upper lip. Lucius might have been 
 singled out as an Englishman amongst crowds of 
 the cigar-puffing idlers who were enjoying their 
 dolce far niente at the corner of every street. And 
 at that hour of gorgeous sunset, under the most 
 brilliant of skies, there was indeed in Seville a 
 luxury in mere existence which might form some 
 excuse for the indolence of its people. As Lucius 
 emerged from a lane into one of the open plazas, he 
 was strongly sensible of the charm which enwraps 
 the queen-city of Andalusia. 
 
 Bathed in golden glory rose the Alcazar, that 
 splendid monument of Moorish art which has been 
 compared to a palace of fairies, with its gorgeous
 
 THE ALCAZAR OF SEVILLE. 
 
 Trtt-e VO
 
 A SAUNTER THROUGH SEVILLK. 21 
 
 colouring, its profusion of ornament, its gilded arches 
 and marble columns. At some distance, in strong 
 relief against the sky, appeared the glorious 
 Cathedral, a rival in beauty, but a contrast in 
 style, being the most magnificent Gothic building 
 to be found in all Spain. The square tower of the 
 Saracenic Giralda — grand relic of the past when 
 the Moors bore sway in Andalusia, but now used 
 as belfry to the Cathedral — glowed rosy red in the 
 beams. Lucius paused for several minutes to ad- 
 mire the exquisite beauty of the buildings around 
 him, — that beauty which to a poetic mind is 
 heightened by the charm of antiquity, the colour- 
 ing of romance. The Englishman seemed to have 
 left every care behind him in the counting-house 
 in the Calle San Francisco, — cares can be readily 
 thrown aside at the age of nineteen. 
 
 The eye was not the only sense that drank in 
 delight. The air was fragrant with the perfume 
 from orange-trees, and musical with the peal of 
 bells from the summit of the Giralda, blending 
 softly with the nearer sound of a Spanish song, 
 sung in rich tones to the accompaniment of a 
 guitar. 
 
 " What a glorious city is this Seville !" said 
 Lucius to himself as he went on his way. " There 
 is not an object on which the eye rests in which
 
 22 A SAUNTEK TIIROL'GII SKVILLE. 
 
 an artist would not find a subject for a sketck 
 What a picture might be made of yonder donnas, 
 with their mantillas and graceful lace veils, as, 
 accompanied by their duenna, they ascend the steps 
 of that magnificent church ! No women are lovelier 
 than those of Seville, — long may they keep their 
 graceful costume ! How picturesque is yon group 
 of gipsies by the fountain — the man in his striped 
 mantle of many hues leaning over the back of his 
 ass, as he talks to the dark-eyed girl with scarlet 
 blossoms wreathed in her raven-black hair ! The 
 very beggars wear their rags with grace ! And 
 what thoughts of the past crowd upon the mind in 
 this old city of the Moors ! Yes, what thoughts of 
 the past!" repeated Lucius to himself, while a 
 sterner expression marked his features ; for he had 
 now reached a spot associated with memories of the 
 Inquisition, which had held its headquarters at 
 Seville. Again Lucius paused, but it was not now 
 to admire, and it was before the mind's eye that a 
 picture of thrilling interest arose. 
 
 " Do I indeed stand on the very spot where, a 
 few centuries ago, thousands of martyrs yielded 
 their bodies to the flames, their souls to their 
 God?"* mused Lepine. "Was it here that — clad 
 
 * It is said that in the year 1461, when the Inquisition was established in 
 Seville, it sacrificed tvjo thousand victims; and that from the same date tc 
 1617, twelve thouiand were burned alive.
 
 SPANISH SENORAS AND THEIR DUENNA. 
 
 P^f e 22
 
 A SAUNTER THROUGH SEVILLE. 23 
 
 in their yellow san-beuitos,* and surrounded by 
 curious crowds to whom their pangs were a pastime, 
 and fanatical priests to whom their torments were 
 a triumph — men and tender women endured the 
 most painful of deaths ! Yes ; this pure balmy air 
 was once polluted with the smoke from human 
 sacrifices — this sunshine darkened with the clouds 
 rising from stakes to which living victims were 
 bt)und ! What deeds of heroism — what unblench- 
 ing courage — what unshaken faith displayed in the 
 hour of nature's agony, have made this spot holy 
 ground ! Here — a spectacle t() angels and to men 
 — martyrs showed what the sons of Spain could 
 dare and her daughters endure ! Are the idle, self- 
 indulffent inhabitants of Seville in the nineteenth 
 century descendants or representatives of heroes 
 who counted not their lives dear to them, but who, 
 having embraced evangelical truth, grasped it firmly 
 even unto death ? Or can it be that martyrs have 
 suffered in vain — that the light which they kindled 
 is quenched for ever in Spain ? Is the cry, ' How 
 lono;. Lord, how long ? ' never to meet an answer as 
 regards this benighted though beautiful land ? I 
 cannot believe it;" and Lucius resumed his rapid 
 walk. " The seed sown amidst tears and blood 
 must spring up one day, and ripen to a harvest 
 
 • A eanneut, covered with representations of demons, worn by the condemned
 
 2 1 A SAUNTER THROUGH SEVILLE. 
 
 of light ! Happy — thrice happy — the reapers i 
 Si)aniards will show themselves worthy of their 
 martyrs, and no longer appear to the world as a 
 degenerate race, indifferent to their highest interests, 
 or cold in the holiest cause. But what right have 
 I to ui)braid them either with indifference or cold- 
 ness ? Here am I, proud of the name of Englishman, 
 thankful for having been brought up in the clear- 
 ness of gospel light. I have been for a year in 
 Seville, and I have never so much as shown to a 
 Spaniard the New Testament in his own language, 
 which I cany now on my person. Nay, the only 
 man in this country for whom I have a feeling of 
 friendship — the man whom I meet almost every 
 day of my life — he knows nothing of the faith 
 which I hold, save that he probably deems me a 
 heretic, simply because I was reared in England. 
 Of Alcala's inner life, his views, his hopes, I, his 
 friend, am as ignorant as if we had never met till 
 to-day ! I cannot tell — I have never inquired — 
 whether De Aguilera be a bigoted son of that 
 Church which is drunken with the blood of the 
 saints, or whether, like many of his countrymen, 
 he has adopted sceptical views, the pendulum 
 swinging from superstition into infidelity — from 
 believing that which Ls false, into denying that 
 which is true.
 
 A SAUNTER THROUGH SEVILLE. 25 
 
 "And the Spaniard may now be on the eve of 
 meeting a violent death — of having the martyr's 
 agonies without the martyr's crown ! I have been 
 made uneasy by the bare rumour of the danger to 
 which his person may be exposed. How little have 
 I thought of the perils which suiTound the soul of 
 one brought up under the dark shadow of Romish 
 error ! I must see De Aguilera, and speak to my 
 friend as I have not ventured to speak before. God 
 help me to break through a reserve which I have 
 often suspected to be cowardly, but which I now 
 feel to be criminal!"
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FADED SPLENDOUR. 
 
 |S this a prison or a palace ? " was the 
 mental inquiry of Lucius, as, after 
 again asking his way to the house of 
 Don Alcala de Aguilera, he reached the stately 
 buildino:, which was one of the numerous relics 
 which the Moors have left behind them in Seville. 
 The high, dead, fortress-like wall, suggested the 
 former term ; a glimpse through the open archway 
 of the dwelling, the latter. From this archway a 
 vestibule led into an inner court, from which it was 
 divided by an ornamental grating ; this grating also 
 being open at the time, nothing impeded the view 
 into the marble-paved patio beyond. This patio, or 
 court, was surrounded by clustering columns of the 
 most graceful proportions ; while in the centre of it 
 oransje-trees and broad-leaved bananas, the oleander 
 and the myrtle, bordered a fountain of exquisite 
 design. The vestibule itself was paved ^vith Moor-
 
 FADED SPLENDOUR. 27 
 
 ish tiles, of hue the most brilliant ; and the exterior 
 of the archway was gracefully sculptured. The first 
 impression made by a glance through the opening 
 was, that a scene of Oriental beauty and splendour 
 lay beyond it. Had Lucius had time for closer 
 observation, he must have noticed also marks of 
 poverty and decay. Every here and there a bright 
 tile in the passage, and marble square in the patio, 
 had been broken or displaced — the carving on the 
 fountain had in many places been injured, and no 
 water fell into its basin ; but the plants in the little 
 central garden looked fresh and gi-een in the softened 
 light, as if tended by a woman's hand. The aspect 
 of the place, so unlike that of any mansion in a 
 northern clime, was calculated to raise admiration 
 and excite curiosity in the mind of a stranger, and 
 waken a desire to explore the interior, and make 
 acquaintance with the dwellers in so picturesque 
 and romantic a home. 
 
 The appearance of the one whom Lucius saw at 
 the entra.nce, however, contrasted with the stately 
 elegance of the mansion of which she was an inmate. 
 Chaftering with an itinerant vendor of fish stood an 
 old woman, wrinkled and bent. From her coarse 
 dress, arms bare to the elbow, and the strong scent 
 of garlic which hung about her, the dame might 
 rather have been deemed a denizen of one of the
 
 28 FADED SPLENDOUR. 
 
 low j)urlicus of Seville, than the servant of an aris- 
 tocrat. The old crone, who used much gesticula- 
 tion in speaking, was so eager about her bargaining 
 that she did not notice the approach of Lucius 
 Lepine. The colloquy between her and the hawker 
 had ])robably lasted for some time, as both parties 
 looked heated and angry. 
 
 " Five cuartos a piece ! why, I would not give 
 twenty for the whole lot of them ; they're not fresh 
 — not fit to set before the scnora ! " were the first 
 words heard by Lucius as he came up to the arch- 
 way. 
 
 " I tell you again, they were alive and swimming 
 this morning," interrupted the man. 
 
 " Don't you think I know good fish when I see 
 them ? " cried the shrill-voiced dame. " I who have 
 been for nigh sixty years in the service of the 
 illustrious caballero Don Pedro de Aguilera, his son, 
 and his grandson besides ! " 
 
 " It's not the fish, but the price, that don't suit 
 you," retorted the hawker. " Come, you shall have 
 them a Imrgain, — let's say nine cuartos a pair." 
 
 "I'll give eight, and no more," cried the dame, 
 eying the fish with a hungry look, but clinching 
 hard the coppers which she held in her hand. 
 
 The hawker shook his head, and shouldered hi? 
 basket.
 
 FADED SPLENDOUR. 29 
 
 "You'll lose the custom of the house," threatened 
 the woman. 
 
 " No great loss," laughed the hawker, as he turned 
 from the arch ; " the barber round the corner will 
 buy all this fish, and he earns enough with his razor 
 to pay a fair price for his dinner ! " 
 
 The torrent of abuse which the old dame launched 
 after the retreating hawker, was suddenly stopped 
 by the question of Lucius, — 
 
 " Is Don Alcala de Aguilera within ? " 
 
 Old Teresa was startled and annoyed at the pre- 
 ceding colloquy having been overheard by a stranger. 
 It was also wounding to her vanity as a woman, 
 and her pride as a retainer of a noble family, that 
 she should be seen in the deshabille in which she 
 had emerged from the kitchen, instead of the black 
 silk dress in which she was wont to attend Donna 
 Inez to mass. In a tone of irritation Teresa replied 
 that the illustrious caballero was not in the house. 
 
 " Is he likely soon to come in ? " inquired Lucius 
 Lepine. 
 
 The servant did not know, or chose not to tell. 
 The caballero came in and out at his pleasure : he 
 might be spending the evening at the governor's 
 palace, he might not be home till midnight. Teresa 
 stood in the middle of the archway like a jealous 
 guardian of the place, who would sutler the entrance
 
 3U FADKD Sl'LENDOUU. 
 
 of 110 stranger to disturb its dignified seclusion. But 
 the sound of Lepine's question had reached other 
 ears than those of Teresa. 
 
 " Alcala, is it you at last ? " exclaimed a sweet, 
 eager voice from within ; and Lucius caught a 
 glimpse of a youthlul foi-m hurrying across the 
 patio with a rapidity very unusual in the move- 
 ments of a lady of Spain. It was indeed but a 
 glimpse, for the donna, seeing that he at the entrance 
 was a stranger and not her expected brother, in- 
 stantly retreated, disaj^pearing behind the foliage of 
 the shrubs that surrounded the fountain. 
 
 The young Englishman would fain have sent in 
 his card, and presented himself to the lady or ladies 
 within, but shyness prevented his thus making an 
 attempt to enter the house without a formal intro- 
 duction. Lucius had seen little or nothino- of 
 society in the higher circles of Seville, and feared 
 to give ofience by some unintentional breach of its 
 rules. The manner of Teresa would have shown a 
 less intelligent observer than Lucius, that she at 
 least would have resented and resisted as an intru- 
 sion any attempt on his part to venture within the 
 archway. A little disappointed at his failure in 
 procuring an interview Avith his friend, Lucius placed 
 his card in the soiled, wrinkled hand of Teresa, to 
 be given to her master on his return. With a
 
 FADED SPLENDOUR. 
 
 31 
 
 linfjeriiiG; look through the vestibule into the beau- 
 tiful patio beyond, the Englishman quitted the 
 place. 
 
 In a state of high irritation, Teresa hurried 
 through the ])assage into the court, taking care to 
 close and lock the grating between them. With 
 the air of a duenna who, having grown gray in 
 service, thinks that she is privileged to say what 
 she pleases, the old woman approached her young 
 lady. 
 
 Donna Inez, on a low marble seat, was bending 
 over the work on which she had been engaged when 
 roused by hearing the voice of Lucius. The work 
 was that of decorating some garment of the gayest 
 description, — of bright green richly embroidered 
 with silver, into which Inez was fastening spangles 
 of the same brilliant metal. A scarf of the most 
 vivid scarlet lay carelessly thi'own across her knees 
 The gay colouring of the work on which she was 
 employed contrasted with the black dress of the 
 Spanish maiden ; and she was pursuing her occupa- 
 tion with anything but pleasure, if one might judge 
 from the gushing tears which ever and anon fell on 
 her beautiful work. 
 
 " Donna Inez, Donna Inez ! how could you do 
 anything so unseemly ? " exclaimed old Teresa, 
 giving vent to her irritation. " What would the
 
 32 FADED SPLENDOUR. 
 
 hidalgo Don Pedro de Aguilera have said, could he 
 have seen his grand-daughter, without so much as 
 a veil on her head, rushing towards an English 
 stranger — a heretic, too ! — with no more dignity 
 than if she were some wandering gitana ? " 
 
 Inez raised her tear-swollen eyes, and there was 
 no lack of dignity in the tone of her gentle reply, 
 " Methinks you forget your place, Teresa." 
 
 " Forget ! " repeated the old woman angrily ; " I 
 should remember well enough, if I knew what is, or 
 rather what is not, my place in this house. Am I 
 not doctor, sick-nurse, and attendant to the old 
 senora, and duenna to the young one ; purveyor, 
 keeper of stores, preparer of meals, anything and 
 everything here, — helped by no one but bandy-legged 
 Chico, who only serves the senor because no one 
 else thinks him worth the puchero* which he eats ? 
 Ah ! it was very different, child, in your grand- 
 father's days, before the hated French soldiers 
 swarmed like wasps into Seville ! " 
 
 Inez knew that poor old Teresa had entered on an 
 inexhaustible theme when she began to speak of the 
 good old days before the occupation of the city by 
 the French in 1810. Teresa had been little more 
 than a child when .she had entered the service of 
 Donna Benita de Aguilera, then a happy young 
 
 • A kiud of soup, common in Spain
 
 FADED SPLENDOUR. 33 
 
 wife and mother, but soon to be left a widow with 
 wrecked fortune and shattered mind. Her husband, 
 Don Pedro, a wealthy nobleman, and of the bluest 
 blood in Spain, had joined the army raised to repel 
 the invader. The tidings of De Aguilera's death in 
 fight had reached his young wife at a time when 
 French soldiers were quartered in her house. The 
 shock had weakened the lady's intellect; and though 
 she had lived on, was living on still in extreme old 
 age, her subsequent life had been but as a length- 
 ened childhood. 
 
 The family fortune had also at that time received 
 a blow from which it had never recovered. Teresa 
 was never weary of telling of the treasures which 
 Don Pedro once had possessed, services of silver plate, 
 and a splendid goblet of gold, and of the jewels 
 of his bride, — which, by her account, might have 
 purchased half Andalusia. Bitter were Teresa's invec- 
 tives against the foreign robbers, who had not only 
 killed her master, but plundered his helpless widow 
 and orphan. Teresa had clung to the De Aguilera 
 family in weal and in woe ; but age and adversity 
 had rendered more irritable a temper not naturally 
 sweet ; and having once dandled in her arms the 
 father of Inez, the old duenna always looked on his 
 daughter as a mere child. Teresa was as ready to 
 chide as to serve the senorita ; but the retainer's 
 
 (406) 3
 
 34 FADED SPLENDOUR. 
 
 long-tried fidelity made Inez tolerate from her what 
 from another she could not have borne. 
 
 Teresa now went rambling on with her reminis- 
 cences ; but the mind of Inez was so painfully pre- 
 occupied, that she took in the meaning of nothing, 
 and was only aware of the fact that the old woman 
 was speaking, by the babble of her voice distressing 
 an ear intently listening for the step of Alcala. The 
 sun had sunk, and the first faintly visible star shone 
 over the patio, which was unprovided with the 
 awning commonly used in the courts of the wealthy 
 to soften the glare of a southern sky. Inez could 
 no longer see to work ; but her labour was finished 
 — the last silver spangle had been fixed on the 
 glossy green satin sleeve. The maiden sat listening, 
 waiting, weeping, till startled again by a sound at 
 the entrance to the house, which made her spring to 
 her feet with the exclamation, " It is my brother at 
 last ! "
 
 CIIAITER ly. 
 
 PRIDE AND ITS PENALTY. 
 
 UT again Inez was disappointed. Instead 
 of her brother appearing, Teresa ushered 
 in a visitor, Donna Maria de Rivas, a 
 middle-aged lady of Seville, well known to the 
 Aguileras, as she had been brought up in the same 
 convent as the late mother of Alcala and Inez. 
 
 The sehora entered the patio with the stately 
 gi-ace peculiar to Spanish ladies. But the expres- 
 sion on her face was that of keen curiosity ; and 
 even before she greeted Inez with a kiss on either 
 cheek, the visitor's eyes were riveted on the gar- 
 ments of scarlet and green. 
 
 " It is then true !" exclaimed Donna Maria. " and 
 Don Alcala is to appear in full fico* in tlie Plaza de 
 Toros to-morrow !" 
 
 The look of anguish on the pale face of the sister 
 might have been sufficient reply, but Donna TMaria 
 
 • The full costume of a picador.
 
 36 PRIDE AND ITS PENALTY. 
 
 was not one whose curiosity could be so easily satis- 
 fied. She was an old friend of the family, and, as such^ 
 she deemed it her right to know all that concerned 
 them. Perhaps to the motherless girl at her side it 
 was some relief to pour forth the tale of her sorrows 
 to one who professed at least to feel a strong inte- 
 rest in the children of her early companion. In the 
 deepening twilight, under the clear blue sky of 
 Andalusia, while star after star twinkled forth, Inez, 
 often interrupting herself to listen, told the cause of 
 that distress which was blanching her cheek and 
 well-nigh breaking her heart. 
 
 " You know — I need not tell you — that we — my 
 grandmother and brother, I mean — have no longer 
 the wealth possessed by our fathers." 
 
 " They were some of the most distinguished 
 hidalgos of Spain," interrupted Donna Maria. 
 
 " My brother," continued Inez, " though willing 
 to suffer anything himself rather than degrade his 
 dignity by doing anything that the world might 
 deem unbecoming in one of his rank, could not 
 endure to see our aged grandmother wanting what 
 her infirmities required. Alcala therefore consented 
 to — to" — Inez was a Spaniard, and may be for- 
 given if she had inherited enough of the pride of her 
 race to feel it a deep humiliation to own that 
 the heir of the Aguileras had stooped to serve
 
 PRIDE AND ITS PENALTY. 37 
 
 in ail ironware factory, and accept the foreigner's 
 
 gold. 
 
 " I know, I know, my poor child," said Donna 
 Maria, pitying her friends under what she regarded 
 as an almost unbearable misfortune and disgi-ace. 
 
 Inez went on with her story. 
 
 " But Alcala had still, of course, the light to mix 
 in the highest society of Seville. He spent his 
 evenings often — ah ! much too often — at the palace 
 of the governor, Don Lopez de Rivadeo." 
 
 " Ah ! the governor has a daughter, and Donna 
 A.ntonia has beautiful eyes," observed the visitor 
 with a meaning smile, which it was well that Inez 
 did not see. 
 
 "The evil eye, the evil eye!" exclaimed the 
 poor giii with passionate emotion ; " would that 
 Alcala had never, never met their basilisk glance ! 
 It is not her wealth that he cares for, — that wealth 
 which draws round Antonia so many idle worship- 
 pers, like moths round a flame ! " 
 
 " I have heard that one of these suitors insulted 
 De Aguilera in her presence," said Donna Maria. 
 
 " One whose ancestors would have deemed it an 
 honour to hold the stirrup of an Aguilera disputed 
 with Alcala the privilege of handing Donna Anto- 
 nia into her galley on the Guadalquivir," said Inez. 
 " ' The hand that had accepted payment for clerk's
 
 38 PRIDE AND ITS PENALTY. 
 
 work,' sneered the courtier, ' has no right to touch a 
 lady's white glove.' Then Alcala fired up at the 
 taunt ; it had stung him to the quick. He was 
 roused to speak of his fathers, of their triumphs over 
 the Moors, and to tell how one of our race had 
 gained a chain of gold from Queen Joanna for spear- 
 ing a huge bull at a gran foncion held in her pres- 
 ence. ' It is pity,' said the mocking Don Riaz, 
 ' that in these days caballeros are content to win 
 money, though their fathers only cared to win fame.' 
 Alcala was goaded by the taunt into saying that he 
 was as ready as was ever an Aguilera to ride in the 
 bull-ring, and break a lance for the smile of a lady." 
 
 " And they actually nailed him to a word so hast- 
 ily spoken?" asked the visitor eagerly. 
 
 " Ay," replied Inez bitterly ; " though every one 
 knows that caballeros never now encounter the bull, 
 that the desperate struggle is left to picador and 
 matador* trained and paid to expose their lives for 
 the sport of the crowd." 
 
 " Did not Donna Autouia forbid her cavalier to 
 attempt so rash an exploit?" asked Donna Maria. 
 
 " Forbid ! oh no ! " exclaimed the indignant 
 Inez ; " for an Aguilera to risk or to lose his life for 
 her sake would be to her proud nature as the croAvn- 
 
 ' The picador is be who encounters tlie bull on liorseback. The matador 
 meets him on foot, and gives the last stroke.
 
 PRIDE AND ITS PENALTY. 39 
 
 ing triumph of her beauty ! She will be there — 
 Ajitonia will be in the Plaza de Toros, and she will 
 look on with those calm, cruel eyes, whilst Alcala, 
 my pride — my darling,'' — Inez could not finish the 
 sentence, but buried her face in her hands. 
 
 " Do not despair, cava aTniga," said Donna Maria, 
 laying her hand caressingly on the shoulder of the 
 sobbing girl ; " Donna Antonia de Rivadeo may see 
 the triumph of your brother. Don Alcala is a good 
 horseman, and a brave cavalier." 
 
 "Brave as a lion, and he rides like the Cidl" 
 exclaimed Inez, raising her head, and speaking with 
 animation. " But what will that avail him ? " she 
 added sadly. " Alcala has had no training for the 
 bull-ringf, as had kniofhts and gentlemen of old. 
 They had active and powerful steeds ; Alcala has 
 but poor old Campeador, who bore our father ten 
 years ago — good faithful Campeador, whom I have 
 often fed from my hand ! " 
 
 " But your brother will not be alone in the arena," 
 suggested Donna Maria ; " there will be the mata- 
 dors, the picadors, the chulos,* to divert the bull's 
 attention, or to give him the coup -de-grace." 
 
 " May they come to the rescue ! the blessing of 
 all the saints be on them if they do!" cried Inez 
 
 • Those who irritate the liull by sticking into him small darts with flags 
 itlached, railed banderillas
 
 40 PRIDE AND ITS PENALTY. 
 
 with fervour. " But oh ! amiga mia, I hope little 
 from those who make this horrible si)ort a profes- 
 sion. They are natural enemies of the caballero 
 who dares to do for honour what they are trained to 
 do for gold. These men are jealous, and they are 
 cruel ; is it not their very trade to torture and to 
 kill ? I never saw a bull-fight but once," continued 
 Inez, speaking rapidly. " My Tather took me when 
 I was a child ; but he never ventured to take me 
 again. The sight — the horrible sight of the poor 
 gored horses madly rushing round the circus in their 
 agony haunted me for weeks, — it brought on a 
 nervous fever! And how the scene comes back on 
 my memory now in terrible distinctness ! I long 
 lay awake last night trying, but trying in vain, to 
 drive away thought by repeating aves and credos, 
 till I dropped asleep at last, and then — and then," 
 added Inez with a shudder, " I was in the dreadful 
 arena ! I saw the bull tearing onwards, the bander- 
 illas in his thick strong neck ; witli bloodshot eye, 
 and head bent down, he made his furious charge ! 
 I shrieked so loud that I awoke my grandmother, 
 who usually sleeps so soundly ! I used to pity and 
 grieve over her feebleness of mind, — I could almost 
 envy it now ; she is spared the horrors of my dream, 
 and the worse misery of my wakino- !" 
 
 There was an oppressive silence for several seconds
 
 PRIDE AND ITS PENALTY. 41 
 
 and then Donna Maria said, " Have you attempted 
 to dissuade your brother from prosecuting this wild 
 adventure?" 
 
 " Have I not ?" exclaimed Donna Inez ; " have I 
 not knelt and clasped his knees, and implored as il 
 for my life ? I pained, but I could not move him ; 
 Alcala said that his honour was pledged." 
 
 " You have been preparing the picador costume," 
 observed Donna Maria, glancing down at the em- 
 broidered jacket and scarlet scarf which lay beside 
 her, faintly visible in the starlight. 
 
 " Yes ] if Alcala must appear in the arena before 
 all those gazing eyes, he shall appear as becomes an 
 Aguilera," replied the Spanish maiden. She did not 
 dwell on the theme, or tell how much of her bro- 
 ther's hardly-earned gains had been frittered away 
 on that gaudy costume ; nor how she had not only 
 given the labour of her hands, but sacrificed every 
 little silver ornament which she possessed to add to 
 its value and beauty. Bitterly had the poor girl 
 felt, as she plied her needle, that she was but, as it 
 were, decking out a victim for slaughter. 
 
 " Don Alcala will look a goodly cavalier," ob- 
 served Donna Maria in an encouraging tone. " We 
 will pray the Madonna to give him success." 
 
 " I have wearied every saint with my prayers," 
 sighed Inez de Aguilera, " and yet — liark ! surely
 
 42 PUIDE AND ITS PENALTY. 
 
 there is the sound of a ring !" and again she eagerly 
 sprang to her feet. 
 
 " Your brother would not ring, Lut enter," sug- 
 gested Donna Maria. " Poor child ! how you are 
 tremblino- ! " 
 
 Inez was indeed trembling violently ; she had to 
 lean against a column for support, as the grating of 
 the vestibule was unclosed, and not Alcala but 
 Teresa appeared. The old servant bore in one hand 
 a letter, in the other a lantern borrowed from Donna 
 Maria's attendant, who was waiting with her mule- 
 carriage in the street. Inez had a presentiment 
 that the missive was from her brother, and that his 
 sending it was a sign that he was not coming him- 
 self She took the letter from Teresa, and eagerly 
 tore it open ; for by the lantern's light Inez recog- 
 nized the handwritinof of Alcala. 
 
 The brief note "was as follows : — 
 
 " It is better, dearest, that we meet not again 
 tiU all is over. Send Chico at dawn ^vith Campea- 
 dor and my dress to the Posada* de Qucsada ; he 
 knows the place well. Kiss for me the hand of our 
 venerable parent. Farewell ! a brother's blessing be 
 with you ! Inez, you have been more than a sister 
 to Alcala. ' 
 
 • An iun.
 
 CPl AFTER y. 
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 
 
 T lias been seen that rumours of Alcala's 
 proposed venture had reached the ears 
 of Lucius Lepine, but he had not been 
 disposed to give full credence to such reports. 
 Lucius had been long enough in Spain to be aware 
 that in the nineteenth century it is as unusual for a 
 Spanish nobleman to take an active part in the bull- 
 cu'cus, as it would be for an English one to show off 
 his strength in the prize-ring. The strange report 
 was, however, painfully confirmed in the mind of 
 Lucius when on that Saturday evening he was 
 proceeding on his way to the house of Mr. Passmore, 
 where he was engaged to take dinner. 
 
 A large lamp burning before an image of the 
 Virgin Maiy, at the corner of one of the narrow 
 lanes through which Lucius was passing, threw light 
 on the opposite side, where a large space of board- 
 ing had been taken advantage of by the biU -posters
 
 44 ANKOUNCEMENTS. 
 
 of Seville. It would have required less light to 
 have deciphered the large red capital letters in which 
 appeared the following announcement : — 
 
 " GRAND AND EXTRAORDIXAllY ATTRACTION. 
 
 "To-morrow, August — , 18G8, the most noble 
 and illustrious caballero, Don Alcala de Ajruilera, 
 mounted on his superb charger, will encounter a 
 bull of unequalled size and fierceness in the circus 
 of the Coliseo." 
 
 The red lettei-s seemed to swim before the eyes of 
 Lucius Lepine. He stood as if rooted to the ground, 
 till roused by a light touch on the shoulder. Turn- 
 ing round, he saw a stout personage, who from his 
 black robe, huge hat with flaps turned up at the 
 sides, and rosary with crucifix susi)cnded from his 
 neck, he knew to be one of the Spanish priests. 
 
 " Inglesito, mark that well !" said the priest em- 
 phatically, pointing, ere he passed on, to another 
 })lacard which, printed in black and in smaller type, 
 and therefore not so consjiicuous, appeared close to the 
 announcement of the bull-fight in the Plaza de Toros. 
 The attention of Lucius being thus directed towai'ds 
 it, he read with surprise the following extraordinary 
 chai-ge from the Lord Bishop of Cadiz :— * 
 
 * Tliis is taken verbatim from a translation of tlie charge, given in " Diybieak 
 In Spain," by tlie Uev. J. A\'jlie, D.D.
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 45 
 
 " The Enemy of mankind desists not from his 
 infernal task of sowino: tares in the field of the Great 
 Eusbandman, and to us it belongs, as sentinels of 
 the advanced post of the house of Israel, to sound 
 the alarm, lest his frauds and machinations should 
 prevail We say this, because we have read with 
 profound grief, in a periodical lately published, that 
 the Protestant Bible Societies and Associations for 
 the distribulion of bad books are redoublincf their 
 efforts for inoculating our Catholic Spain with the 
 venom of their errors and destructive doctrines, 
 selecting, in particular, our religious Andalusia as 
 the field of their operations," &;c. &c. 
 
 At another time such a placard as this would 
 have been read by Lucius with intense interest, and 
 would have wholly engrossed his thoughts for the 
 time. Even under present circumstances, with his 
 mind painfully preoccupied by anxiety for his friend, 
 the charge of the Bishop of Cadiz left a deep im- 
 pression on Lucius. Others then were actually 
 doinfj the work from which he had shrunk. Others 
 were coming forward, like Gideon's three hundred 
 heroes moving bravely on through the darkness. 
 Already the lights which they bore must be flashing 
 here and there ; for Rome would not sound such a 
 cry of alarm had she not heard the tramp of au 
 enemy's feet in her camp, and caught sight of gleams
 
 46 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 
 
 of evangelical truth carried into the rnidst of her 
 
 hosts. 
 
 " There must be a movement going on, even in 
 Seville," thought Lucius, " of which I never knew 
 till this moment. Not all of my countrymen have 
 been cold-hearted laggards like me." 
 
 Lucius, for once, arrived late for dinner, found 
 the company already seated at table, and forgot to 
 make an apology. Mr. Passmore, at the head of a 
 board loaded with a repast more profuse than ele- 
 gant, was too much engaged with his double occupa- 
 tion of eatino; and talkinsf even to notice the entrance 
 of his clerk. The familiar sound of the snorting 
 laugh of his employer reached Lucius before he came 
 into the room. 
 
 " Ho, ho, ho ! it was a shabby trick in the cava- 
 lier to engage himself as a butcher, without giving 
 due notice that he intended to leave the ironware 
 business ! And I paid the fine gentleman his quar- 
 ter's salary only last week ! Don Alcala de Aguilera 
 is no great loss to the firm, for he took his very pay 
 with an air which seemed to say, 'I'm a hidalgo, a 
 gentleman born ; I honour you too much by soiling 
 my fingers with an Englishman's dirty cash.' " 
 
 " Aguilera has. not a bad headpiece, though," ob- 
 served one of the party. 
 
 " Oh, for a Spaniard he's clever enough," replied
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 47 
 
 Passmoi'o, speaking with his mouth full ; " had it 
 not been for his ridiculous Spanish pride, the don 
 would have made a fair man of business. Save in 
 that matter of the translation yesterday ; — I told 
 you that capital story ! ho, ho, ho ! I see now how 
 twenty dozen bulls came to be running in the poor 
 fellow's head ; no wonder that he looked pale at the 
 idea of such an awful squad of the beasts !" Peter 
 Passmore leant back in his chair, and laughed till 
 he seemed to be in danj^er of suffocation. 
 
 " Aguilera will find one of them enough, and too 
 much, I'm afiaid," said the former speaker. 
 
 " Perhaps the don thought that he'd do a sharp 
 bit of business," resumed Mr. Passmore, as soon as 
 his explosive mirth had sufficiently subsided ; " he'd 
 contrive to get double pay for double work, by 
 writing on week-days and fighting on Sundays. I 
 wonder now what he'll receive for sticking his 
 bull!" 
 
 " Nothing but honour," said an onion-merchant 
 who was one of the guests. " Folk say that there 
 is some fair donna of Seville mixed up with the 
 business." 
 
 " Then Don Alcala de Aguilera is a greater idiot 
 than I took him for !" exclaimed the ironware manu- 
 facturer. " I can imagine a man's sellinfj his blood 
 to support himself and his family ; every soldier
 
 48 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 
 
 docs that, and if he get a cannon-ball instead of pro- 
 motion, one can only say that the poor fellow has 
 had the worst of the bargain. But a man who is 
 willing to run the chance of being gored or tossed 
 for the sake of the prettiest girl that ever danced a 
 bolero, is madder, in my opinion, than Moliere's far- 
 famed knight of La Mancha. Ah ! Lepine, so you're 
 here at last. You are Aguilera's friend ; did you 
 know anything beforehand of this freak of romantic 
 folly?" 
 
 Lucius only shook his head ; he could not trust 
 himself to make other reply. 
 
 " They say," observed the merchant who had 
 spoken before, " that Don Aguilera's family, of whom 
 he is the chief if not the only support, are mightily 
 distressed at his venturing as a picador into the 
 Plaza de Toros. I hear that he has a poor old 
 grandmother, who lost her husband in the war with 
 the first Napoleon ; and a young sister who, it is 
 said, is breaking her heart with grief" 
 
 Lucius remembered the light graceful form which 
 he had seen springing across the patio, and the tones 
 of the sweet eager voice which had exclaimed, 
 " Alcala, is it you at last?" The young English- 
 man thought of his own favourite sister, and felt for 
 the Spanish girl, though the reality of her misery 
 exceeded the picture drawn by his fancy.
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS. 49 
 
 The conversation now turned on other subjects, 
 but the mind of Lepine was full of but one. He 
 could not join in discussions on Spanish politics, or 
 the current business of the day. The untasted 
 viands lay before him ; he cared not to touch food, 
 thoucrh he had fasted since the morning. Lucius 
 took the earliest opportunity of quitting the party 
 and returning to a small lodging which he had taken 
 in one of the humbler streets of Seville. 
 
 f466|
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A sister's sacrifice. 
 
 'T is the dawn of a sweet Sabbath morn, 
 peaceful and calm. The last lingering 
 star is trembling still in the sky, but the 
 fleecy clouds have caught a tint of rose from the not 
 yet risen sun. 
 
 By the archway of the dwelling of the Aguileras 
 stands a bay horse, gaily caparisoned. His saddle- 
 cloth has been made out of a Moorish mantle striped 
 with gold, a relic of happier days. Deep fringes of 
 scarlet girdle his chest and encircle his haunches, 
 and tassels of the same bright hue hang from the 
 band above his eyes. The noble animal looks con- 
 scious of his dignity ; he has been generously fed 
 for the last few days, and the unwonted luxury of 
 corn has restored to the old war-horse some of his 
 former spirit. But " with arched neck, and droop- 
 ing head, and glancing eye, and quivering ear," 
 Campeador gently receives the caresses of the young
 
 A SISTER S SACRIFICE. 51 
 
 mistress whose hand has helped to deck and to feed 
 him, and who with tears and sighs is bidding him 
 now farewell 
 
 Inez is no striking specimen of Spanish beauty, 
 though her appearance on this morning must have 
 awakened sympathy and interest even in a stranger. 
 Her graceful form is rather below the middle size ■, 
 she has the clear brunette complexion and the large 
 almond-shaped eyes, shaded with long dark lashes, 
 which are characteristic of the Andalusian race. 
 The cheek is very pale, and the eyes are heavy 
 with weeping, and the slender hand trembles as it 
 strokes Campeador's long flowing mane. 
 
 Inez has passed a restless, miserable night, de- 
 vising all kinds of wild schemes for keeping her 
 brother from the perilous encounter ; schemes which 
 melted away with the first gleam of morning light. 
 If she kept back his horse, if she detained his ac- 
 coutrements, Alcala, his sister well knew, would but 
 provide himself with others. He would rather ride 
 into the circus on one of the wretched hacks des- 
 tined for slaughter, than fail at the hour of appoint- 
 ment. Inez could now but send, both by letter 
 and word, entreaties to her brother that he would 
 at least come and see her before going to the Plaza 
 de Toros. The letter and messages were intrusted 
 to Chico, a dark-browed, bandy-legged, ill-favoured
 
 52 A sister's sacrifick. 
 
 groom, who was to lead the horse about a mile 
 beyond the boundaries of Seville, to the Posada de 
 Quesada, where Alcala had chosen to pass the pre- 
 ceding niffht. Chico's stunted form was half hidden 
 under the burden of finery which he carried ; he 
 did not, however, bear with him the picador's spear, 
 for that needful weapon Alcala had selected for him- 
 self, not trusting the choice of it to a servant. 
 
 A little in the rear of the group appeared Teresa ; 
 but Lucius, had he been present, would scarcely 
 have recognized in her the work -soiled, poorly- 
 dressed old drudge whom he had seen bargaining 
 with the hawker. Teresa was now attired in her 
 best Sunday apparel ; and the look of complacent 
 pride on her wrinkled face was in strong contrast 
 to that of despairing sorrow on that of her youthful 
 lady. Teresa allowed herself the one annual treat 
 of going to a bull-fight, to her Spanish mind the 
 greatest of pleasures. She had a cousin to whom 
 belonged the office of cleansing the blood-stained 
 arena, and who always contrived to smuggle Teresa 
 into a good seat, she being content to go early and 
 wait for hours before the entertainment began. 
 Nothing would have bribed the ancient Andalusian 
 to have been absent from the Plaza de Toros on the 
 present occasion ; her strong desire to go overcame 
 her reluctance to leaving for the greater part of the
 
 A sister's sacrifice. 53 
 
 day her infirm old mistress and the sorrowing Inez. 
 To Teresa, blinded by pride even greater than that 
 which usually characterizes the Spaniard, the com- 
 ing struggle in the Plaza de Toros appeared in a 
 very different light from that in which it was 
 viewed by Alcala's more clear-minded and tender- 
 hearted sister. Full of the glories of the race of 
 heroes from whom her master was descended, Teresa 
 felt not a doubt that she was going to be a witness 
 to his triumph. It had been a bitter humiliation 
 to the old domestic to know that Alcala was earn- 
 ing his bread by honest industry. Had he con- 
 Bulted Teresa, the family might have starved before 
 the caballero had so demeaned himself as to work 
 for the firm of Messrs. Passmore and Perkins. But 
 it was a very different thing to behold Don Alcala 
 de Aguilera ride in magnificent array into the 
 Coliseo, to confront daiifjer with all the courajje of 
 his race, and win the plaudits of assembled thou- 
 sands, Teresa felt as an old retainer of some 
 knight might have done in days of chivalry, when 
 his master rode forth, with gilded spurs and waving 
 plume, to win honour in the lists at some brilliant 
 tourney. To Teresa's partial eyes Campeador was 
 the noblest of steeds, worthy to carry the bravest 
 of masters. The arm of an Aguilera, once raised to 
 strike, must hurl to the dust whatever opposed it.
 
 54 A sister's sacrifice. 
 
 Teresa would not have feared the result had Aleak 
 had, like Hercules, to slay the Nemcan lion. 
 
 And the hopes of Teresa extended far beyond the 
 tiiumph of a day. Donna Antonia de Rivadeo, the 
 wealthiest as well as the most beautiful heiress in 
 Seville, was to be present at the gran foncion in 
 the Coliseo. The lady would look on Aleala no 
 longer as the drudging clerk, serving a foreign he- 
 retic, but as the chivalrous caballero of Andalusia, 
 valiant as ever was knight who couched lance 
 against the Moors in the time of Queen Isabella. 
 The days of pinching poverty and humiliation would 
 be ended at last ; Aleala would spear his bull, and 
 win his beautiful bride, and Teresa would receive 
 at last the reward of her long faithful service. In 
 imagination Teresa, in the richest and stifi'est of 
 silks, akeady presided over a numerous household 
 in a sumptuous palace, instead of toiling from morn- 
 ing till night, ill paid and scantily fed, with no one 
 to abuse and order about but bandy-legged Chico, 
 who always disputed her commands. Such bright 
 visions seemed to take ten years of age from the 
 ambitious Teresa, and she saw with impatience and 
 indignation the grief which showed how little Inez 
 shared in such hopes. 
 
 "Shame on those tears, Donna Inez!" exclaimed 
 old Teresa. " It is well that your illustrious brother
 
 A sister's sacrifice. 55 
 
 is not here to see your weakness ; it would make 
 the caballero blush for his sister ! Are you a 
 daughter of the house of De Aguilera, and yet 
 tremble with cowardly fear ? " The spirit of Inez 
 was too much broken for the insolent taunt to raise 
 even a flush on her cheek. 
 
 They were gone. Campeador had been led away 
 by Chico, and Teresa had hobbled off with what 
 energy hope and pride could lend towards the Plaza 
 de Toros. Inez returned into the house to perform 
 a homely duty which sorrow did not make her for- 
 get. There was no one but herself to prepare her 
 grandmother's early cup of chocolate ; Inez made it 
 ready, and then carried it to the bedside of Donna 
 Benita. 
 
 There were fewer signs of poverty in the old 
 lady's apartment than perhaps in any other in the 
 house. The draperies, though very ancient, had 
 yet an effect picturesque and rich. The coverlet 
 over the bed was delicately white, and had been 
 embroidered with small bunches of flowers in col- 
 oured silks by Inez. There was fine old lace on 
 the cap which covered Donna Benita's scanty gray 
 hairs ; very thin and aged was the face which ap- 
 peared beneath it. 
 
 "Where's Alcala ? where's my boy?" murmured 
 the widowed lady. The cloud on her intellect did
 
 56 A sister's sacrifice. 
 
 not prevent Donna Benita from loving her grandson, 
 or missing his presence, as a child might do that of 
 an accustomed companion. " He was not here yes- 
 terday, \vas he ? tell him to come to me quickly." 
 
 Inez silently kissed the thin wasted hand ex- 
 tended towards her. She stood with her back to 
 the light as she first beat up the pillows and then 
 proffered the cup, that the old lady might not see 
 the traces of tears on her face. When Donna 
 Benita, in a fretful tone, repeated her question, Inez 
 tried to speak cheerfully, as she replied that Alcala 
 had been specially engaged. Inez had to say the 
 words thrice over before the aged lady could take 
 in their meaning. 
 
 " And where's Teresa ? why does she leave me ?" 
 asked the invalid, in feeble complaining accents. 
 
 " Teresa has gone to the Plaza de Toros," replied 
 poor Inez with an effort. 
 
 " Ah ! I used to go there with my Pedro — long, 
 long ago," murmured Donna Benita. The feeble 
 mind was trying to recall images once traced on the 
 memory, but gradually fading away into one dull 
 blank of oblivion. Even that slight mental effort 
 wearied the aged lady, and having finished her 
 chocolate, she soon fell into that dozins: state in 
 which she now passed by far the greater part of her 
 time.
 
 A sister's sacrifice. 57 
 
 As soon as Inez saw that her grandmother slept, 
 she ghded away to the patio, and from thence 
 through the vestibule to the archway, to watch for 
 the coming of her brother. Could he resist her 
 entreaties ? could he refuse her the one poor boon 
 which she had asked, the sad luxury of bidding him 
 — perhaps a last — farewell ? 
 
 While she was gloomily gazing forth into the 
 now silent street, a sudden thought occurred to the 
 mind of the sister. Inez would make one eflbrt 
 more to move the resolution of Aguilera, or to bribe 
 her patron saint to protect him. The maiden has- 
 tened back into the patio without giving herself 
 time for reflection. There, in a recess between two 
 columns, Inez had left the writing materials which 
 she had used when penning the note intrusted to 
 Chico. She sank down on her knees at the place, 
 and resting her blotting-book on the base of one of 
 the columns, hastily, and with trembling fingers, 
 wrote the following letter : — 
 
 " I have vowed a solemn vow to Santa Anna. 
 If you, brother of my heart, venture to-day into 
 the arena, and the blessed saint bear you unharmed 
 out of the terrible encounter, I will take the veil, 
 and devote myself to her service for the rest of my 
 life in the nunnery of Cordova. Judge what you 
 risk, Alcala, before you ride into the Plaza de Toi'Oi
 
 58 A sister's sacrifice. 
 
 If, regardless of my prayers and my tears, you keep 
 your fatal appointment, you lose either your sister 
 or your life. You may return unharmed and vic- 
 torious, but it will be but to see your only sister 
 otFer herself up as a thank-oftering for your preser- 
 vation. If you would miss your Inez, if you have 
 ever loved her, break your dreadful engagement. 
 I know too well what it will cost you to do so, l)ut 
 anything is better than the misery — the ruin which 
 is before us all if you keep it ! " 
 
 With this missive in her hand Inez returned to 
 the archway. If Alcala were coming at all before 
 going to the circus, by this time he would surely 
 have come. The poor girl glanced up and down 
 the street ; there was not a single person to be seen, 
 save a muleteer who chanced to be passing, and who 
 turned in some surprise to see a senora standing 
 alone at the entrance of a mansion. Teresa and 
 Chico both being absent, Inez had no messenger 
 to send with her letter, unless she employed the 
 stranger whom chance had brought into her way. 
 The lady beckoned to the muleteer to approach her, 
 drew off her rosary — the only ornament which she 
 wore — for money she had none, and gave the coral 
 beads, with the letter, into the hand of the man. 
 
 " For the love of mercy," she cried, " hasten 
 with this letter to Don Alcala de Aguilera, at tlie
 
 A sister's sacrifice. 59 
 
 Posada de Quesada. Oh, delay not ; go as for your 
 life ! " 
 
 " I know the illustrious caballero, senora," said 
 the muleteer, with an air of respectful pity. " The 
 lady shall have no cause to complain of my slack- 
 ness ; ere an hour be passed I will bring a reply." 
 
 Was it a satisfaction or a terror to Inez when 
 that letter was despatched ? Perhaps it was both. 
 Various feelings struggled in her breast, and it 
 would have been difficult, even to herself, to have 
 decided which was uppermost there. Inez, though 
 pious, according to her superstitious views of reli- 
 gion, had no inclination whatever for the prison life 
 of a convent. It was only her intense, unselfish 
 love for her brother which induced her to threaten 
 him and herself with a separation which would be, 
 she felt, to her a living death. Inez had, from in- 
 fancy, clung with the fondest affection to Alcala, 
 her only brother. He had been to her companion, 
 tutor, friend ; and since the death of their last sur- 
 viving parent, had almost taken towards the orphan 
 gu'l the place of a father. With Alcala, Inez had 
 shared poverty, and had scarcely felt its burden. 
 What luxury that wealth might have procured 
 would have been to Inez Kke that of sitting beside 
 or at the feet of Alcala, in the cool of the evening, 
 enjoying the music of his guitar, or blending her
 
 60 A sister's sacrifice. 
 
 voice with his own ? Often too had Alcala read 
 aloud to his sister, while her fingers plied the needle. 
 Inez had specially loved to work for her brother, 
 that so poverty should not oblige him to dress in 
 a way unbefitting his birth. The library of the 
 Aguileras was but a small one ; it consisted of a few 
 books which had belonged to their wealthy grand- 
 father, — it need scarcely be said that a Bible was 
 not amongst them ; but from reading, and listening 
 to reading, the mind of Inez had received more cul- 
 tivation than is usually found amongst women in 
 Andalusia, though in England her education would 
 have been considered very incomplete. It had been 
 no small advantage to Inez that she had been al- 
 most entirely secluded from the frivolous society of 
 Seville. The pride of poverty had had much to do 
 with the maiden's seclusion ; for Alcala had been 
 unwilling that his sister should accept hospitality 
 which he had not the means of returning. Inez 
 had never complained of want of amusement ; she 
 had scarcely even regretted the quietness in which 
 she was passing the spring-time of youth, her houi-s 
 divided between attendance on her gi-andmother and 
 other duties, and the sweet employment of making 
 her brother happy. Inez had her little garden in 
 the patio to tend, and the maiden delighted in 
 dowers. It seemed to her now, aa she stood in that
 
 A sister's sacrifice. 61 
 
 court, leaning against a pillar, with her eyes gloomily 
 fixed on the broken fountain, that the past had been 
 a bright dream, which was passing from her for 
 ever. Unless Alcala should yield to her entreaties 
 (and then his life would be clouded over by a sense 
 of disgrace), there seemed to Inez to be no alterna- 
 tive between weeping over a sepulchre or in a con- 
 vent celL In either case Alcala, the joy, the sun- 
 shine of her life, would be lost to his only sister. 
 
 Slowly, very slowly to Inez passed the minutes. 
 Alcala had not come, and his absence was in itself a 
 reply. But before the hour was over, Inez, who 
 had gone back to her watch at the entrance, saw the 
 muleteer returning. The young lady could not re- 
 frain from running forth into the street to meet the 
 messenrrcr, who mifjht be the bearer of a letter. 
 The man held out to the eager girl a fragment of 
 paper, crumpled and dusty, which had evidently 
 been torn from a book. A few scarcely legible 
 words were written in pencil on the margin of the 
 page, — " It is too late ! Forgive, and pray for 
 Alcala!"
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DRIVEN TO THE SLAUGIITEU. 
 
 URING the reign of Queen Isabella there 
 was no church in Seville in whicli Pro- 
 testants could assemble for worship.* 
 Deprived thus of outward means of grace, Lucius 
 had formed a habit of walking on Sunda,ys as far as 
 he could into the countiy, and there, under the shade 
 of some cork-tree, or clump of stone-pines, reading 
 his Spanish Testament, and, in perfect solitude, lift- 
 ing up his heart in prayer and in praise. On tliis 
 Sunday he started on his walk rather more early 
 than usual, glad to leave behind him the jarring 
 sounds of the city. Already, however, Seville was 
 all astir. Groups of people were passing to the dif- 
 ferent churches, but these groups consisted almost 
 entirely of priests or women ; by far the larger 
 portion of the male population of Seville were drawn 
 
 • I have been informed, since writing the aDove, tliat tliore was an EngligJi 
 chaplain ; but we may suppose liim to liave been absent at thia time.
 
 DRIVEN TO THE SLAUGHTER. .'63 
 
 towards a centre of stronger attraction, — that centre 
 was, as Lucius well knew, the Plaza de Toros. 
 Thither, in an hour or two, gay can-iages would be 
 bearing their smiling occupants to gaze on scenes at 
 which the bravest Briton might shudder. Already 
 little streams of people were flowing forth fi'om 
 winding street and narrow lane, clad in holiday 
 attire, eager to secure good places. Many a ragged 
 beggar, many a barefooted urchin, who could not 
 hope to be admitted into El Coliseo (as the Span- 
 iards proudly name their circus), went to swell the 
 crowd round the entrance. They would at least 
 enjoy a sight of the gay procession of picadors, 
 matadors, and chulos ; they would be able to join in 
 the shout when a slaughtered bull should be dragged 
 out by a team of gaudily caparisoned mules. 
 
 At almost every street corner Lucius saw flaming 
 placards from which glared on his view the name 
 of his hapless friend. When he reached the bridge 
 which spans the Guadalquivir, Lucius found the 
 river dotted with boats bringing gaily-dressed sight- 
 seers from villages and hamlets situated near its 
 banks. Well pleased was the Englishman to turn 
 his back upon the city, and pursue his walk along 
 the wild Dehesa, as tliat tract of broken country is 
 called which intervenes between the towns of Seville 
 and Xcres. The mind of Lucius on tliis Sabbath-
 
 «4 
 
 DRIVEN TO THK SLAUGHTEK. 
 
 day was not attuned to enjoy the beauties of 
 nature. He noticed not the glades carpeted with 
 yellow lotus, or fragrant with the alhu9ena, the 
 purple lavender of Andalusia. Unobsei'ved by him, 
 brilliant butterflies fluttered over the blossoms of the 
 gum-cistus, or lizards of green and gold basked in 
 the glowing sunshine. The spirit of Lucius was 
 not only oppressed by anxiety, but saddened by 
 self-reproach. 
 
 " Had Aguilera known the Word of Truth," was 
 tho young man's reflection, " he might have learned 
 from its pages that his life is not his own, to be 
 hazarded like the stake of a gambler on the cast of 
 the dice! He might have learned that a nobler ob- 
 ject is offered for the aspirations of the soul than 
 the plaudits of a Seville mob, or even the favour of 
 a woman ! I have feared to offend the prejudices 
 and lose the friendship of Aguilera, — and all oppor- 
 tunity of doing him good may now be passed away. 
 Buried talent — buried talent — taken from me for 
 
 ever ! " 
 
 Lucius had not proceeded far on his way, when 
 he was roused from his bitter reflections by the loud 
 voice of some one in front of him warnini; him to 
 stand aside. Raising his eyes, which had been fixed 
 on the ground, the Englislimau observed a cloud of 
 dust before him, and heard the trampling of hoofs.
 
 DRIVEN TO THE SLAUGHTER. 65 
 
 The road in this place had been a cutting through a 
 hill, and was somewhat narrow in breadth ; high 
 rough banks rose on either side. Advancing along 
 this road were now seen two Spaniards on horse- 
 back, armed with long spears. Behind them came 
 a troop of Andalusian bulls, driven by men on foot, 
 who were clad in sheep-skin, and armed with slings. 
 Warned as he had been to get out of the way, 
 Lucius took a few steps up the right bank of the 
 cutting, less to place himself beyond reach of pos- 
 sible dangler, than to obtain a better view of the 
 troop. Formidable animals appeared the bulls, with 
 their thick, powerful necks and large horns, as they 
 moved onwards towards the city, snorting and paw- 
 ing the ground in the pride of their mighty strength. 
 As they passed the spot where Lucius stood, the 
 largest of the herd raised his dilated nostrils in the 
 air, and gave a bellow of defiance, which from that 
 deep chest sounded terrible as the roar of an angry 
 lion. 
 
 The savage beasts passed on, but one of their 
 drivers linirered for a few minutes behind them, in- 
 order to repair his sandal, of which one of the fasten- 
 ings had given way on the road. Lucius descended 
 from his higher position, and joined the herdsman, 
 who had seated himself on a small projecting knoll, 
 to effect his work with more ease. Lucius cour- 
 
 (466) 5
 
 66 DRIVEN TO THE SLAUGHTER. 
 
 teously wished the man good-morning, and the 
 roughly-clad peasant returned the strangers greet- 
 ing with Spanish politeness. 
 
 " Ai-e these bulls bound for the circus ? " inquired 
 the Endishman with interest. 
 
 The driver nodded his head. " Ay, not one of 
 them will be alive this evening," observed the 
 peasant. " The poor bnites would not go on so 
 proudly towards Seville if they knew what is be- 
 fore them." 
 
 " Dano-er awaits others besides them," muttered 
 Lucius Lepine. 
 
 "Ay, senor," observed the herdsman, misunder- 
 standing the drift of the words ; " other folk may 
 go as blindfold as these buUs to their death, strong 
 and gay in the morning, dragged in the dust before 
 nio-ht. There's my own brother, for instance, he 
 who lives in our village under the sieira yonder. 
 Poor Carlos was dancing the fandango one day at a 
 bridal, the merriest of the company there ; on his 
 way home he but slipped his foot on a steep, rocky 
 path, and down falls the strong, active man, to be 
 picked up with a broken back, and carried to our 
 cottage to lie, as he has done for months, groaning 
 with pain, and helpless as a child." 
 
 It occurred to Lucius that here might be an op- 
 portunity given to him of introducing into an abode
 
 BEFORE THE FIGHT. 
 
 AFTER THE FIQHT. 
 
 Page 6K
 
 DRIVEN TO THE SLAUGHTER. 67 
 
 of suffering the comfort of God's holy Word. " Can 
 your brother read ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Read ! — ay, ahiiost as well as the priest. Carlos 
 always took to the learning, whilst most of our folk 
 know no more of letters than one of the beasts 
 that they drive." The man rose from his seat as he 
 spoke, for he had finished repairing his sandal with 
 a morsel of string. 
 
 "Will you give your brother this from me?" said 
 the Englishman, taking from his breast-pocket the 
 Spanish Testament, and offering it to the hind with 
 an effort to overcome the shyness which had hitherto 
 prevented his attempting to spread gospel-knowledge 
 in Spain. 
 
 The man took the little volume with a blank 
 stare of surprise at the stranger who had made so 
 extraordinary a present. The peasant then opened 
 and glanced at the contents of the book, and the 
 expression on his face changed to that of fanatical 
 fierceness. 
 
 " Bad book — heretical — muera a los Protest- 
 antes !" (death to the Protestants!) exclaimed the 
 peasant, tearing out several pages from the sacred 
 volume, and then flinging it back at the face of the 
 giver. The fanatic would probably have added in- 
 sults and imprecations, had not the necessity of 
 making up for lost time, by rejoining the herd with
 
 68 DKIVEX TO THE SLAUGHTER. 
 
 all speed, obliged the driver to run on ({uickly in 
 the direction of Seville. 
 
 Lucius with a sigh — for failure iii an attempt to 
 do good is always painful — picked up first the 
 Testament, and then the scattered leaves, — all save 
 one which escaped his notice, for a light wind had 
 whirled it away.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
 
 OT long after Lucius had quitted that spot, 
 there came to it a single horseman, 
 slowly riding towards the city of Seville. 
 The cavalier was richly attired in green and silver ; 
 a broad scarlet scarf was wound round his waist, 
 and its fringed end hung gracefully over his 
 shoulder. His feet, cased in high boots, rested on 
 stirrups of peculiar shape, designed from their size 
 and strength to act as a protection to the rider. A 
 Spanish sombrero shaded the cavalier's brow, and 
 his hand grasped a sharp spear. The horseman was 
 Alcala de Aguilera, in full fico as a picador, bound 
 for the Plaza de Toros. 
 
 But, save in costume, the young Spaniard had 
 nothing in common with the bull-fighter by pro- 
 fession ; Alcala' s face and form were both in strong 
 contrast to those of the low-bred favourite of the 
 Coliseo. The form was tall and slight, and con-
 
 70 ' WITUOUT AND WITUIN. 
 
 veyed no impression of possessing great physical 
 strength. The pale intellectual countenance, with 
 its delicately-formed features, suggested the idea of 
 a student or poet, rather than that of a bold picador 
 as dead to fear as to mercy. The expression on 
 those features was that of intense melancholy, and 
 formed but too faithful an index to the feelings of 
 the heart which beat beneath the folds of that 
 brilliant scarf 
 
 Alcala was sensible that he had committed an act 
 of the greatest folly. He had ventured all — his 
 sister's peace of mind, his family's comfort, his own 
 life — for a bubble that was not worth the grasping, 
 even were it within his reach. Alcala was not one 
 to care for the applause of a mob ; nay, his proud, 
 reserved nature shrank sensitively from the idea of 
 appearing to court it. The greatest success in the 
 common circus would be rather a disgrace than an 
 honour to an Aguilera ; he could not raise but 
 degrade himself by competing for popular favour 
 with professional picadors. 
 
 Nor had Alcala the incitement of passion to 
 impel him onwards in his perilous career. His 
 admiration of the governor's daughter had been but 
 a passing fancy, a homage paid to mere beauty ; it 
 had no strong hold on his soul. The discovery of 
 iVntonia's heartlessuess and selfish pride had
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. fl 
 
 clianged that admiration into something almost 
 resembling contempt. Alcala contrasted Antonia 
 with Inez, the vain selfish beauty with the loving, 
 self-forgetting woman, and felt much as did the 
 knight of old who scornfully flung at the feet of his 
 lady the glove which she had bidden him bring 
 from the arena in which wild beasts were con- 
 tending. 
 
 " Were I ofiered the hand of Antonia de 
 Rivadeo," mused Aguilera, " I would not now 
 accept it, though she should bring as her dowry all 
 Andalusia ! " 
 
 Thus even in success there was nothing to attract 
 the young Spaniard. But Alcala had scarcely any 
 hope of success ; and if the brighter side of the 
 picture was but dull, the darker was gloomy indeed. 
 Alcala had not frequented bull-fights ; the sport 
 was little to his taste, though he did not regard it 
 with all the horror and disgust which he would 
 have felt had he been brought up in England. But 
 though the cavalier had not been frequently seen 
 at the Plaza de Toros, he had often enough been 
 a spectator of the scenes acted in the circus to 
 know well what dangers attend the contest with 
 a furious bull, and how absolutely essential to 
 the safety of a picador is skill in the use of his 
 weapon. Such skill could only be acquired by
 
 72 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
 
 practice, and until this time Alcala had never 
 handled a spear. In the grasp of the young cava- 
 lier it felt unwieldy and cumbrous. He was as 
 little likely to use it effectually, as he would have 
 been to climb to the mast-head of a vessel in the 
 midst of a storm, having never had nautical 
 training. 
 
 Superstition, from which Alcala was not per- 
 fectly free, although far more enlightened than most 
 of his countrymen, tended to deepen the impression 
 on his mind that he was riding to his destruction. 
 When Alcala had been very young, his mother had 
 consulted an old Gitana, famed for her skill in 
 prognostications, as to the future fate of her boy. 
 The child had never forgotten the weird appearance 
 of the old wrinkled hag, nor the words of her 
 mumbled reply : " He will die in his prime a violent 
 death, and many shall look on at his fall." The 
 warning recurred to Alcala's memory with almost 
 the force of prophecy, now that he appeared so 
 likely to meet such a fate as had been thus foretold. 
 
 Then, to think on the position in which his 
 death would leave his family made Alcala de 
 Aguilera writhe with mental torture. What would 
 become of his aged parent, widowed and imbecile 
 — what would become of his gentle loving sister, if 
 their one prop were taken away ? They had
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 73 
 
 already parted with most of the relics left of his 
 grandfather's wealth ; not an acre which had once 
 belonged to the estates of the Aguileras remained to 
 them now. The mansion in Seville was out of 
 repair, and situated in a now unfashionable quarter; 
 should the ruined family be driven to part with 
 their home, the sale of the house would bring but 
 temporary relief to their need. It was not without 
 a sharp pang that Alcala thought even of Teresa, 
 with all her faults so loving and faithful a retainer, 
 and revolved the probability of her ending her long 
 life of service by becoming a beggar in Seville ! 
 
 And it was his madness that had done all. He 
 was ruthlessly sacrificing all who loved him, all 
 whom he loved, to the Moloch of his own pride ! 
 Alcala, when tortured by such reflections, again and 
 again almost resolved to break his fatal engagement, 
 and make some excuse for not entering the circus. 
 But the sneers of his acquaintance, the scoffs of his 
 rivals, the yells of a disappointed mob, were harder 
 to be encountered than the charge of a savage bull. 
 Alcala had not the moral courage to face them. 
 He could not endure to live on to be taunted as the 
 foreign manufacturer's clerk, who with the estates 
 of his ancestors had also lost all their courage and 
 spirit. There was but one thing (and that thing 
 the cavalier lacked) — the constraining power of
 
 74 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
 
 faith aiid love — that could have enabled the 
 Spaniard to throw down and trample under foot 
 that Moloch of pride. 
 
 But worse even than fears for his family, worse 
 than the anticipation of a violent death for himself, 
 was the awful darkness which to Alcala hung over 
 the future beyond the grave ! To die was to him 
 as a leap into chaos ! Alcala was, as has been 
 observed, more enlightened than many Spaniards : 
 he had used the taper-gleams of man's knowledge ; 
 but of clear light from Heaven he had none. Alcala 
 had read enough to make him loosen his hold on 
 the vain superstitions of the Church in which he 
 had been reared, but not enough to make him grasp 
 any fii-m hope in their place. The Spaniard did 
 not believe that a priest could absolve him from 
 sin, therefore he felt that those sins were yet unfor- 
 given. He could not ease his conscience by repeat- 
 ing Latin prayers or reciting a given number of 
 penitential psalms, therefore his conscience remained 
 oppressed. The cavalier had no faith in prescribed 
 penance, purchased masses, or confessions to man, as 
 means of propitiating One who was to him indeed 
 an " unknown God " ; where then was he to find 
 peace ? Wliat was to assure Alcala that, if he 
 gasped out his last breath that day in the circus, he 
 might not be but exchanging the death agony for
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 75 
 
 torments infinitely more terrible, because they 
 would never be closed by death ? The state of 
 mind of the cavalier might, with little alteration, be 
 described in the words of the poet : — 
 
 "Before him tortures which the soul may dare, 
 But doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear, 
 Yet deeply feels a single cry would shame 
 To valour's praise his last, his dearest claim. 
 The life he lost below — denied above. 
 
 » * * • « 
 
 A more than doubtful Paradise, his heaven 
 Of earthly hope, his loved one from him riven. 
 These were the thoughts that [Spaniard] must sustain 
 And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain. 
 And these sustained he, boots it well or ill. 
 Since not to sink beneath is something still." 
 
 In the anguish of his spirit the mind of Alcala 
 reverted again and again to Lucius Lepine. The 
 Spaniard was of course aware that his English com- 
 panion held views of religion very different from 
 those adopted by the Roman Catholic Church. 
 Alcala had secretly wished to know more of these 
 Protestant views, and now the wish became intense 
 when it was too late to gratify it. Alcala thought 
 his English friend the most upright and highminded 
 man with whom he had ever met, and was acute 
 enoufjh to distinijuish that hicchmindedness from 
 pride. The Spaniard saw that Lepine had a loftier 
 standard of duty than those around him, and asked 
 himself whence had that standard been drawn. 
 Alcala had never indeed heard his friend converse 
 on the topic of Divinity ; but in many things, some
 
 76 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
 
 of them trifling in themselves, the observant eye of 
 the cavalier had seen that his companion was guided 
 by a sense of religion. No profane word ever 
 crossed the lips of Lepine ; he was pure in his life ; 
 he reverenced the Sabbath in a way that appeared 
 novel and strange to Alcala, but which the Spaniard 
 could not but respect. 
 
 And yet this noble-hearted, conscientious Eng- 
 lishman was one whom the Romish priests would 
 denounce as a heretic doomed to perdition ! " How 
 strange," mused Alcala, " that from the root of error 
 should spring a tree bearing fruits so fair ! " The 
 Spaniard had yearned for a clearer knowledge of 
 that faith which was branded as worse than infi- 
 delity, and whicli yet could produce such effects. 
 He would fain have questioned Lucius on the 
 subject, but pride and reserve kept him silent. 
 
 Once only had the ice been slightly broken. 
 Lucius had been led to allude in conversation to the 
 death of his father, who, when cruising in the 
 Pacific, had been struck dead by a flash of lightning. 
 It was a painful subject, and one on which he rarely 
 touched ; but the two friends were tooether alone 
 under the quiet moonlight, and there had been more 
 of interchange of thought between them than there 
 had ever been before. 
 
 " It must have embittered youi" trial," AJcala had
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 77 
 
 observed. " that your father had no time for pre- 
 paration for death — no time to receive the last rites 
 of his Church." Greatly had the Spaniard been 
 struck by his companion's reply, " No ; for my 
 father had made his peace with God long before." 
 Not a shadow of doubt had darkened the counte- 
 nance of the Protestant as he uttered these words ; 
 Lepine had looked as fully assured of the happiness 
 of his parent as if he had himself seen him carried 
 by angels into the skies. Alcala could not utter 
 the question which trembled on his lips, " Have you 
 then no fear of the purgatorial pains which, as our 
 priests tell us, are needed to purify even the good ? " 
 That question was answered, ere it was asked, by 
 the peace — the more than peace — which shone in 
 the eyes of Lucius. 
 
 " What would not I give," thought the unhappy 
 Alcala, as he rode towards Seville, " to know on 
 what basis rested that assurance of hope which 
 evidently made the Protestant look upon sudden 
 death but as a step into glory ! Lepine's father had 
 ' made his peace with God long before ! ' How had 
 he made his peace ; how could he know that his 
 sins were forgiven, and that he might stand without 
 trembling before the awful judgment-seat of his 
 God?"
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE BRIEF FAREWELL. 
 
 LCALA had now reached the place where 
 the narrow lane in which stood the 
 posada in which he had passed the night 
 opened into the highway leading directly to Seville. 
 He was now on the road along which, ten minutes 
 previously, had passed the herd of fighting-bulls des- 
 tined for the arena. Alcala saw the print of their 
 hoofs in the dust ; he noticed at no great distance 
 the gleam of their horns above the cloud raised by 
 their tramping and that of their mounted conductors. 
 Alcala had been near enous^h to hear that defiant 
 roar of the monarch of the herd that had thrilled on 
 the ear of Lucius. Campeador had raised his tas- 
 selled head, and pricked up his ears at the noise. 
 
 Alcala bent down to stroke the neck of his steed. 
 " Ah ! Campeador," he gloomily said as he did so, 
 " does instinct tell you that there is death in that 
 80und? You too wiU suffer from my accm-sed folly
 
 THE BRIEF FAREWELL. 79 
 
 and pride. You deserve a better fate, my poor horse, 
 and a far better master ! " 
 
 As Aleala slowly rode onwards, following in the 
 track of the bulls, he saw a muleteer approaching 
 towards him. Lepine, after his brief and unsatisfac- 
 tory colloquy with the herdsman, had turned off in 
 a different direction, or he must have encountered 
 his friend. The figure of the muleteer was the only 
 one visible at this point upon the narrow road, 
 which lay through a cutting. 
 
 Aleala, buried in his painful reflections, would 
 scarcely have noticed the muleteer, had not the 
 man, when they had almost met, respectfully greeted 
 him by his name. 
 
 " Senor de Aguilera," said the messenger of Inez, 
 approaching the cavalier's stirrup, " I bear to you a 
 letter from a senorita." And the muleteer held up 
 to Aleala the epistle which had been intriLsted to 
 his charge. 
 
 Aleala stopped his horse, shifted his lance to his 
 bridle-hand, took the note, and with a little difficulty 
 disengaged it from its envelope. Only the presence 
 of a stranger made him refrain from groaning aloud 
 as he read the impassioned Avords of his sister. Her 
 threat to bury herself in a convent thrilled his soul 
 with unspeakable anguish ; for gentle and yielding 
 as was the nature of Inez, her brother had never
 
 80 THE BRIEF FAREWELL. 
 
 yet known her fail in keeping her word, even in 
 the face of opposition. If anything could have 
 added to the misery of the young Spaniard, it was 
 such a letter as this. For a moment it almost 
 shook his firm resolution to brave out the conse- 
 quences of his rash boast ; for a moment Alcala 
 thought of turning his bridle and urging Campeador 
 to bear him afar from Seville ! But it could not be ; 
 every drop of proud Spanish blood in the veins of 
 an Aguilera seemed to protest against so ignomini- 
 ous a flight. Alcala, whose brain was dizzy from 
 the violence of his emotiDns, was recalled to himself 
 by the muleteer's question, — ■ 
 
 " Has the caballero any message for me to take 
 back to the senorita ? " 
 
 The muleteer was no stranger to Alcala, who 
 knew him to be an honest but ignorant man, unable 
 even to read. The cavalier would not send a verbal 
 reply to the note of Inez, but had no time to return 
 to the posada in order to write what he could not 
 speak. Alcala drew out a pencil-case which he 
 chanced to have on his person, but he carried with 
 him no paper, and he would not return to the un- 
 happy Inez her own epistle ; that token of her 
 affection he would bear with him to the last. The 
 muleteer guessed from his gesture that the cavalier 
 wished to wi'ite, and saw that he had no wiitii^
 
 THE BRIEF FAREWELL. 81 
 
 materials save the pencil-case in his hand. The man 
 supplied the want, in his own rough way, by stoop- 
 ing and picking up from the road a dusty fragment of 
 paper which happened to be lying upon it. There 
 was no opportunity of procuring a more suitable 
 sheet ; Alcala scarcely even noticed that the paper 
 was part of a leaf torn from a printed book. There 
 was room on the margin for a few words ; and rest- 
 ing the paper on his saddle, after giving the mule- 
 teer charge of his spear, Alcala hastily scrawled the 
 brief note which was soon afterwards received by 
 his sister. How many bitter tears were to be shed 
 over that leaf! 
 
 " It is I who am blighting her young life ; it is I 
 who am riveting chains upon her whose only fault 
 is that of loving an ungrateful brother too well," 
 muttered Alcala to himself, as he saw his messenger 
 speed on before him. 
 
 The painful task of answering the letter of Inez 
 being over, Alcala thrust it under his scarf, gently 
 shook his rein, and rode on. No prisoner condemned 
 to suffer at an auto-da-fe had ever gone to the stake 
 erected in the Plaza more hopeless of deliverance 
 than Alcala felt at that moment. His embroidered 
 vestments were to him as the san-benito worn 
 by the doomed ; the horrible ordeal from which 
 nature shi-ank was before him, and he had n.o 
 
 {4CG) 6
 
 82 THE BRIEF FAREWELL. 
 
 enthusiasm of zeal, no joy of hope, to bear liira 
 through it. 
 
 Some stragglers, bound for the sport at the Coliseo, 
 were overtaken by Aguilera. They recognized him 
 as a picador by his peculiar dress, turned eagerly to 
 look at him, and in loud tones made their remarks 
 on the horseman as he passed them. 
 
 " Brave caballero ! how splendid he looks ! " cried 
 an Andalusian maiden. 
 
 " But scarcely strong enough to drive his spear 
 deep into the tough hide of a bull," remarked her 
 more experienced companion. 
 
 "Tush, Tomaso, it's all skill," laughed the girl. 
 " I warrant you the picador knows how to manage 
 his horse in the ring, and avoid the thrust of the 
 horns — " 
 
 The conclusion of the sentence did not reach tlie 
 ears of Alcala ; he had urged his steed to a quicker 
 pace, in order to get beyond hearing.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 STRUCK DOWN. 
 
 UCIUS endeavoured so to time the hour of 
 his return to Seville that he might re- 
 enter the town when the result of the 
 bull-tight miglit be known. He proposed calling at 
 the mansion in the Calle dc San Jose on his way 
 back to liis lodging, with the hope, if not of seeing 
 Alcala, at least of hearing tidings of his safety. 
 
 The sun was still some height above the western 
 horizon when Lucius entered the deserted street. 
 The glare reflected back from the high dead wall 
 wa? oppressive. 
 
 " I am too early ; I have been too impatient," 
 thought the young Englisliman, as he laid his hand 
 on the bell which hung in the shadow of the arch- 
 way. He marked that the gi-ating of the patio was 
 ajar. Inez had forgotten to lock it after receiving 
 from the muleteer the note from Alcala which 
 crushed her last hope. The unprotected state of the
 
 84 STRUCK DOWN. 
 
 house mattered, however, little ; there was no great 
 danger of thieves invading a place in which they 
 would find no plunder. 
 
 Lucius rang softly, as one who would by no loud 
 summons disturb a house of mourning ; but the 
 bell was instantly answered. The grating at the 
 end of the vestibule was thrown hastily back, and 
 the trembling Inez, herself hurried through the open- 
 ing, and along the arched passage. Her dark eyes 
 were dilated with fear, her pale lips trembled. 
 She knew not whom she was addressing, but hei 
 whole soul appeared to flow forth in the question, 
 " Bring you tidings from the Plaza de Toros ? " 
 
 "I come to ask for them, senorita," began Lucius. 
 But the eyes of Inez rested on him no longer, they 
 ■ were turned wistfully in another direction. Her 
 ear, quickened by fear, had caught a sound which 
 Lucius had heard not, and breathless with expecta- 
 tion she gazed up the street. In another moment 
 a crowd of persons appeared emerging from the en- 
 trance of a lane which crossed the Calle de San Jose. 
 They came not with shout or mirth, as if escorting 
 a victor home, but slowly, like a throng who follow 
 a funeral procession. There was no noise, save the 
 tramping of feet, and ever and anon the wail of a 
 woman. Lucius glanced at Inez, and read despair 
 in her face. An icy numbness was creeping over
 
 STRUCK DOWN. 85 
 
 her frame; she had no power to go forward to meet 
 the corpse of her brother. Soon the crowd reached 
 the entrance of the dwelling of Aguilera ; in the 
 midst of the throng was seen a litter borne by men. 
 On that litter lay stretched a motionless forai. Pale 
 and ghastly, with garments bloodstained and torn, 
 Alcala de Aguilera was borne back to the home of 
 his fathers. 
 
 Lucius intuitively took the place of a brother. 
 "Back — back!" he exclaimed in a tone of author- 
 ity to the crowd who pressed round the litter, — 
 " none but the bearers shall enter. Who will go 
 for a surgeon ? " 
 
 " I — I," replied several voices, and the crowd dis- 
 persed in various directions, whilst the litter was 
 borne through the arched passage. 
 
 " Show the way to his room," said Lucius to 
 Teresa, whom he recognized, as she followed her 
 master closely, crying and wringing her hands. 
 
 The Utter was carried across the patio, and through 
 a long spacious corridor, at the end of which lay the 
 cavalier's apartment. Alcala's wound had already 
 been roughly bound up at the circus, the flowing 
 blood had been stanched. He was, with the help 
 of Lucius and Inez, gently lifted from the litter and 
 placed on his bed, to await the surgeon's arrival. 
 
 "Water — bring water!" cried Lucius. Teresa
 
 86 STRUCK DOWN. 
 
 hurried to oLcy the command, but her young mis- 
 h-ess had forestalled her. In this emergency the 
 energy of Inez had returned. But not a word had 
 she uttered, not a tear had she shed ; her anguish 
 had sealed her lips, her terror had dried up her 
 tears. Kneeling beside her brother's low bed, Inez 
 sprinkled with water his corpse-like face ; Lucius, 
 gently supporting his head, put a cup to his lips. 
 
 " Oh, Heaven be praised ! — he drinks ! there is 
 life in him still !" exclaimed Inez. 
 
 " He's dying — he's dying — last of his race ! Oh, 
 woe's me ! woe's me !" moaned Teresa. 
 
 Lucius dismissed the bearers, satisfying their 
 demands with the coin — it was but little — that he 
 chanced to have on his person. They had scarcely 
 left the place ere the anxiously expected surgeon 
 arrived. 
 
 The surgeon removed the bandages from the 
 insensible Alcala, and examined his ghastly wound. 
 There was a deep gash in the left shoulder, from 
 which there had been a great effusion of blood. 
 The full extent of the injury sustained by the unfor- 
 tunate cavalier could not be ascertained at once. 
 
 " He was crushed up against the barrier, — I saw 
 it with my own eyes, — oh that I should have lived 
 to see it ! " cried Teresa, with passionate gestures. 
 " The bull charged, and in a moment man and horse
 
 STRUCK DOWN. 
 
 87 
 
 were down in tlie dust. Campeador never rose again, 
 the horns of the savao-e — " 
 
 "Be silent, woman!" said Lucius sternly; "does 
 not your lady already suffer enough ?" 
 
 Teresa stared in angiy surprise at this unexpected 
 rebuke from the stranger, who had assumed a post of 
 command in the house of his friend by the tacit 
 consent of its mistress ; for Inez felt as if, in her 
 sorest need, a helper and supporter had been sent to 
 her by Heaven. The old woman dared not reply, 
 but muttering something between her teeth about 
 " insolent heretic," busied herself with the bandages 
 required for the wound. 
 
 When the surgeon had finished his work, Lucius 
 accompanied him out of the room, that his question, 
 " Do you think that there is hope ? " might not be 
 heard by Inez. 
 
 " It is impossible to give any decided opinion as 
 yet, senor," answered the surgeon. " Fever will 
 probably ensue ; let some one sit up with the cabal- 
 lero during the night." 
 
 As the sui'geon crossed the patio, it was entered 
 by a priest. In this stout personage, swathed in 
 long black robe with rosary and crucifix dependent ; 
 with plump, dark, close-shaven face, and tonsured 
 head from which the huge flapped hat was now 
 removed, Lucius recognized the priest who had
 
 88 STRUCK DOWN. 
 
 touched him ou the shoulder on the previous 
 evening. 
 
 There was no word spoken between the two men ; 
 the family confessor needed no guide to the room of 
 Alcala. But the eyes of the Spaniard and the 
 Englishman met, and each read in the glance of the 
 other, " I shall find an opponent in you." 
 
 From motives of delicacy, Lucius did not follow 
 the priest into Alcala's apartment, but remained 
 waiting in the lofty corridor. He would not by 
 his presence disturb the visit of a spiritual director. 
 The door was closed between them ; no ordinary con- 
 versation could therefore be heard by one standing 
 outside, who had no wish or intention to listen. The 
 priest, however, probably purposely, spoke loudly 
 enough in the chamber of sickness for a word or two 
 occasionally to reach the ear of Lucius. 
 
 " Not at confession for the last year, — bad influ- 
 ence — heretic — Protestant," such were the words 
 which the raised tone in which they were spoken 
 rendered audible, — though an indistinct murmur was 
 all that was otherwise heard of the voice of the 
 ecclesiastic through the closed door. 
 
 " Would that I had better deserved the priest's 
 suspicions !" thought Lucius, with some self-reproach. 
 
 When the priest left Alcala's apartment he was 
 followed by Inez and Teresa, though the former
 
 STRUCK DOWN. 89 
 
 went but a few steps beyond the door. Her hands 
 were clasped ; a look of entreaty was on her pale 
 face. 
 
 " You will not refuse my brother the last rites of 
 the Church?" she said faintly. 
 
 " I will come again to-morrow, and hear his con- 
 fession, if Don Alcala be then able and willing to 
 confess," was the sternly uttered reply. " I hope 
 that I shall find him a true son of the Church ; " 
 the hope was expressed in a tone that was more 
 suggestive of doubt. Inez bowed low with sub- 
 missive reverence, and returned to her post. 
 
 As Father Bonifacio — such was the name of the 
 priest — passed Lucius, again his eyes rested on the 
 young Englishman with an expression of dislike and 
 suspicion. The glance was calmly returned. 
 
 Teresa accompanied the priest to the outer arch, 
 while Lucius went back to the room of his friend. 
 
 " I knew that there w^as something wrong," 
 muttered Teresa, when Bonifacio had passed out into 
 the street. " Don Alcala has been too much with 
 those vile blasphemers of the saints and the blessed 
 Virgin. If all the bulls that graze on the Sieri'a 
 Nevada had come against him, the arm of an Aguilera 
 would have prevailed, had his lance but been 
 sprinkled with holy water. Had the caballero been 
 to mass and confession iu the morning, he would
 
 90 STRUCK DOWN. 
 
 never have rolled in the dust at noon. If I had m_y 
 will, that English heretic should never come near or 
 Irjok at him a<2ain !" 
 
 But Teresa had not her will, at least on the night 
 which followed that anxious day. Lucius shared 
 with Inez the long sad watch by the sufferer's pillow. 
 As his presence certainly did not seem to be unwel- 
 come to the sister of his friend, he remained at his 
 post until dawn. 
 
 How often the scene in that sick-room afterwards 
 returned to the recollection of Lucius, its most 
 trifling accessories imprinted indelibly on his mind ! 
 The large and lofty but scantily-furnished apartment, 
 so dimly lighted by one small lamp that its further 
 cornei'S were left in almost absolute darkness ; the 
 walls, on which the plaster was cracked and peeling; 
 while square-shaped marks and projecting nails 
 showed that pictures had once been hung where they 
 no longer remained to bear witness to the wealth 
 and taste of their late possessors. One family por- 
 trait alone was left, evidently painted by the hand 
 of a master ; but it had apparently served as a pistol 
 target in the time when the French were quartered 
 in Seville, as it was driUed with several holes. The 
 ceiling had once been richly painted and gilded ; but 
 the gold had long since lost all trace of brightness, 
 and the faded painting showed in the dull light like
 
 STRUCK DOWN. 91 
 
 mere undefined stains of various hues. There was 
 no carpet on the floor ; this was not necessarily a 
 sign of poverty in a climate so warm as that of 
 Andalusia, but the boards themselves were time- 
 worn, and in some places seemed going to decay. 
 
 The part of the scene on which interest centred 
 was that where Alcala lay, on his bed of pain, with 
 countenance so pale that it looked as if it belonged 
 to a monumental recumbent figure chiselled out of 
 marble. Almost as pale and as still, his sister sat 
 watching beside him, scarcely ever raising her long 
 dark lashes, so fixed was her gaze on the face of 
 Alcala. Inez seemed scarcely to be aware of the 
 presence of a stranger, save when Lucius helped her 
 to change the position of the sufierer, or placed the 
 fever-draught in her hand. Inez would then thank 
 him by a mute and scarcely perceptible gesture. 
 
 Hour after hour passed away, whilst the only 
 sounds that broke the stillness were the rustle of 
 Teresa's dress, or the crack of one of the old boards 
 under her heavy tread. The old servant flitted 
 about uneasily, like a bird whose nest is invaded. 
 It was against all the duenna's ideas of propriety, 
 as well as the devotee's prejudiced views of religion, 
 that the English heretic should remain in the sick- 
 room, which nothing would persuade Donna Inez to 
 quit. But Teresa dai'ed not speak out her mind in
 
 92 STRUCK DOWN. 
 
 the i)reseuce of Lucius Lcpine, above all in that still 
 and solemn apartment. Even Teresa could hardly 
 help seeing, though she would not have openly ac- 
 knowledged the fact, that the services of the young 
 stranger could not, on that night, have been well 
 dispensed with. No one would ever have intro- 
 duced Chico into a sick-room ; and before the long 
 night was over, Teresa's own eyelids were closed in 
 sleep. The old servant, was worn out with the 
 fatigue, excitement, and distress of the day. 
 
 Alcala gave few signs of life during the long weary 
 hours of darkness. Occasionally he clutched his 
 hand, sometimes his lips slightly moved and his 
 brow was contracted with pain. Once a few scarcely 
 articulate words escaped him : " Not a convent — no, 
 not a convent!" Towards morning, however, the 
 wounded man sank into quiet sleep ; and Lucius 
 felt that he could now leave him with a more easy- 
 mind. 
 
 " It is dawn — you had better depart ; thanks, 
 thanks for your kindness to him," murmured Inez, 
 as a slight sound of movement made her aware that 
 Lucius had risen from his seat. The Enfdishman 
 bent his head to whisper a word of comfort to the 
 poor watcher before he quitted her side. 
 
 " Senorita, trust in the mercy of God, and hope. 
 I believe that your brother will be spared to you yet."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FAILURE. 
 
 |UCIUS was dizzy from want of sleep when 
 he left the mansion of the Aguileras and 
 went forth into the fresh morning air. 
 But he had no time for repose. He could but par- 
 take of a simple breakfast at his lodging before be- 
 ginning the week's work in the Calle San Francisco. 
 Lepine's presence in the counting-house and factory 
 was now more indispensable than usual, as he would, 
 at least till a substitute could be found for Alcala, 
 have to do the young Spaniard's work in addition 
 to his own. 
 
 The mind of Lucius Lepine was very full of his 
 friend. What he had seen of the interior of the 
 fine old house in the Calle de San Jose had made 
 Lucius sure of what he had long suspected, that 
 Alcala de Aguilera, though of high lineage and 
 aristocratic bearing, was yet exceedingly poor. 
 Lucius doubted that the wounded man's famllv
 
 94 FAILURE. 
 
 would be able to procure for him even the common 
 comforts which his exhausted state required. Never 
 had Lepine been more tempted to wish himself ricli. 
 He could give no further pecuniary help ; he had cut 
 down already to a very narrow limit his own personal 
 expenses ; his savings had been lately forwarded to 
 England to pay for a brother's schooling. Lucius 
 saw no way of supplying the need of Alcala, unless 
 he could interest his employer in the behalf of his 
 friend. Mr. Passmore had a well-filled purse, his 
 business profits were large, and the disbursement of 
 twenty, thirty, or fifty doubloons would not alter 
 his style of living, or cause the absence of one dainty 
 from his luxurious table. 
 
 But Peter Passmore was not a man from whom 
 it was pleasant to ask a favour, or easy to draw a 
 donation. Lucius, when he made up his mind to 
 plead for assistance for Alcala, was doing for his 
 friend a thing which nothing short of starvation 
 would have induced him to do for himself 
 
 Lepine had been for two hours in the counting- 
 house before he heard the heavy step and puffing 
 breathing of Mr. Passmore. 
 
 " So your friend, the picador, was yesterday 
 carried home dead," was the first sentence with 
 which the master of the iron-works greeted his 
 clerk.
 
 FAILURE. 95 
 
 " Not dead, sir, I am thankful to say, but gored 
 and sorely injured," was the reply. 
 
 " How he escaped with life is a miracle," said the 
 manufacturer ; " but of course the chulos went to 
 his help. It was indeed a sight to make one hold 
 one's breath ! The bull, a magnificent brute, rushed 
 on with the force of a steam-engine. The horse 
 received the goring thrust full in his chest, so was 
 put at once out of pain, more lucky than the 
 wretched hacks usually are. Of all barbarous sports 
 invented by man or by demon, bull-fighting is to 
 ray mind the most atrocious." 
 
 " The sufferings which I witnessed last night," 
 said Lucius, " make me more ready than ever to 
 subscribe to that opinion;" and he gave a graphic 
 description of what he had seen in the Calle de San 
 Jose', but as briefly as possible, for Passmore was 
 never a patient listener, at least to the tale of 
 other's woe. But the glimpse given by Lucius of 
 the poverty of Alcala's home made the manufacturer 
 more indignant than ever. 
 
 "Not the means of getting comforts!" he ex- 
 claimed, striking his flabby hand on the desk ; 
 " then why, in the name of common sense, did 
 the madman, when in the receipt of a handsome 
 salary — punctually paid — choose to ruin not only 
 himself but his family, in order to gratify some
 
 96 FATLURK. 
 
 fantastic, most incomprehensible whim of hia 
 own?" 
 
 " I understand that De Acjuilera had some mis- 
 taken idea of honour," began Lucius ; but his em- 
 ployer would not suffer him to finish the sentence. 
 
 "Honour! fiddlestick and nonsense!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Passmore. " Wliat has a clerk in an ironware 
 factory to do with honour ? Nay, you need not 
 fire up, young man ; the blow does not hit you. 
 My notion of true honour is for a man to pay his 
 way and earn his pay ; and I'm satisfied that you 
 do both. But for this wretched Spanish pride I've 
 no patience ! It is anything but honourable in a 
 man to take the bread from the mouths of his family 
 by squandering all his money on finery only fit for 
 the stage ; it is anything but honourable to cheat 
 his employer by spending on bull-sticking the time 
 which should have been given to book-keeping — a 
 much wiser, safer, and, to any man with an atom of 
 sense, a far more agreqable employment !" 
 
 Lucius saw that it was utterly useless to attempt 
 to draw a sincfle dollar from Mr. Passmore for the 
 relief of the Aguileras. He was disappointed, but 
 scarcely surprised. It was impossible to refute what 
 the manufacturer had said, however unpalatable 
 truth might be, conveyed in a manner so coarse. 
 
 Another disappointment awaited Lucius Lepine.
 
 FAILURE. y < 
 
 After a day -of unusual toil, rendered more irksome 
 by the heat of the weather acting on a frame wearied 
 by a long night of watching, Lucius, as soon as his 
 work was done, set out for the Calle de San Jos6. 
 He was anxious to know the state of his friend, and 
 again to take his place by his bedside. Should the 
 improvement in Alcala's state continue — and Lucius, 
 who was hopeful by nature, regarded recovery as 
 probable — what opportunities there would be dur- 
 ing his convalescence for quiet religious converse ! 
 Lucius felt that he could and would say by the bed- 
 side what he could not say in the counting-house or 
 the Prado. Aguilera would have to pass many long 
 weary hours of confinement in his apartment, and 
 then his mind would be free to receive the good seed 
 of the Word. 
 
 " Into how rich a soil," thought the young Eng- 
 lishman, " that seed will be dropped ; and who can 
 estimate what may be the result, not only to Alcala, 
 but to others whom he may influence ! The man 
 who dared face a horrible death for love or honour, 
 must become a Christian hero if once he embrace 
 evangelical truth." 
 
 It was with a feeling of triumph, that made him 
 forget for awhile personal weariness and anxiety for 
 his friend, that Lucius glanced again at the placard- 
 covered boarding which had arrested his attention 
 
 (460) 7
 
 08 FAILURE. 
 
 on the Saturday night preceding the bull-fight. The 
 invitation to the Plaza de Toros had either been 
 torn down as out of date, or covered with more 
 recent advertisements ; the charge from the Bishop 
 of Cadiz, in all the clearness of its black type, re- 
 mained there still. Lucius smiled at the thought 
 that he himself was about to join the band of those 
 who were attacking Rome in her stronghold ; his 
 second attempt to strike at superstitious error was, 
 ho trusted, not likely to end like his first. 
 
 Lucius soon found himself at the entrance of the 
 Affuilera mansion. The o-ratinof at the end of the 
 arched passage was shut, which it had not been on 
 the occasions of his two previous visits. 
 
 The Englishman rang gently, but his summons 
 remained unanswered. He rang again rather more 
 loudly, and then walked up to the grating. He 
 heard a heavy step crossing the patio, and through 
 the perforated iron screen which divided them saw 
 the bent form of Teresa approaching towards him. 
 
 " How fares the senor ?" inquired Lucius. 
 
 " Better, thanks to the blessed Santa Veronica, a 
 lock of whose holy hair has been under the caballero's 
 pillow," was the old woman's reply. 
 
 " Pray open the gate ; I have come to nurse your 
 master to-night," said Lucius. 
 
 " The caballero wants none of your nursing,"
 
 FAILURE. 99 
 
 exclaimed Teresa, in her harshest tone ; " and if you 
 wait till I open the gate for you, why, you may 
 stand there till the Guadalquivir runs dry ! Away 
 with you and your white Judaism !* To have the 
 like of you prowling about sick men's beds is enough 
 to make the bones of good old Torquemada+ shake 
 in the grave !" 
 
 Teresa's form vanished from behind the grating, 
 and Lucius, not a little annoyed at this unexpected 
 obstacle to his intercourse with Alcala, returned to 
 his cheerless lodging. 
 
 Evening after evening the young Englishman 
 renewed his attempt to gain admission into the 
 mansion of De Aguilera, but always with a similar 
 result. In vain he hoped for a sight of the senorita ; 
 she at least, he believed, would not shut out the 
 friend of her brother. Lucius saw no one during 
 repeated visits but the bandy-legged, ill-favoured 
 Chico, or the fanatic Teresa. The latter as jealously 
 guarded the entrance to forbidden ground as ever 
 did fabled dragon of old. As regarded Chico, the 
 case was different. Lucius more than suspected 
 that when this servant answered his summons, the 
 grating might have been unlocked by means of a 
 
 * "White Judaism, which includes all kinds of heresy, such as Lutheranism, 
 Freemasonry, and the like." See the Spanish priest's definition of the term, in 
 the seventeenth chapter of Borrows' " Bible in Spain." 
 
 ♦ A celebrated Spanish inquisitor.
 
 100 FAILURE. 
 
 silver key. But Lucius was too poor to give bribes, 
 and the disappointed Chico became almost as rude 
 as Teresa herself. The young foreigner only exposed 
 himself to insult and abuse by his attempts to visit 
 Alcala. 
 
 " This is my just punishment for former neglect 
 of a clear duty," said Lucius to himself one evening, 
 as he turned from the Moorish archway. " There was 
 a time when an open gate was before me, but now 
 the gate is shut."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 
 
 T is not the tongue of man alono that can 
 speak to the soul of man ; God's rod hath 
 often a solemn voice, and the conscience 
 cannot but hear it. Much was passing through the 
 mind of Alcala of which those around him knew 
 nothing, as he lay with closed eyes and silent lips 
 upon his couch of pain. He was often supposed to 
 be sleeping, when thoughts on the deepest subjects 
 were absorbing his mind. 
 
 The horror of the bull-fight had been to Alcala 
 what the earthquake was to the jailer of Philippi ; 
 it had startled his soul into uttering the cry, " What 
 must I do to be saved ?" Not that any dark deed of 
 guilt lay on the young Spaniard's conscience. In a 
 place where the standard of morality is low, De 
 Aguilera had led a life comparatively blameless ; the 
 picture of maidenly purity ever before him in the 
 sister whom he tenderly loved, had kept him from
 
 102 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 
 
 many an error. Alcala had little to reproach him- 
 self with as regarded man, but he had become con- 
 scious that he had offended his Maker, and had never 
 yet made his peace with his God. 
 
 Alcala's ideas in regard to the Supreme Being 
 were vague, as might be expected in a man who liad 
 never studied the Scriptures. The Spaniard did not 
 know God, and therefore did not love Him. Alcala 
 regarded the Almighty as a Being awful in purity and 
 tenible in justice, who required an unhesitating obe- 
 dience, an absorbing devotion, which the young 
 man knew had never been rendered by himself If 
 the horn of the bull had gone a little deeper, if it 
 had sent the sinner to the dread tribunal above, how 
 would the disembodied soul have endured the search- 
 ing scrutiny of an Omniscient Judge, and what would 
 His awful verdict have been ? Such was the ques- 
 tion which Alcala asked of his conscience, and con- 
 science gave no answer of peace. 
 
 The wounded man rather submitted to than sought 
 the ministrations of Bonifacio ; they satisfied neither 
 his heart nor his reason. Alcala heard of the sanc- 
 tity of the (so-called) Catholic Church, the efficacy of 
 her sacraments, the power of her priests, the inter- 
 cession of martyrs, the wonders to be wrought by 
 fragment of wood or morsel of bone, — he heard of 
 all these things with weariness and distaste. Alcala
 
 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 103 
 
 was as a man perishing of thirst to whom is held 
 out an elaborately chased cup, within which there is 
 not a single drop of life-giving water, 
 
 Bonifacio's rebukes were even more trying to the 
 sufferer than were the priest's exhortations. The 
 confessor tried to probe his penitent's conscience, but 
 never laid his finger on the real wound. Alcala's 
 remorse was not for having read some books that 
 did not increase his reverence for the hierarchy of 
 Rome, nor for not having more frequently laid bare 
 his inmost thoughts to a tonsured fellow-sinner. He 
 could not be argued into believing it to be a crime 
 to have had a Protestant friend. It was not recol- 
 lection of such transgressions that was troubling the 
 cavalier's soul with the yet unanswered question, 
 " What must I do to be saved ? " 
 
 Though Alcala never spoke to his sister of his 
 mental struggles, she perceived, with the quick in- 
 stinct of aflection, that his mind was not at ease. 
 Inez saw also that Bonifacio was by no means satis- 
 fied with her brother's spiritual state. This was 
 distressing to the gentle Inez. " The pious father," 
 she said to herself, " cannot know how good is Alcala ; 
 I do not think that there is a cavalier to be com- 
 pared to him in all Andalusia." 
 
 Inez was, indeed, aware that Alcala was not quite 
 BO strict a Catholic as if he had been brought up in
 
 104 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 
 
 a cloister. She remembered that when Queen Isa- 
 bella (whom the most loyal of her subjects could not 
 regard as a saint) had presented to the black image 
 of our Lady of Atocha a robe crusted with jewels 
 said to be worth thirty thousand pounds,* Alcala 
 had not admired her devotion. He had even said 
 that the queen might have pleased Heaven better by 
 feeding her starving people with the money spent on 
 that gift. Was such a thought very profane ? If 
 so, Inez feared that she shared the sin of her brother. 
 
 In the desire to do something that might bring 
 solace to the spirit of Alcala, Inez, on the following 
 Sabbath morn, softly laid beside him, while he was 
 sleeping, a Romish manual of devotion, containing 
 prayers or invocations to half the saints in the 
 calendar of her Church. Inez had herself made 
 much use of the book in the time of her overwhelm- 
 ing anxiety, though she had found no gi-eat reUef 
 from such prayers. The maiden was alone at the 
 time by her brother's sick-bed, and was so wearied 
 by nearly a week of nursing, that, now that her 
 worst fears were removed, exhausted nature claimed 
 her due, and Inez fell fast asleep on her chair. 
 
 Alcala awoke while Inez slumbered, and gazed 
 with grateful affection on his devoted sister. His 
 eyes then fell on the book which she had placed 
 
 * Vide " Daybreak in Spain."
 
 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 105 
 
 near his pillow, and his emaciated hand took it up. 
 Alcala opened the volume less from expectation of 
 finding comfort in its contents, than from a wish to 
 please her who had put it beside him, he guessed 
 with what intention. As Alcala unclosed the book, 
 a small piece of paper fell out. It was something 
 that Inez had dearly treasured, for it held what she 
 had feared might be her brother's last message. She 
 had kept it in her manual of devotion, as the safest 
 and the holiest place. 
 
 Alcala dropped the book, and took up the leaf; 
 he recognized the scrap of paper on which he had 
 written in the bitterest moment of his life. Strange 
 and painful associations were connected with the 
 torn, soiled fragment which had been picked up 
 from the road. Alcala gazed, read — not his o^vn 
 pencilled words, but the printed part of the paper 
 — and in a moment aU merely personal associations 
 were forgotten. The Spaniard's whole attention was 
 concentrated on the first verse of Scripture on which 
 his eyes rested — " Therefore, being justified by faith, 
 we have 'peace with God through our Lord Jesus 
 Christ" (Rom. v. 1). 
 
 Here was something that might satisfy the soul's 
 deep longings ; it was as if a voice from heaven, in 
 tones that pierced the inmost heart, had replied to 
 that question to which earth had given no answer.
 
 106 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 
 
 The fii'st sensation to the Spaniard resembled that 
 of one dazzled by sudden overpowering light. Then 
 came the thought, " Can this be truth ? Whence 
 comes this torn leaf; of what book has it formed a 
 portion ?" 
 
 Alcala scarcely doubted that words so sublime in 
 their simplicity, and so utterly at variance with the 
 teachings of Rome, must be part of the Book the 
 reading of which his priest had denounced as a 
 crime ; that Book which the Protestants call the 
 Word of God. This conviction became stroncjer in 
 the mind of De Aguilera, as again and again — till 
 he knew it by heart — he perused that verse from 
 which he was drinking in life, and hope, and joy. 
 
 " Justified, — what is that ? Is it to be pro- 
 nounced ' not guilty' at the very tribunal of Heaven ? 
 Is it to have no transgression punished, no sin im- 
 puted ; to be saved from all the terrors of the world 
 unknown ? Justified hy faith. Can it be by simply 
 believing ? Not by penance here, or purgatorial fires 
 hereafter ; not by the work of the hands or the 
 anguish of the soul, the alms or the sacrifice, but 
 Justified by faith. Oh ! could I but believe this, 
 then indeed should I have peace with God through 
 our Lord Jesus Christ ! 
 
 " And with what is that therefore, that golden 
 link, connected ?" Alcala asked himself, as he eagerly
 
 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 107 
 
 glanced at the context, the verse which concludes 
 the foiu-th chapter of Romans — " Who vxis delivered, 
 for our offences, and raised again for our justifica- 
 tion*' All pointed to the Redeemer, and to Him 
 only, the One Source of Salvation and Justification. 
 The doctrine was clear as the light of day which 
 was streaming in at the window ; but could it be 
 true ? was it not too good to be tnie ? Dared the 
 poor sinner believe it, and trust the safety of his soul 
 simply and unreservedly to Him who died to re- 
 deem it ? 
 
 " I must see Lucius Lepine," murmured Alcala ; 
 " I must show him this paper. I marvel that he 
 has never come near me since the first night, when 
 I have a dim recollection of hearing his voice." The 
 cavalier hid the precious leaf under his pillow ; for 
 he heard the heavy step of Teresa, and her entrance 
 with some cooling drink for the patient wakened 
 Inez out of her sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 NEW LIFE. 
 
 [AS the English senor never called to see 
 me ? " was Alcala's abrupt question to 
 Teresa as she came into his room. 
 
 The duenna was taken by surprise, and Alcala 
 read assent in her look of confusion. 
 
 " Why was my friend not admitted at once ? " 
 cried the cavalier, in tones so angry and loud that 
 his astonished hearers could scarcely believe that 
 they came from lips which, but a day before, had 
 seemed scarcely able to speak above a whisper. 
 
 " The Inglesito was not wanted here," muttered 
 Teresa, who scarcely knew whether to be pleased at 
 the improvement in her patient, or vexed at the way 
 in which that improvement was manifested. 
 
 " It was for me to judge whether my visitor's 
 presence was wanted or not," said Alcala de Agaiilera. 
 " I will write to him, — no, I have not strength to 
 write " — (not even the feverish energy which pos-
 
 NEW LIFE. 109 
 
 sessed his spirit could give steadiness to his hand) — 
 "send Chico directly, without one minute's delay, 
 to pray the senor to come hither. Is it not Sun- 
 day ? " added Alcala more gently, turning his head 
 towards Inez ; " Lepine has no business to do upon 
 Sundays, so his time will be free." 
 
 Teresa dared not disobey the hest of her master ; 
 she saw the fever- flush rising on his cheek, and 
 could not risk the consequences of thwarting his 
 will. Wishing in her heart that the vile foreign 
 heretic were at the bottom of his own British Channel, 
 Teresa went in search of Chico. There was, how- 
 ever, no need to find him, for the duenna had 
 scarcely passed through the corridor before she 
 heard the sound of Lepine's ring at the bell. 
 
 As for six successive evenings Lucius had been 
 turned away from the house of the Aguileras, he 
 had almost resolved to give up for a time all attempts 
 to visit Alcala. On that very morning the young 
 man had said to himself, " I will try my chance but 
 once more;" and it was with very faint expecta- 
 tion of gaining admission that he came up to the 
 grating which he had never but once been suffered 
 to pass. It was a pleasant surprise to Lucius when 
 Teresa, slowly and sullenly, drew back the bolt, 
 and let him enter the patio. The old woman did 
 not choose to usher the heretic herself into the
 
 110 NEW LIFE. 
 
 presence of her master, but with her wi-inkled finger 
 pointed towards the corridor which led to Alcala's 
 apartment. 
 
 Lucius needed no more distinct invitation. He 
 crossed the court, and entered the corridor with a 
 heart that throbbed with expectation. Here was 
 the opportunity which he had desired, sought, and 
 prayed for, of conversing with his wounded friend 
 on the most important of subjects. Lucius felt that 
 he must not again let such an opportunity slip. 
 But what should he say,— how should he enter on a 
 topic which might be unwelcome ? Lucius felt that 
 extreme difficulty of entering on spiritual themes 
 which so often fetters the lips even of experienced 
 Christians. 
 
 But how often man's whole difficulty lies in form- 
 ing a firm resolution to do what conscience com- 
 mands. No sooner does he begin to put that reso- 
 lution into practice than the apprehended difficulty 
 vanishes away ! Such was to be the young English- 
 man's experience on the present occasion. 
 
 Lucius found Alcala alone, for Inez had glided out 
 of the room by another door when she heard the 
 visitor's approach. The wounded cavalier welcomed 
 his friend with eyes that sparkled with animation, 
 and an eagerness of manner for which Lucius was 
 by no means prepared. He had expected to find
 
 NEW LIFE. HI 
 
 Alcala in a state of suffering, languor,-and depression, 
 and never before had he seen the Spaniard's usually 
 melancholy face wear an expression so bright. 
 
 "You are welcome; you are the one whom I most 
 desired to see ! " cried Alcala, holding out a thin 
 hand which trembled with excitement as well as 
 with weakness. " I pray you to take a seat by my 
 side." 
 
 Lucius did so, and watched as De Aguilera feebly 
 searched for something under his pillow, and then 
 drew out carefully from its hiding-place a little frag- 
 ment of paper. 
 
 "Tell me," said Alcala earnestly, as he held out 
 the leaf to his companion — " tell me, Lepine, what 
 is this ? " 
 
 With emotions which cannot be described, Lucius 
 first examined the little torn scrap, and then met the 
 gaze of the eager dark eyes that seemed to be read- 
 ing: him throue^h and through. 
 
 o o o 
 
 " This is a leaf that has been torn from a Bible," 
 said Lucius. 
 
 "And do you believe its contents — are they 
 truth ? " asked Alcala, his eyes riveted still on the 
 face of his friend. 
 
 " This is the Word of the Eternal God of Truth," 
 replied the young man with reverence. " But," he 
 added in a different tone, " it is to me a strange, an
 
 112 NEW LIFE. 
 
 unaccountable thing, how this paper should ever 
 have come into your possession, if — as I cannot but 
 think — it belongs to a book which I have on my 
 person at this moment." 
 
 The Englishman drew his New Testament out of 
 his breast-pocket, and opened it at the Epistle to the 
 Romans, Alcala watching his movements with lively 
 curiosity. Several leaves from that part of the 
 volume had evidently been torn out, and afterwards 
 neatly replaced with paper and gum ; but of one 
 leaf there remained but a portion. Lucius fitted the 
 fragment given to him by Alcala to the torn edge 
 of this leaf, and smiled to observe that the two por- 
 tions fitted each other exactly. 
 
 The surprise of Alcala was quite as great as his 
 own. "How can this be?" exclaimed the Spaniard; 
 " when was that fragment torn from that book ? " 
 
 "Last Sunday morning," replied Lepine. "It was 
 torn by the first of your countrymen to whom I ever 
 ofiered a religious book. He was a peasant, follow- 
 ins: a herd." 
 
 " A herd of fighting bulls — on the way to the 
 Plaza de Toros ? " asked Alcala with interest. 
 
 " Yes," replied Lucius Lepine. " The drover was 
 angry ; he mutilated and flung back my book. You 
 must have picked up the leaf by chance." 
 
 "Not by chance; no, not by chance!" exclaimed
 
 NEW LIFE. 113 
 
 De Aguilera, his lip quivering as he spoke. " Mark 
 you, Lepine, the pencilling on the margin ? — Perhaps 
 not, the faint lines are almost effaced by the tears of 
 her who read them. Let them be effaced ! " con- 
 tinued the cavalier with passionate fervour ; " let all 
 be effaced that is a record of the guilt and misery of 
 man, — God's Word is legible still, — and it is the 
 Word of Life." 
 
 I shall not attempt to give in full length the con- 
 versation that followed. Many were the questions 
 on doctrinal points eagerly asked by Alcala, questions 
 which showed that the speaker was one thirsting 
 indeed for the waters of life. The Testament was 
 searched and studied, Lucius prefemng to answer 
 the queries of his friend in God's words instead of 
 his own. The Englishman turned from gospel to 
 epistle, comparing this chapter with that, explaining 
 scripture by scriptui'e, and proving with an ease and 
 clearness which surprised himself the truth of that 
 grand central doctrine on which the Christian's hope 
 is rooted, the doctrine of justification by faith in a 
 crucified Saviour. 
 
 Lucius remained by the bedside of Alcala during 
 the whole of that day ; he was scarcely suffered to 
 quit it even when night was far advanced. The 
 friends partook together of a simple repast ; their 
 spirits were enjoying together the richest spiritual 
 
 (4661 8
 
 114 NEW LIFE. 
 
 feast. Lucius, who had been brought up by pious 
 and enlightened parents, could not remember a time 
 when he had doubted God's pardoning gi-ace, or been 
 ignorant of the first principles of evangelical religion. 
 It had not been so with the Spaniard, and his friend 
 was much struck by the rapturous surprise, the in- 
 tense thankfulness with which the glad tidings of 
 great joy were received by one from whose eyes truth 
 had hitherto been hidden beneath a mass of vain 
 superstitions. Alcala welcomed that truth as one 
 who has suddenly found a priceless treasure, and 
 gratefully received the gift of the New Testament 
 from his friend. 
 
 " This shall be my study, my guide, my joy ! " 
 said the cavalier, pressing the book to his lips. " I 
 will never part with it but with life ; it has given 
 me more than life ! " 
 
 Lucius left Alcala ph^'-sically much exhausted, but 
 full of joy and peace in believing. A night of deep 
 sweet sleep followed the day of excitement. Alcala's 
 soul was at rest ; he had found what he long had 
 sought. God was to him no longer the terrible 
 Judge, but the reconciled Father; death was regarded 
 no more as the dark angel who would summon the 
 soul to trial and condemnation, but as the seraph 
 that would call that soul to the presence of a glori- 
 fied Saviour.
 
 NEW LIFE. 115 
 
 Has he whose eye now glances over these pages 
 known experimentally anything of the fears of one 
 conscious of sin, — or the intense joy of him who has 
 heard in his heart, " Oo in peace, thy sins are for- 
 given thee."
 
 CHAPTEH XIV. 
 
 AN UNPARDONABLE WRONG. 
 
 HE visits of Lucius to the house of Alcala 
 were repeated on many successive even- 
 ings, to the great annoyance of Teresa, 
 who both suspected and feared the stranger. Inez 
 did not share the old servant's displeasure. She 
 saw that the society of the Englishman made her 
 brother strangely happy, as they studied together 
 that marvellous Book, of which Alcala spoke to her 
 so often. Inez rather regretted when she found that 
 there would be a break in intercourse which was 
 so greatly enjoyed, Lucius having to go to Madrid 
 on some mercantile business in the latter part of 
 September. 
 
 "Here, I have spent all, to the last maravedi,"* 
 muttered old Teresa, as she returned one Friday 
 from market, laden with a basket heavy with 
 
 * A coin of less than a farthing's value.
 
 AN UNPARDONABLE WRONG. 117 
 
 various provisions for the household : some bread, 
 a flask of oil (indispensable in a Spanish kitchen), a 
 string of onions, saffron for soup, a melon, chestnuts, 
 oranges, and olives. Meat was a luxury rarely 
 tasted in the palace of the Aguileras. Wearily the 
 old woman set down the basket on the kitchen 
 table, on which Inez, with her delicate hands, was 
 preparing her grandmother's cup of chocolate. 
 
 " I have satisfied the surgeon, as you desired, 
 senorita," said Teresa, " and have bought these 
 things with what remained of the twenty dollars 
 which you gave me." 
 
 " You have laid out the dollars well, Teresa," 
 said the maiden graciously to her ungracious re- 
 tainer ; " I knew that you would do the best that 
 you could with the money." 
 
 " I wish that I knew where that money came 
 from," said Teresa, her sharp eyes surveying her 
 young mistress with a keen look of suspicion. As 
 Inez never quitted the house unescorted by her 
 duenna, and Teresa had not once been asked to 
 attend the senorita — except to mass — since Alcala 
 had received his wound, it had been a matter of 
 curious speculation to the old servant how the lady 
 had suddenly become possessed of twenty dollars, 
 which seemed to her a very large sum. 
 
 Inez made no reply to the observation, but went
 
 118 AN UNPARDONABLE WRONG. 
 
 on with her occupation. This only served to in- 
 tensify the curiosity of Teresa. 
 
 " I hope that those dollars were not given to the 
 senorita by that heretic luglesito," hissed forth the 
 old woman, as she rested her bony knuckles on the 
 table, and leant forward to peer more closely into 
 the face of Inez. 
 
 " You know well that Spanish ladies accept no 
 money from cavaliers," repUed Inez, with a 
 heightened colour on her cheek and some dis- 
 pleasure in her tone. " I had the dollars from 
 Donna Maria de Rivas ; she was here yesterday, 
 as you are perfectly aware." 
 
 Teresa did not look by any means satisfied with 
 the reply ; perhaps she was too well acquainted 
 with the family friend to deem her capable of an 
 act of free liberality. The old woman still sharply 
 surveyed her mistress as she observed, " I cannot 
 abide that Donna Maria ; she speaks the thing 
 which is false." 
 
 " Teresa ! " Inez began reprovingly ; but the old 
 domestic tyi-ant would have out her say. 
 
 " I heard this very morning that Donna Maria 
 boasts that she possesses a silver reliquary holding 
 a lock of the blessed Sania Veronica's hair" (here 
 Teresa crossed herself devoutly), " a reliquary once 
 belonging to Philip the Second, our most Catholic
 
 AN UNPARDONABLE WRONG. 119 
 
 king, — the saints have his soul in their keep- 
 ing!" 
 
 Inez moved from the table ; the flush on her 
 cheek had deepened to crimson. The duenna pre- 
 sumed to lay her hand on her young lady's arm to 
 detain her. 
 
 " You know, senorita, that there is not a lock 
 of that saint's hau* to be found in all Spain, from 
 Navarre to Andalusia, save that one which King 
 Philip himself gave to your noble ancestor, Senor 
 Don Amadeo de Aguilera." 
 
 Inez tried to release her arm, but the pressure 
 of the old woman's hand had tightened into a 
 gripe as she continued, after a pause : " You would 
 not have me imac^ine that a descendant of that 
 illustrious caballero, that a daughter of the house 
 of Aguilera, has sold the priceless relic for twenty 
 dollars?" The question could not have been 
 asked with more pious horror, had it regarded the 
 tombs containing the bones of all the maiden's 
 noble ancestors. 
 
 Inez, in her position of helpless poverty, could 
 not throw off that most intolerable yoke, the 
 tyranny of an ill-tempered old duenna, who knew 
 herself to be indispensable, because her place could 
 not be supplied by another. Teresa considered 
 that years of almost unpaid service had given her
 
 120 AN UNPARDONABLE WRONG. 
 
 the privilege of being as insolent as she pleased to 
 her gentle young mistress. On the present occasion 
 Teresa used — or abused — that privilege to the ut- 
 most. 
 
 " I would not have exchanged that precious 
 relic/' she cried, " for the Golden Rose which his 
 Holiness the Pope has sent to our queen ! I'd have 
 begged — starved — thrown myself into the river — 
 before I'd have sold it for money ! The glory of 
 the house of De Aguilera is gone for ever ! The 
 curse of the saints is upon us!" And Teresa, 
 relaxing her hold on Inez, burst into a flood of 
 passionate tears. 
 
 Inez was not herself sufiiciently free from a 
 superstitious regard for relics, not to be distressed 
 and even somewhat alarmed at seeing the light in 
 which her act was viewed by the old duenna. 
 
 " We were in debt — in need," she said softly ; 
 " I hope that the blessed saint herself would forgive 
 what I did for the sake of a brother." 
 
 " The saint may — but I cannot !" exclaimed 
 Teresa, hastily drying her eyes, and then bui'sting 
 out of the kitchen. Her auger, if the tmth must 
 be told, sprang quite as much from her pride as 
 from her devotion. To have it noised about in the 
 market-i)lace of Seville that the reliquary of King 
 Phihp, the heirloom of the Aguileras, had actually
 
 UNPARDONABLE WRONG. 121 
 
 beeu sold to purchase food, — this was even woree 
 to the old retainer of the family than the fear of 
 offending Santa Veronica. 
 
 Inez stood for some moments with drooping 
 head and downcast eyes. Had she indeed, the 
 poor girl asked herself, done something that might 
 draw down on herself and her family the wrath of 
 the saints ? 
 
 " Perhaps I should first have consulted my 
 brother," thought Inez ; " though the reliquary was 
 my own, the gift of my father. I should have 
 done so, had not most of the money which I re- 
 ceived been required to pay the surgeon to whose 
 skill we owe so much. But I should not have 
 trusted my own judgment ; I am but a weak, 
 foolish cirl. As soon as I have carried this choco- 
 late to my grandmother, I will go and confess the 
 truth to Alcala. He may condemn my act, but I 
 am sure that he at least will forgive it"
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 IHERE are those who have asserted that 
 the doctrine of Justification by Faith 
 will lead to neglect of good works ; that 
 he who believes that Christ has done all, will be 
 content himself to do nothing. How false is the 
 assertion has been constantly proved by the lives of 
 those who have most simply and unreservedly thrown 
 themselves on the free mercy of Him who died for 
 sinners ! Love for the Saviour and the indulgence 
 of wilful sin can no more exist together than fire 
 and water unite. Where the Heavenly Guest enters, 
 a halo of light shines around Him which reveals 
 impurities which have hitherto, perhaps, altogether 
 escaped the notice of conscience. Wheresoever the 
 Saviour goes, holiness is the print left by His foot- 
 steps. 
 
 Thus was it with Alcala. Having received the 
 gospel with joy, he intuitively began to consider
 
 CONFESSION. 123 
 
 what retui'u of grateful obedience he could make for 
 unmerited mercy. Having cheerfully resolved to 
 run the race set before him, he felt that he must 
 speed towards his glorious goal disencumbered of 
 the weight of the sin which most easily beset him. 
 Alcala had little difficulty in discovering what that 
 sin was. Turning from contemplation of Christian 
 doctrine to that of Christian duties, the Spaniard 
 was struck by the very first sentence uttered by 
 Divine lips in the Sermon on the Mount — " Blessed 
 are the poor in spirit." 
 
 Alcala paused long, with his finger on that verse. 
 He was a Spaniard, and a Spaniard of noble birth. 
 He had been, as it were, cradled in pride ; taught 
 to regard pride as a lofty vii-tue. Was it needful, 
 and even if needful, was it possible, to overcome what 
 seemed woven into his very nature ? Could the 
 high-spirited cavalier ever become the meek and 
 lowly believer ? 
 
 Alcala felt that, in the struggle against pride in 
 its various forms, he was now entering his spiritual 
 Plaza de Toros ; that his own strength was as weak- 
 ness compared with that of the mighty enemy before 
 him. He must ask for strength greater than his 
 own, he must seek for the aid of that Holy Spirit 
 who could enable him to overthrow and trample even 
 upon pride. Alcala reflected deeply on the numerous
 
 124 CONFESSION. 
 
 passages in Scripture which represent humility as 
 essential to the characier of a believer. It was 
 difficult indeed to throw aside prejudices that had 
 become as a part of himself, to recognize the truth 
 that nothing is really degrading but sin, and that 
 the highest and noblest have nothing whereof to 
 boast. Alcala's reflections, however, brought him to 
 a conviction which was once simply and beautifully 
 expressed by a behever, whose life proved that she 
 spoke from the heart : * — " What is the position of 
 a Christian? To wash the disciples' feet, to sit at 
 the Saviour's feet, — this is the position of a Chris- 
 tian ! " 
 
 " I shall bear on my person to the end of my days 
 a scar to remind me that God abhors pride," thought 
 Alcala ; " and the lesson will be enforced by new 
 privations, in which, alas ! my family must share. 
 Who has more reason than I to know that pride is 
 a fiend who, under the name of high spirit, lures 
 us on to destruction ? But for unmerited grace, I 
 should have sacrificed to him both body and soul. 
 His voice was more strong in this guilty heart than 
 the appeals of reason, conscience, and affection. I 
 preferred dying like a madman, to owning that I 
 had boasted like a fool ! " 
 
 Alcala was thus pondering over the subject, when 
 
 * F. Tucker.
 
 CONFESSION. 125 
 
 his sister entered his apartment, knelt by his side, 
 and timidly took his hand in her own. 
 
 " Something has grieved my sweet one," said 
 Alcala, reading trouble in the face of his sister. 
 
 " Alcala, I must hide nothing from you," mur- 
 mured Inez, with the meekness of a child confessing 
 a fault. '' I fear that I may have done wrong, but 
 you will judge when you know the whole truth. 
 Donna Maria was here yester-evening, while the 
 English senor was with you. I could not help 
 speaking to her of my troubles ; I could not help 
 telling her of our — our difficulties," continued Inez, 
 drooping her head. " I thought that she had the 
 means to help us, and — we are so poor, Alcala ! " 
 
 " Poverty is no disgrace, my Inez," said Alcala ; 
 "except," he added gravely, "poverty brought on 
 by such an act of criminal folly and pride as that 
 which has laid me here." 
 
 " I told our mother's friend that I had parted 
 with all, — everything that could be turned into 
 money, — even your guitar, Alcala," continued Inez 
 with a sigh. " ' What, child ! ' replied Donna Maria, 
 ' even with King Philip's reliquary, which holds the 
 hair of Santa Veronica, the heirloom of which your 
 family is so proud ? I would give you twenty dol- 
 lars for that ! ' " 
 
 A liberal offer ! " cried Alcala, with irony. 
 
 ((
 
 126 CONFESSION. 
 
 " Our fathers would not have sold the relic for twenty 
 thousand ! " The cavalier felt that the little hand 
 which he held was trembling, and reproached himself 
 for the unguarded exclamation. 
 
 " So you let the senora have the reliquary," he 
 said, kindly sparing the poor girl the pain of con- 
 tinuing her story. 
 
 " Did I do very wrong ? " murmured Inez. " Must 
 I tell Father Bonifacio, when next I go to confession, 
 that I have sold Santa Veronica's hair ? " 
 
 " No ; you did right," replied Alcala. And he 
 added cheerfully, " One verse from the Bible is worth 
 more than all the relics in the Cathedral of Seville ; 
 and as for confession, I would fain that you, like 
 myself, should resolve never again to confess to a 
 Romish priest." 
 
 "Renegade! infidel! apostate!" exclaimed a fu- 
 rious voice. Inez started in terror to her feet. 
 Bonifacio stood in the doorway, with raised arm and 
 clenched hand, as if he were launching a thunder- 
 bolt of vengeance at the devoted head of her brother, 
 Teresa, horror-struck, stood behind the priest, whom 
 she had been on the point of ushering into the apart- 
 ment, when he had paused upon the threshold to 
 hear Alcala's concluding sentence. " Wretch ! aban- 
 doned by Heaven, lost to every sentiment of reli- 
 gion ! " continued the furious ecclesiastic, " think not
 
 CONFESSION. 127 
 
 that you can with impunity defy the power of the 
 Church ! We have a pious Queen, who has faithful 
 counsellors in her confessor Claret and the saintly 
 Patrocinio.* The arm of the law is yet mighty 
 enough to strike — to crush the apostates who re- 
 nounce their holy faith to join the enemies of all 
 true religion ! " And after a gesture expressing that 
 he shook from his sandalled feet the polluted dust 
 of the heretic's dwelling, Bonifacio turned his back 
 on Alcala, and strode rapidly through the long cor- 
 ridor, followed to the entrance by Teresa, who was 
 wiinging her hands. 
 
 <t 
 
 Alcala ! all is lost ! " exclaimed Inez. 
 
 " Fear nothing, beloved," said Alcala, with a 
 serene composure which astonished his sister , " mere 
 words have no power to hurt. Though Bonifacio 
 may have the spirit of old Torquemada, these are 
 not days when men can be sent to the stake for 
 confessing the truth." 
 
 "But there may be persecution, — sharp, dreadful 
 persecution," faltered Inez. 
 
 " If so, my God will enable me to bear it," said 
 Alcala, with a countenance that brightened at the 
 thought of endurino; suffering and shame for the sake 
 of his Lord. " Inez, my heart's sister, be not 
 troubled. Think not of what your brother has lost, 
 
 • Isabella's confessor, and a nun who had great influence with the queen.
 
 |9g CONFESSION. 
 
 but what he has found ; " and Alcala laid his hand 
 on the sacred Volume. " If you knew more of the 
 contents of this Book, you would fear no longer 
 what man can do unto those who have grasped the 
 hope of eternal life. But you shall know more of it, 
 Inez. This evening you and our servants shall 
 hear me read the words of truth. My wound is 
 almost healed, my strength is gradually returning, 
 and I would fain devote that strength to the service 
 of my Heavenly Master. It is meet that my first 
 audience should be those who form our own house- 
 hold. Lepine would have explained evangelical 
 doctrines better than I can, to whom they are as a 
 new revelation ; yet I regret not that he is absent 
 at Madrid, since, if the rumour of even so small a 
 meeting were noised abroad, it might bring my 
 friend into trouble. Let Teresa and Chico come to 
 my room after sunset ; would that our dear grand- 
 mother's mind had power to receive the glad tidings 
 of free salvation ! " 
 
 Insolent as Teresa often showed herself to her 
 gentle mistress, the old retainer stood in awe of her 
 master ; and though she might murmur to herself at 
 his commands, she never dared openly to dispute 
 them. Both she and Chico were therefore present 
 at the first meeting for Bible reading and family 
 worship ever held in the stately old mansioa
 
 CONFESSION. 129 
 
 Alcala, who for the first time since his illness had 
 quitted his couch, sat propped up with cushions. 
 He looked pale and fragile, but serenely happy, as 
 he read aloud a portion from one of the Gospels. 
 The portion was necessarily short, for the reader 
 was still veiy weak. Small as was the audience 
 — for no stranger was present — it yet represented 
 a variety of hearers. Inez, with her hands clasped, 
 and her soft eyes fixed on the reader, listened to 
 the words of Holy Writ with reverential attention ; 
 Teresa, with scarcely concealed repugnance ; Chico 
 could hardly be said to listen at aU. The uncouth 
 attendant's thoughts were distracted by the strange 
 novelty of his being permitted, na}'-, ordered, to be 
 seated in the presence of the caballero, Don Alcala 
 de Aguilera, — a novelty which disgusted Teresa more 
 than anything else in the service. 
 
 " A low fellow like that to be treated as if his 
 wretched soul were worth as much as that of a 
 gi-andee of Spain !" thought Teresa. " My master's 
 illness must have affected his brain, or he would 
 sooner have made a footstool of Chico than have 
 bidden him sit down in his presence!" To her 
 mind such an extraordinary breach of etiquette on 
 the pai-t of a hidalgo of Andalusia was much more 
 strange and unaccountable than his late exposure of 
 his life to satisfy a wild notion of honour. 
 
 (4fl«) 9
 
 130 CONFESSION 
 
 Alcala was thankful that he had been strengthened 
 to take the first decided step in the course of service 
 which he hoped through life to pursue. He closed 
 his Bible reading with a brief extempore prayer, of 
 which the fervour touched the spirit of Inez, and 
 the humility astonished that of Teresa. What cava- 
 lier had ever before prayed so earnestly to be de- 
 livered from the power of pride ! 
 
 With gloomy forebodings the duenna retired from 
 Alcala's apartment after family worship was ended. 
 Often during the following night, as she uneasily 
 turned on her pallet-bed, Teresa moaned her com- 
 plaint that times were evil indeed, when noble pride 
 could be deemed a sin in the heir of the honours of 
 the Aguileras ! 
 
 Happy were the slumbers of Alcala. He dreamed 
 that night that he was again mounted on his steed 
 in the Plaza de Toros, in the centre of the circus, 
 and suiTounded by gazing thousands. But when 
 the door of the circus was flung open by the black- 
 robed alguazil to whom that service belongs, it was 
 no fierce animal that rushed forth to encounter the 
 point of Alcala's lance. There came into the arena 
 a procession of priests, monks, and devotees, bearing 
 aloft graven images of saints, and swinging censers 
 of incense, as they slowly approached him. Then, 
 in liis dream, Alcala glanced around, and, lo I instead
 
 CONFESSION. 131 
 
 of the usual spectators who were wont to throng 
 the seats in the Coliseo of Seville, the places were 
 filled by thousands of martyrs who, in that city, 
 had passed through the ordeal of fire. They wore 
 no longer the yellow san-benito, the garb of shame, 
 but robes compared to whose whiteness dim were 
 the diamond and dark the new-fallen snow. The 
 martyrs were " a cloud of witnesses," a cloud spark- 
 ling in the light of the countenance of Him for 
 whom they had suffered, — a cloud reflecting His 
 ineffable glory. 
 
 When the hour of persecution and trial arrived, 
 Alcala drew courage and hope from the recollection 
 of that glorious dream.
 
 CHAPTER XYl. 
 
 A MIRAGE. 
 
 |NEZ DE AGUILERA always shared the 
 sleeping-room of her grandmother, and had 
 
 I often to minister during the night to the 
 aged and imbecile lady. It had never occurred to 
 the Spanish girl to regard this duty as a hardship, 
 but she had never felt such sweet pleasure in its 
 performance as she did after listening to the words 
 of her Heavenly Master which had been read aloud 
 by Alcala. He who had said, " Love one another as 
 I have loved you," would, Inez hoped, be pleased 
 with her care of the aged relative whom He had 
 intrusted to her charge. 
 
 A trial to those who attended on Donna Benita 
 was the poor old lady's inability to understand the 
 change in the circumstances of her family ; she who 
 bad come as a wealthy bride to a wealthy hidalgo, 
 sorely missed, and never ceased to expect, the 
 luxuries connected with the possession of riches. If
 
 A MIRAGE. 133 
 
 Donna Benita desired to breathe the ah- in the Prado, 
 how was it that carriages with splendid horses were 
 not reaay at her command ? Where was the train of 
 attendants that should wait on the lady of a Spanish 
 grandee ? What had become of her jewels, her 
 bracelets of diamonds, her chaplet of pearls ? Old 
 Teresa lost patience when she had to repeat for the 
 hundredth time to her imbecile mistress that her 
 treasures had all been carried off, nearly fifty years 
 before, by the infidel French soldiers, who had dared 
 to eat their puchero and smoke their cigarillos in the 
 patio of the palace of the Aguileras. 
 
 Inez never lost her patience with the feeble 
 invalid, but she was pained when, on the morning 
 following Alcala's first meeting for family devotion, 
 Donna Benita more fretfully than usual complained 
 of the want of the luxuries which her grandchildren 
 had not the means of providing. 
 
 " How I am neglected by all of you ! " murmured 
 the aged lady. " Have I not told you these many 
 times to bring me my goblet of chased gold, filled 
 with good Xeres wine ? Where is it — why do you 
 keep it from me ? There is no one to do my bid- 
 ding, — no one cares to bring me the delicate panada 
 which is, as you know, my favourite dish, I am 
 tired of chocolate, and toast, and watery puchero ! 
 Eveiy day seems a fast-day here ! "
 
 134 A MIRAOK 
 
 " You shall have something nice, very nice, to- 
 day, dear grandmother," said Inez, respectfully kiss- 
 ing the old lady's hand. " Teresa yesterday brought 
 home from the market a splendid basketful of good 
 things." And Inez glided out of the room, asking 
 herself as she did so, " When shall we find means of 
 so filling that basket again ? " 
 
 The kitchen, which was situated at the remotest 
 part of the mansion of the Aguileras, was very 
 spacious, and from its emptiness now appeared very 
 dreary. There were scarcely as many utensils left 
 in the place as would have supplied the tent of a 
 wandering Gitano. And yet in that kitchen, in for- 
 mer days, banquets had been prepared to furnish a 
 table at which a hundred guests had sat down. 
 
 Teresa's bent, withered form was stooping over 
 the fire, which, like the inmates of the mansion, 
 was very scantily fed. The step of Inez was so 
 light that the old woman did not hear it, and she 
 was not aware that the senorita was at her side, 
 when she flung on the fagots a small bound volume. 
 Inez darted forward, with an exclamation of indig- 
 nation, just in time to snatch unharmed from the 
 fire the New Testament of her brother. 
 
 " Why do you presume to bum the treasured 
 book of Don Alcala ? " exclaimed the maiden, press- 
 ing the volume to her breast.
 
 A MIRAGE. 135 
 
 " To save Don Alcala's life ! " replied Teresa, I'ais- 
 ing her head with angiy surprise. " Did you not 
 hear the threats of Father Bonifacio ; have you not 
 been told of the warning sent out by our priests 
 against those who ' infest Catholic Seville with 
 Bibles and other 'pernicious hooks ' .? * Are you so 
 ignorant, sefiorita, as to suppose that Scripture read- 
 ings can be safely carried on in a Christian country 
 like this ? " Each questio^u was asked in a tone 
 more loud and shrill than the last, " Every hour I 
 am expecting the alguazils -f- to search this house, 
 this house polluted with heresy. Woe to Don Alcala 
 de Aguilera if that fatal book be found within it ! 
 He will be dragged out of his bed, thrust into some 
 loathsome prison which he will never quit till his 
 carcass be thrust forth to be flung like carrion into 
 some ditch ! I'll not see it — I'll not see it," con- 
 tinued the old retainer with a gesture of passionate 
 gi'ief; "Teresa's hand shall not be the one to open 
 the gate of this palace to those who come to arrest 
 its master ! There's a gran foncion to-day in 
 honour of my patroness, Santa Teresa ; I will go 
 and join the procession, and try if my prayers 
 cannot move the saint to save Don Alcala from 
 the ruin which he is bringing on himself and his 
 house ! " 
 
 * Vide "Daybreak in Spain." t A kind of police.
 
 136 A MIRAGE. 
 
 Away liuiried Teresa, leaving her young lady to 
 do her work and think over her warning:. 
 
 The first occupation was easy enough ; Inez had 
 often prepared her grandmother's meals. But while 
 her slender fingers did their office, the mind of the 
 poor girl was painfully revolving the words ot 
 Teresa. Might they not be only too true — might 
 not Alcala have actually placed himself within reach 
 of the grasp of the law ? Inez was constantly turn- 
 ing in terror to listen for sounds that might an- 
 nounce the coming of alguazils to seize on her 
 brother, and search the house. The horrors of a 
 Spanish prison to a gentleman of refinement, who 
 had not yet recovered from the effects of a wound, 
 and who was too poor to bribe his jailers, might 
 actually realize the picture drawn by Teresa. The 
 heart of Inez sank within her. 
 
 While Donna Benita was partaking of food so 
 delicately prepared by her gj-and-daughter, that not 
 even the old lady's weak, fretful mind could find in 
 it subject for complaint, Inez was planning a little 
 scheme for Alcala's safety, in case a search-warrant 
 should be issued. 
 
 " The Book must not be found in this house, at 
 least not in my brother's possession," thought Inez. 
 " I will not destroy, but I will conceal it. I will 
 carefully wj-ap up the volume, and then bury it deep,
 
 A MIRAGE. 137 
 
 veiy deep, in the earth under the orange-trees which 
 grow round the fountain ; no one will look for it 
 there, and I will take it up again when the danger is 
 over. Alcala will spare it for a few days when I 
 tell him why I have buried the Book. He will miss 
 it the less since he knows, I believe, half of its con- 
 tents by heart already." 
 
 It seemed a long time to Inez before Donna 
 Benita concluded her tedioiis repast ; a long time 
 before her grand-daughter could beat up her pillow, 
 shut out the daylight, and leave the old lady to 
 enjoy the siesta which always followed her morning 
 meal. 
 
 Inez then hurriedly proceeded to the patio, and 
 took, from a recess in which she kept her few gar- 
 den utensils, a spud with which she was wont to 
 weed her parterre. She noticed that her plants 
 looked less flourishing than they had done before 
 her brother's ilhiess ; no one had cared to water or 
 tend them, and many a shrivelled leaf showed the 
 lack of a mistress's care. " Alcala must not find 
 them thus," thought Inez ; " my chief joy in my 
 garden comes from knowing that it gives pleasure to 
 him." 
 
 In haste to accomplish the work of burying the 
 volume during the absence of Teresa, Inez knelt 
 down, and with her imperfect instrument began to
 
 138 A MIKAGE. 
 
 djor a hole in the earth which surrounded the foun- 
 tain. The maiden found the task more difficult 
 than she had expected. The sod was dry and hard; 
 Inez had to bring water to saturate the earth before 
 she could make much impression upon it. 
 
 " A little deeper, — it will be safer to make the 
 hole a little deeper," said Inez to herself, when she 
 paused to take breath after labour which the heat of 
 the day made oppressive. The lady took up her 
 garden utensil again, and struck it, not down into 
 deeper earth, but against something hard which re- 
 turned a metallic clink to the stroke. 
 
 " What can be here ? " exclaimed the maiden. 
 She removed more of the earth, till a small pile of 
 it was deposited on either side of the hole which 
 she had been digging. A little more scraping then 
 revealed to her view, as she bent over the opening, 
 something like a wooden box with a handle of metal. 
 Stooping yet lower, — she was still on her knees, — 
 Inez took hold of the handle, and with an effort of 
 her utmost strength attempted to draw out the box ; 
 but she was unable even to stu' it. 
 
 "Can I help the senorita? " said Chico, who had 
 been attracted to the patio by the slight but unusual 
 noise made by Inez when digging out the earth. 
 Since the death of poor Campeador, the bandy- 
 legged gi-oom had found more time for idling about.
 
 A MIRAGE. 139 
 
 Inez started at the unexpected voice, threw back 
 the long hair which had fallen over her brow as she 
 had stooped and laboured, and rose from her kneel- 
 ing position. Her first feeling was that of annoy- 
 ance at the intrusion of Chico ; but as she was 
 unable to accomplish her object without assistance, 
 she accepted the offer of his aid. The young lady 
 stood on the marble pavement watching while Chico, 
 with considerable labour and difficulty, disengaged 
 the box from the earth in which it had lain em- 
 bedded, and, lifting it out of the hole, laid it heavily 
 down at her feet. 
 
 The box was not so large as an ordinary desk, 
 but exceedingly heavy in proportion to its size. It 
 appeared to be made of walnut wood, with hinges, 
 lock, and handle of steel, and it was clamped with 
 broad bands of the same metal. But for many, 
 many years that box had lain under the earth, and 
 now the steel was rusted, the wood was rotten. 
 The lock, indeed, was a good one still, but the 
 hinges were eaten away with rust, and had no 
 power to resist the strong wrench with which 
 Chico, ere Inez could prevent him, tore off the lid 
 of the box. 
 
 The sight of its contents, thus laid bare to the 
 view, made Inez open wide her dark eyes with sur- 
 prise. The box was a little treasury in itself, hold-
 
 140 A MIRAGE. 
 
 ing wealth packed up in the most portable shape. 
 Rouleaus of gold pieces, cases of jewels, a golden 
 goblet filled with chains, coins, snuff-boxes, all of 
 the same precious metal, appeared before the eyes of 
 the wondering girl. 
 
 " Move nothino: — touch nothino- ! " cried Inez to 
 Chico, who, on his knees, was gloating open-mouthed 
 over the treasure, and about to lift the goblet out of 
 the box to explore what lay beneath it. '' The 
 Sefior Don Alcala must be the first to examine what 
 is within." 
 
 Chico took out a piece of parchment and held it 
 up to Inez, who read on it the following words : — 
 "/, Don Pedro de Aguilera, before leaving Seville 
 to join the army, being apprehensive that the 
 French may one day possibly occupy this city, do 
 bury this casket containing my wife's most valu- 
 able jeiuels, and a portion of my family plate. 
 1810." 
 
 " Heaven has sent help to us in our utmost need!" 
 exclaimed Inez, clasping her hands, and looking up- 
 wards with grateful joy. 
 
 But wealth is wont to bring care, and Inez had 
 no sooner obtained possession of the family treasure 
 than she began uneasily to revolve in her mind how 
 she could best secure it. Her first impulse was to 
 bid Chico carry it at once to her brother's apartment,
 
 A MIRAGE. 141 
 
 and j^lace it under the cave of Aleala. But a moment's 
 reflection made Inez doubt the expediency of this 
 com-se. 
 
 " Aleala is in peril already," thought Inez ; 
 " should I 'not greatly add to his danger by placing 
 in his room, which has not even a key to its lock, a 
 treasure like this ? If the discovery of these rich 
 jewels and pieces of gold were bruited abroad in 
 Seville, it would arouse the cupidity of all the 
 ruffians M'ith whom this city abounds ! My Aleala 
 might be murdered as well as robbed ! Would 1 
 not act more wisely if I buried the treasure again, 
 only taking out, time by time, a few pieces of money 
 to supply our immediate need ? " 
 
 Inez glanced down at Chico, who, in spite of her 
 prohibition, seemed unable to resist the temptation 
 of fingering the gold with his coarse, dirty hands. 
 " I dare not trust Chico," thought Inez, in sore per- 
 plexity ; "if the treasure were buried, he at least 
 would know the secret, and there would be nothing 
 to hinder him from abstracting whatever he pleased 
 from the box. I hope, I think that he is honest ; 
 but the temptation might prove too great. The 
 gold must be kept under lock and key, — where can 
 I place it in safety ? " Inez raised her hand to her 
 brow, and reflected for several moments. It was so 
 new a tiling to the maiden to be burdened with the
 
 142 A MIRAGE. 
 
 care of riches ! Presently an expression of satisfac- 
 tion came to the anxious young face. 
 
 " There is the armoury/' thought Inez ; " the 
 door is strong, and the lock is good. We will shut 
 up the box within it, and give Alcala the key." 
 
 The place which was called the armoury, from 
 weapons and ammunition having once been kept there, 
 was little more than a deep recess in the wall which 
 enclosed the patio, closed in by a low strong door, 
 which had been so constructed as to attract little 
 notice from without. A strangfer miofht have re- 
 sided for months in the house of the Aguileras, and 
 have spent hours every day in the patio, without 
 ever observing that there was a door near to the or- 
 namental grating — indeed, under its shadow when- 
 ever the grating was thrown back. The small key 
 of the armoury had been left in the lock, for there 
 had been no need to use it, the place had been for 
 many years empty of all but dust and rubbish. 
 There could be no better place in which to secure 
 the treasure. 
 
 " Chico," said Inez to her servant, who was still 
 on his knees, fumbling the gold, " mention to no 
 one — not even to Teresa — the finding of this box. 
 You shall be well rewarded for your fidelity and 
 your silence. Now bear the box to the armoury 
 yonder ; I will first lock it up there, and then take
 
 A MIRAGE. 143 
 
 the key to Don Alcala, and tell him what I have 
 done." 
 
 Inez glided across the patio, glad that the grating 
 was closed, so that no stranger from the street could 
 possibly see what was passing within. Followed by 
 Chico carrying the box, the lady reached the ar- 
 moury, opened the door, and tried the lock. 
 
 " Place the box there," said the maiden, pointing 
 to the inmost corner of the recess, close to the door 
 of which she was standing. 
 
 Chico, instead of obeying, set down the heavy 
 box on the pavement, and then, by a movement so 
 sudden that it took Inez completely by surprise, 
 he pushed the lady into the armoury, shut the door, 
 and locked it upon her ! 
 
 Inez cried out aloud in her alarm, when she thus 
 unexpectedly found herself in darkness, a prisoner 
 in her own home. With mingled threats, entreaties, 
 and promises she conjured the false Chico to open 
 the door. The traitor, however, thought time far 
 too precious to wait either to listen or to reply. He 
 could not, indeed, pass through the grating, of which 
 Teresa had taken the key ; but he easily made his way 
 out by the same passage as that through which he 
 had entered, one which communicated with the now 
 empty stable. 
 
 Inez now exerted all her strength in the endea-
 
 144 A MIRAGE. 
 
 vour to force ODen the door, but it resisted her ut- 
 most efforts. The air in the armoury was close and 
 confined. Inez could hardly breathe ; she was faint 
 with exhaustion and terror. Her cries for help were 
 not heard, though she tried to call out loud enough 
 for her voice to reach some passer-by in the street. 
 Inez at last, finding all her exertions vain, could 
 only await in discomfort and misery the return of 
 Teresa, who would liberate her from her prison. 
 
 How long, how intolerably wearisome was the 
 time of waiting ! What painful companions to poor 
 Inez in her solitude were her own reflections ! She 
 could not doubt that the family had been robbed by 
 the worthless Chico, — robbed of their all at the very 
 time when its possession was most sorely needed. 
 The short-lived hopes which the sight of the treasure 
 had raised in the mind of Inez, had vanished from 
 her view like some mirage in the desert before the 
 thirsty traveller's eyes. Poverty — destitution — ap- 
 peared all the more dreadful from contrast with 
 abundance beheld, but not enjoyed. 
 
 The minor cares of the moment lent their weiffht 
 to add to the pressure of greater. Inez was uneasy 
 at the thought of Donna Benita awaking from her 
 siesta, and being frightened at finding no one beside 
 her. Alcala, too, must need his lemonade, and 
 would miss his Book, — the precious volume which
 
 A MIRAGE. 145 
 
 Inez had still in her bosom. Add to all this the 
 physical distress, the sense of suffocation conse- 
 quent on confinement in a place in which there was 
 no circulation of air, and some idea may be formed 
 of the misery endured by Alcala's sister. 
 
 The impatience of Inez had risen to the point of 
 agony long before, to her intense relief, she heard in 
 the vaulted passage the heavy step of Teresa, wearily 
 returning from her visit to "the shrine of her patron 
 saint. 
 
 " Release me — oh, release me ! " cried out Inez 
 from her place of confinement. 
 
 Teresa was so much astonished by hearing the cry 
 for help, mufiled as it came through the closed door 
 of the armoury, that she dropped the key of the 
 gi-ating, which she was just about to open. 
 
 " Make haste — or I die ! " gasped poor Inez. 
 
 Teresa made what haste her infirmities and her 
 
 amazement would permit ; but she had to stoop and 
 
 pick up the key, fit it into the hole, and then push 
 
 open the gi'ating, and every moment thus employed 
 
 was a moment of torture to Inez. At leiisrth, 
 
 guided by the voice of her mistress, the old servant 
 
 entered the patio, and turned round where the armoury 
 
 door stood close behind the grating. In another 
 
 second Inez, trembling and gasping for breath, was 
 
 released from her terrible prison. 
 U66) 10
 
 146 A MIRAGE. 
 
 " 111 the name of all the saints, how came you 
 to be locked up here ? " exclaimed the wondering 
 duenna. 
 
 " Chico has robbed us — I can say no more now ! " 
 faltered Inez, scarcely able to speak. " Go quickly 
 to Donna Benita, — she may want help, — while I — " 
 The sentence was never ended ; for Inez, exhausted 
 and faint as she felt, was already on her way to her 
 brother's apartment. 
 
 " Chico has robbed us ! " echoed the bewildered 
 Teresa, lifting up her hands in amazement, " Robbed 
 the house, and shut up the lady ! I know not what 
 there was in the place that the poorest thief in 
 Seville would think it worth his while to take ! " 
 
 Glancing around her, Teresa soon perceived the 
 disordered state of the patio ; the marble round the 
 parterre encumbered with heaps of dust and earth, 
 and in the ground under the bushes a hole large 
 enough for an infant's grave. Something had surely 
 been dug out, something had been carried away. 
 Teresa was puzzling her brain to divine what could 
 have occurred during her absence, when she was 
 alarmed by sounds, — but the cause of these sounds 
 must be reserved for the ensuing chapter.
 
 CHAPTER XVI7. 
 
 ARRESTU). 
 
 jjNEZ ! — truant ! I have lost you all the 
 morning!" cried Alcala, as he heard 
 the approach of his sister. Inez was 
 surprised on entering the room to see that the 
 wounded man had managed to rise and dress 
 himself without assistance. " I waited for you till 
 I had no patience for longer waiting," continued 
 Alcala cheerfully ; " you have can-ied away my 
 Book, and have been so buried in its contents that 
 you have quite forgotten your brother." 
 
 The playful rebuke was given with a smile, 
 which, however, vanished from the face of Alcala 
 as soon as he turned and looked on that of his 
 sister. 
 
 " What has happened ? " exclaimed Aguilera, 
 alarmed at the appearance of Inez, who stood with 
 pale lips apart, as if still gasping for breath ; her 
 hair, usually smooth as satin, disordered, and pushed
 
 148 ARRESTED. 
 
 carelessly back from a face that bore the impress of 
 terror and suffering. 
 
 The poor girl, exhausted both by the strain on 
 her physical endurance and the alarm which she had 
 undergone, came forward, sank on her knees at her 
 brother's feet, and burst into tears. Inez did not, 
 however, long give vent to her emotions. Strug- 
 gling to speak through her sobs, she gave an account 
 of all that had happened, — the discovery of the 
 treasure, the treachery of Chico, and the cruel means 
 which he had taken to secure his own tiight with 
 the gold. 
 
 Alcala listened with breathless attention and 
 burning indignation. The fiery young Spaniard 
 bit his nether lip hard to keep himself from utter- 
 ing the vow of deep vengeance which, a few weeks 
 before, would have been, under lighter provocation, 
 sternly spoken and ruthlessly kept. It was no easy 
 task to Aguilera to wrestle down and keep under 
 control the passion which he now felt to be unbe- 
 coming a Christian. Alcala, however, said not a 
 word until Inez had finished her story. Then he 
 spoke in a tone of suppressed indignation. 
 
 " This false — Chico must be tracked at once, and 
 forced to yield up his ill-gotten spoil. Would that 
 Lepine had not yesterday started for Madrid, — his 
 intelligence, his English energy, would have been
 
 ARRESTED. 149 
 
 invaluable now. Give me my writing materials, 
 Inez. If I had but strength to go myself to the 
 minister of justice, — surely I have strength," added 
 Alcala, rising and supporting himself by the table, 
 " I shall be given strength to rescue my family from 
 want, and win back the property of my grandmother. 
 The alguazils must at once be set on the scent of the 
 thief" 
 
 " The alguazils ! " faltered Inez, who was still in 
 her crouching position at the feet of her brother ; " 
 Alcala, have we no reason to dread them ourselves ?" 
 
 A heavy tramping in the corridor without was as 
 an answer to the question. Inez sprang to her feet 
 with an exclamation of terror, as the door was 
 opened and the room entered by a body of the 
 Spanish police. 
 
 The flush which indignation had lately brought to 
 Alcala's pale face passed away. Still leaning on the 
 table for support, he drew himself up to his full 
 height, and in a calm voice demanded of the alcalde 
 who headed the party what errand had brought him 
 to the house of a cavalier. 
 
 " I come under a warrant from the corregidor, 
 illustrious senor," said the alcalde, advancing towards 
 his prisoner, and bowing low with the punctilious 
 courtesy peculiar to Spaniards. " It is my painful 
 duty to arrest the noble caballero."
 
 150 ARRESTED. 
 
 " Upon what chai-ge ? " demanded Alcala. 
 
 " The charge of having held an unlawful meeting 
 for the purpose of reading a forbidden Book, sefior/' 
 was the answer. 
 
 " And who has preferred the charge ? " asked 
 Alcala. 
 
 " Your own servant, senor, by name Tomaso 
 Chico, who was one of the party assembled at the 
 meeting, and who engages to bring many other wit- 
 nesses to support his accusation against you." 
 
 " Many witnesses ! " murmured Inez. 
 
 " This Chico is a false villain, who has Just robbed 
 me, and who has doubtless brought the charge 
 against his injured master to incapacitate him from 
 pursuing the traitor, and giving him up to justice," 
 said the indignant Alcala. 
 
 "Of that, illustrious sefior, it is not my part to 
 judge," replied the alcalde. " I have but to perform 
 my duty, which is to search this house for any pro- 
 hibited writings or books, and to bear you off — 
 pardon me, senor — to the pri.son." 
 
 Resistance or expostulation would have been ut- 
 terly useless. Alcala, with quiet dignity, resumed 
 his seat, and motioned to his sister to take one be- 
 side him, while the alguazils commenced their search. 
 It was more rigid than it probably would have been 
 had the cavalier slipped a few dollars into the
 
 ARRESTED. 151 
 
 officer's hands. Aguilera might, perhaps, in that 
 case, have been spared the personal search which 
 made the wounded hidalgo colour both from a sense 
 of violated dignity and actual physical pain. But 
 the thought, " my Lord, this humiliation is for 
 Thy sake ! " took all bitterness from the trial, and 
 Alcala's only care was to calm and reassure his terri- 
 fied sister. 
 
 The search was continued for some time, and ex- 
 tended all over the mansion. Even the apartment 
 of the imbecile old lady was invaded, and Donna 
 Benita was thrown into hysterics by the strange 
 sight of alguazils throwing open her drawers and 
 presses, and dragging forth and flinging on the floor 
 even her articles of dress, notwithstanding the loud 
 indignant remonstrances of Teresa. Every place was 
 explored, every corner searched for the forbidden 
 Book, which, unsuspected by the alguazils, lay under 
 the folds of the mantle of the young senorita. 
 
 Foiled in their search for Bibles, it now only 
 remained for the alguazils to bear ofl" their prisoner. 
 A close conveyance was waiting at the entrance, 
 surrounded by a little mob that had gathered to see 
 the officers of the law bring out their captive. Inez 
 still clung to her brother, hel})ing to support his 
 feeble steps, as, with guards before and behind, Alcaia 
 traversed the long lofty corridor, and entered the
 
 152 ARUKSXED. 
 
 patio. The cavalier paused when he reached the 
 fountain, where he wished to bid his sister farewell. 
 He would not expose Inez to the view of the rabble, 
 the sound of whose voices he now heard without in 
 the street. 
 
 " Allow me a moment, senor," he said, addressing 
 the alcalde, who bowed assent to the trifling delaj^ 
 Then bending down, Alcala imprinted one kiss on 
 the marble-cold brow of his sister. 
 
 " Be of good courage, my Inez ; all will be well," 
 whispered Alcala. " You know not the peace and joy 
 that is given to those who sufier for Him." There 
 was no time to speak more, but with a smile which 
 said more than his words — for it was as the reflec- 
 tion of Heaven's sunshine upon him — Alcala pressed 
 the hand of Inez, and so they parted. A prisoner 
 for conscience' sake, the Spaniard quitted the home 
 of his fathers, and passed over the threshold which 
 he was conscious that he was not likely ever to 
 cross again. 
 
 Inez was almost stunned at first by the sudden- 
 ness of the blow which had fallen upon her. She 
 could hardly realize that she was not in a horrible 
 dream. Was it true — could it be true — that her 
 brother, that Don Alcala de Aguilera had been arrested 
 as if he were a felon, and marched off' to endure, in 
 his enfeebled state, the miseries of a Spanish prison?
 
 ARRESTED. 153 
 
 AJcala's danger so entirely absorbed the mind of 
 Inez that it left no room for a thought of self; in 
 her desolation and poverty the Spanish girl did not 
 even ask herself, " What will become of me ? " 
 
 Inez was roused from her state of half-stupefaction 
 by Teresa, who, beating her breast, and tearing hei 
 gray hair, came up to her young mistress. 
 
 "Ah, Donna Inez! Donna Inez!" she exclaimed, 
 " all this disgrace and misely would never have be- 
 fallen the house of Aguilera had you not sold the 
 hair of Santa Veronica ! " 
 
 " Teresa, this is no time for reproaches," said Inez 
 faintly; " we must act, we must do all in our power 
 to aid my brother. Oh that the English senor were 
 not absent at Madrid ! " 
 
 Teresa ground her teeth at the mention of Lucius 
 Lepine, whom she regarded as the original author of 
 all these calamities, the villain who had corrupted 
 the faith of her master. 
 
 " I can think of no friend to consult save Doima 
 Maria," continued Inez, after a pause for anxious 
 reflection. " Her husband may have some little 
 influence with the Governor, Don Rivadeo ; and she 
 wiU at least give sympathy and advice, Teresa, let 
 us go to Donna Maria at once." 
 
 " We cannot both leave the house," said Teresa 
 sharply. " There's Donna Benita almost in lits. The
 
 164 ARRESTED. 
 
 wretches dared to enter the presence of a lady of 
 the house of Aguilera, and terrify her out of her 
 senses." 
 
 " Hasten to my grandmother, — do not leave her ! " 
 cried Inez. " How could I be so thoughtless as to 
 forget her helpless state for a moment ! " And as 
 Teresa turned away to seek the room of Benita, Inez 
 murmured to herself, " I will go alone to the friend 
 of ray mother."
 
 CHAPTER XVIIi. 
 
 TURNED AWAY. 
 
 N an apartment of a dwelling far less 
 spacious and picturesque in appearance 
 than the home of the Aguileras, but 
 much better furnished with modern comforts, sits 
 Donna Maria de Rivas. She is engaged in seri- 
 ous and interesting conversation with a priest, who, 
 as Father Bonifacio, is already known to the 
 reader. 
 
 "I can hardly yet believe it, father!" exclaimed 
 the lady, vibrating her large black fan as she spoke. 
 " Don Alcala de Aguilera, one of so ancient and 
 honourable a house, to be arrested, and on so pitiful 
 a charge ! If the caballero had been tempted by 
 need to rob the mail (lie is so desperately poor), or 
 in a fit of passion had stabbed an enemy to the heart, 
 it would have been quite a different thing, — one 
 could have understood such acts ; but to get himself 
 locked up for holding a meeting for reading the Bible,
 
 156 TURNED AWAY. 
 
 such a })iece of folly cannot be accounted for, — such 
 madness exceeds all belief!" 
 
 " It is a madness, my daughter, I grieve to say it, 
 that is by no means confined to this unhappy apos- 
 tate," observed the priest. " The disease is infec- 
 tious, the corruption is spreading. Unless sti'ong 
 and sharp measures are speedily taken, this cancer 
 of heresy will eat deep into the very heart of society 
 even in Seville." 
 
 " Impossible !" exclaimed Donna Maria. " I have 
 heai'd, indeed, of Matamoros, and other misguided 
 fanatics; who have happily been arrested by justice 
 in their most wicked course ; but surely the number 
 of these wretches is few, and their example is little 
 likely to be followed by those who see the punish- 
 ment which it brings." 
 
 " Daughter, you little know the strength of this 
 fanaticism, or the subtilt}' with which the poison of 
 heresy is diifused throughout the length and breadth 
 of our Catholic Spain!" exclaimed the ecclesiastic, 
 warming with his subject. " So long as the vile 
 English heretics hold Gibraltar, — would that its rock 
 would fall and ci'ush them ! — so long wiU there be an 
 open door through which all that is evil can enter 
 our land ! Secret agents of I Icnow not how many 
 societies distribute blasphemous tracts against the 
 worship of the blessed Virgin, Purgatory, Interces-
 
 TURNED AWAY. 157 
 
 sion of Saints, and the reverence due by all the world 
 to our holy Father the Pope !" 
 
 Donna Maria crossed herself in pious hoiTor ; and 
 Bonifacio, with increasing vehemence, went on with 
 his oration. 
 
 " Colporteurs hawk Bibles in the by-roads and 
 lanes of Andalusia ; copies are smuggled into rural 
 parishes ; English travellers instil the venom of their 
 heretical doctrines even into the minds of unsuspect- 
 ing cures I The wild mountaineers of the Sierra 
 Nevada and Morena are, in their rude huts, poring 
 over portions of the prohibited Book, and drinking 
 in heresy from every line in its pages !"* 
 
 " But Claret will not suffer such things to go on. 
 Are not the authorities on the watch ?" asked Donna 
 Maria. 
 
 " They are on the watch," said the vehement 
 priest. " Have you not seen the charge of the 
 Lord Bishop of Cadiz ? Does he not piously com- 
 mand and exhort his clergy to exert vigilance, warn- 
 ing them that ' the authors and propagators of evil 
 doctrines aim at attacking religion and society at 
 one and the same time, making use of books as their 
 artillery for battering down, if it were possible, both 
 of these solid edifices ' ? Has he not commanded the 
 faithful to ' detest these bad books, and collect them 
 
 * Vide " Daybreak in Spain."
 
 158 TURNED AWAY. 
 
 that they may be burned ' ? And does not the 
 Government of Her Catholic Majesty nobly second 
 the efforts of bishops and priests ? Vessels are 
 watched in our ports, lest Bibles should lie smuggled 
 in their cargoes ; boxes and packages are searched 
 on our frontiers : but all in vain. If a Spaniard, 
 merely bent on amusement, visit Paris (the last place 
 in the world, one would think, for Protestant propa- 
 gandism), he cannot so much as look round at the 
 wonders of art in the Great Exhibition, without 
 seeing before him copies of the Scriptures, in every 
 language spoken under the sun, and having a por- 
 tion thrust into his hand, to carry back with him 
 into this country. The very air that we breathe is 
 tainted with heresy. I sometimes think," added the 
 priest with a sigh, for he was not of a cruel nature, 
 " that nothing will clear it unless we could lisrht 
 again those fires with which Torquemada, the stanch 
 champion of our faith, burnt out the evil for awhile, 
 consuming bodies in the pious attempt to rescue 
 perishing souls." 
 
 " I should be sorry for such dreadful punishment 
 to overtake poor Aguilera," said Donna Maria. " He 
 is young, and noble, and brave." 
 
 " And therefore the more dangerous, senora," 
 observed the stern ecclesiastic. " I pity the mis- 
 guided young man from the bottom of my heart.
 
 TURNED AWAY. 159 
 
 I pity both him and his sister. I have known Agui- 
 lera from his youth : I knew his father before him. 
 But were the cavalier ni}'^ own brother, I would give 
 him up without a scruple, though not without a sigh, 
 to the utmost rigour of justice." 
 
 A servant now entered the apartment, and an- 
 nounced to his mistress that Donna Inez de Aguilera 
 was waiting without, and desired to see the senora. 
 
 Donna Maria glanced at her confessor before 
 making any reply. The priest frowned signifi- 
 cantly, and shook slightly his shaven head. 
 
 " Tell Donna Inez that I am sorry that I cannot 
 see her to-day ; say that I am particularly engaged," 
 said the lady. 
 
 The servant appeared unwilling to bear the un- 
 gracious message. " The senorita seems in trouble," 
 said the kind-hearted Spaniard ; " she has come on 
 foot ; she has no attendant with her," he added, in 
 a hesitating tone. 
 
 " On foot — without an attendant ! to think of a 
 daughter of the house of Aguilera sinking so low!" 
 exclaimed Donna Maria, much shocked ; and again 
 she glanced almost appealingly at her confessor. 
 
 The sterner frown and more decidedly negative ges- 
 ture of the head were the priest's only reply. Donna 
 Maria reluctantly repeated her orders to the servant, 
 who left the room to obey them.
 
 IGO TURNED AWAY. 
 
 "May I not even see the poor child?" said the 
 lady, as soon as the man had departed. 
 
 " Better not, far better not, my daughter. You 
 know not into what difficulties, what errors, nay, 
 into what dangers you might be drawn by intercourse 
 with any member of the family of the apostate De 
 Aguilera." 
 
 The servant soon returned, his looks expressing 
 compassion. 
 
 " The senorita entreats to be admitted to enter ; 
 she says that her business is most urgent, and can- 
 not be delayed." 
 
 Donna Maria coloured, bit her lip, and looked 
 do"wn at her open fan, as if she were counting the 
 spangles upon it. 
 
 " I cannot see Donna Inez de Aguilera," she re- 
 plied, with a decision of manner which cost her an 
 effort. The senora was a selfish, worldly woman ; 
 but she must have been utterly destitute of natural 
 feeling if she could have unconcernedly driven from 
 her door the friendless, destitute orphan girl, who, 
 as the senora well knew, had come to plead the 
 cause of a brother, and seek a friend's counsel and 
 help in the hour of her deepest distress.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 WANDERING ALONE. 
 
 Y mother's friend then deserts me, all 
 earthly help fails me," thought Inez, 
 as she turned away from the house of 
 Donna Maria de Rivas. " And yet I am not for- 
 saken." Inez glanced upwards where the deep 
 blue sky of Andalusia spread its sapphire dome 
 above the white glaring buildings around her. 
 Inez marvelled at her oAvn calmness imder circum- 
 stances so trying. She had been wandering alone 
 through the streets of Seville, protected from the 
 stare of passers-by only by the thick folds of the 
 veil which the maiden drew closely around both 
 form and face. Inez was painfully aware that she 
 was committing a breach of Spanish etiquette, 
 amounting almost to impropriety. In her country 
 it is deemed unseemly, even for a girl of the humble 
 classes, to walk abroad unaccompanied by a matron; 
 the young sister of De Aguilera knew, therefore, 
 
 UCG) 1 1
 
 162 WANDERING ALONE. 
 
 that she was but too likely to meet with insult ; 
 and her modest, sensitive nature rendered such an 
 ordeal to her peculiarly distressing. Inez could 
 more boldly have made her way through a thicket, 
 where the wolf might lurk or the adder coil, than 
 down those bright, busy streets. But not even the 
 rude Spanish gamins had uttered a jest as the lady 
 glided timidly along ; the beggars, wrapped in 
 their mantles of rags, had not held out their hats 
 to solicit alms. Idle cigaretto-smoking loungers 
 had courteously moved aside to let the maiden go 
 by. It almost appeared to Inez as if she were 
 guarded by invisible spirits, borne up by a strength 
 not her own. 
 
 The maiden was indeed supported by comfort 
 derived from a heavenly source. Inez, before 
 starting on her walk, had opened the Book which 
 was so dear to her brother, and which had so 
 happily escaped the search of the police. The first 
 words which she saw in it were enough for Inez ; 
 she closed the volume, kissed and replaced it in her 
 bosom, repeating over and over to herself the 
 promise, " I luill never leave no r forsake tJtee." Inez 
 uttered no prayer to Virgin or to saint : had not 
 Alcala told her that all such prayers were useless ? 
 Alcala trusted in God alone, and so should his 
 sister trust. Inez went forth, feeding, as it were,
 
 WANDERING ALONE. 163 
 
 on the strong, sustaining nourishment afforded to 
 her soul by a few sweet words from the Holy 
 Scriptures. She was not so wretched, not nearly 
 so wretched, as she had been when Alcala had 
 ridden to the Plaza de Toros. Though Inez had, 
 as yet, only a glimmer of gospel light, she had a 
 comforting persuasion that Alcala was now suffer- 
 ing in a cause in which it was an honour to suffer : 
 no selfish pride, no mere spirit of romance, had 
 brought him to his present condition of peril. His 
 Lord would be with Alcala, even in his prison, as 
 with holy martyrs of old. Desolate as she was, as 
 regarded human help, well might Inez look up to 
 heaven and say, "I am not forsaken." 
 
 But where was the maiden now to turn her 
 steps ? Must she return to her home without 
 making any further effort to find some protector 
 for Ao-uilera ? An almost unconscious prayer for 
 guidance burst from the pallid lips of Inez. Then 
 came the suggestion to her mind, " Wherefore 
 should I not seek help from Antonia, the governor's 
 daughter? Her father is all-])owerful in Seville, 
 and she — oh ! if she be not harder than this pave- 
 ment that I tread on, surely Antonia must interest 
 herself in the fate of Alcala !" 
 
 If there were one being in the world who was 
 an object of aversion to the gentle Inez, that being
 
 1G4 WANDERING ALONE. 
 
 was the Avcalthy beauty of Seville, whose pride had 
 so nearly cost the life of Aguilera. It had been a 
 subject of no small thankfulness to Inez, that her 
 brother, since receiving his wound, had never once 
 mentioned Antonia's name. There was no mis- 
 fortune more dreaded by Inez than that of having 
 to embrace as a sister the heartless Antonia. But 
 when Alcala lay ill of his wound, inquiries had 
 been made regarding his state by a messenger wear 
 ing the governor's livery. Inez covdd scarcely 
 believe it possible that Antonia could reflect with- 
 out grief and remorse on the pain which she had 
 caused to one whom, in the judgment of his young 
 sister, no one could know and not love. 
 
 Inez had herself but slight personal acquaintance 
 with Donna Antonia ; they had met at the house 
 of Donna Maria, and had there exchanged a few 
 words. This slight acquaintance had by no means 
 inclined Inez to wish for closer intimacy with the 
 governor's daughter. Don Lopez de Rivadeo was 
 himself a proud insolent upstart, who owed his place 
 to his relationship to Claret, the confessor of Queen 
 Isabella. No man in Seville was more unpopular 
 than Don Lopez. The - governor only used his 
 power to fill his coifers. His was the hand to close 
 on the bribe ; he sold offices to the highest bidder ; 
 he oppressed the poor, he fleeced the rich ; he was
 
 WANDERING ALONE. 165 
 
 ready at all times, and in all ways, to do the bid- 
 ding of one of the most unscrupulous governments 
 that had ever afflicted even unhappy Spain, It 
 was not willingly that Inez de Aguilera would ever 
 have sought either mercy or justice from such a 
 man as Lopez de Rivadeo ; she had not the power, 
 even had she the will, to work on his cupidity ; 
 she could only hope to influence him through the 
 medium of Donna Antonia. The governor's only 
 child was the pride of her father's heart, as well 
 as the heiress of aU his fortune ; and gossip had 
 whispered that the easiest way to climb to the gTcat 
 man's favour was by a chain of gold or rope of 
 pearl round the neck of his beautiful daughter. 
 
 On, therefore, towards the governor's house went 
 Inez, treading with weary feet over rough stones, 
 sun-baked pavements, across glaring plazas. Thank- 
 ful was the poor wanderer when trees bordering 
 some paseo (promenade) afforded her temporary 
 shade. Full as was the maiden's mind of anxiety 
 and sorrow, nature at last would make its wants 
 felt. Inez had had no refreshment that day since 
 partaking of an early and slender breakfast, and it 
 was now many hours past noon. Inez had had 
 much to exhaust a frame not naturally strong, and 
 had never before walked so far in the heat of the 
 day. The poor girl's mouth was parched and dry
 
 166 WANDERING ALONE. 
 
 with feverish thirst ; weariness oppressed her ; she 
 felt that she could scarcely go further unless she 
 slaked that thirst. 
 
 Happily, Seville offers her sparkling fountains to 
 weary wayfarers like Inez. The maiden, however, 
 shrank from approaching any of the larger foun- 
 tains which ornamented the plazas, fearful of being 
 noticed, perhaps recognized, by some of the gay 
 idlers who congregated around them. There was 
 a fountain in a more quiet corner of a street, where 
 a tiny rill of water trickled from the mouth of a 
 stone dolphin into a basin below. Towards this 
 place Inez now moved her languid feet. 
 
 A man in a high-coned Andalusian hat, and 
 wearing the long cloak which Spaniards think a 
 needful article of dress even in the warmth of Sep- 
 tember, was filling for himself a little tin vessel 
 attached to the fountain. Very near him squatted 
 on the gi'ound a vendor of fruit, the large basket 
 before him piled with tempting oranges, citrons, 
 melons, and figs, and bunches of grapes from Malaga 
 vines. The fruit-seUer was conversing with a 
 third person — a peasant — who was making a simple 
 meal oif roasted chestnuts, while he chatted wdth 
 his companion. Inez stood a few paces distant 
 from the group, waiting till the man in the high 
 hat should have quenched his thirst, that she might
 
 WANDERING ALONE. 167 
 
 satisfy her own. The maiden thus could not avoid 
 hearing some of the conversation passing between 
 the three. 
 
 " But what was the caballero's crime, eh ?" were 
 the first words, spoken by the peasant, which ar- 
 rested the attention of Inez. 
 
 " White Judaism, folk say," was the reply uttered 
 by the vendor of fruit. 
 
 " White Judaism ! what may that be ?" 
 
 The question was apparently more easily asked 
 than answered, for it was not till after sundry 
 shrugs, expressive of perplexity, that the fruit-seller 
 replied : " As far as I can make out, it's plotting 
 to bum all the churches, knock down the convents, 
 and hang all the friars." 
 
 " You've not hit the right mark, my friend," 
 said the man in the high-peaked hat who was fill- 
 ing the tin. " I should know all about the matter, 
 for I've travelled as courier to English caballeros ; 
 and White Judaism is their religion, when they've 
 any at all. It's saying that the holy apostles were 
 Jews, every one of the twelve, and the blessed 
 Virgin herself only a Jewess !" 
 
 The peasant uttered an exclamation of surprise, 
 the fruit-man crossed himself devoutly. " Miseri- 
 cordia ! " he cried ; " I never knew that White 
 Judaism was half so bad as that comes to."
 
 168 WANDERIXG ALONE. 
 
 " You thought it mere burning and hanging," 
 laughed he in the Ajidalusian hat : there was irony 
 in his laugliter. 
 
 " One don't see many in this Catholic land as 
 hold such notions," observed the peasant. 
 
 " You don't see the seeds in yon melon ; but 
 they are there for all that," was the significant re- 
 joinder. 
 
 " Ay, it only needs the sharp knife to cut open 
 the melon, and there are the seeds sure enough," 
 said the peasant. 
 
 " The governor is ready enough with the knife, 
 and he whets it sharp enough," gloomily observed 
 the vendor of fruit. "To think of his ordering off 
 to prison a caballero like Don Alcala de Aguilera!" 
 
 " Was it not he who was nearly killed by the 
 bull?" inquired the man who had just emptied the 
 tin in Spanish fashion — not touching the vessel 
 with his lips, but throwing back his head, and 
 pouring the contents into his mouth. The place 
 at the fountain was now left free for Inez, but she 
 had forgotten her thirst. 
 
 " Ay, ay ; it's pity for him, I take it, that the 
 bull did not kill him outright," said the fruit-man. 
 
 " Why, what will they do with him, if he is 
 found guilty of Judaism, black or white?" asked 
 the peasant.
 
 WANDERING ALONE. 169 
 
 The man who had just left the fountain took on 
 himself to answer the question, while he made his 
 bargain with the vendor of fruit. 
 
 "I'll tell you, friend, what they'll do. (What 
 do you ask now for those figs ?) The judge will 
 find the caballero guilty, of course — for the folk 
 at the court want such as he out of the way ; 
 then he'll be shipped oft' to Cuba to work on the 
 plantations. (You may give me a bunch of those 
 grapes.) At Cuba they chain each Spaniard to a 
 woolly-headed nigger, two and two ; (that's re- 
 freshing in weather like this !) and if the poor 
 convict lag in his work, down comes the whip of 
 tlic driver, who lays it smartly on his bare back, 
 till perhaps the poor wretch drops down dead where 
 he stands !" 
 
 The Andalusian went on, enjoying his luscious 
 fruit, quite unconscious of the keen pang which his 
 idle words had inflicted on a youthful and tender 
 heart.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 
 
 N the spacious garden attached to the 
 governor's house were gathered together 
 some of the gayest and most fashionable 
 of those who moved in the higher circles of Seville. 
 A party had been invited to celebrate with dance, 
 song, and feasting, the birthday of the governor's 
 only daughter. The garden was a little paradise, in 
 which nature and art seemed to outvie each other in 
 ofiering attractions to eye, ear, and taste. Lopez, 
 who, with his daughter, had visited the Great Exhi- 
 bition in Paris, had brought back ideas of French 
 magnificence to add new adornments to a place 
 which, for beauty and elegance, had before been 
 unrivalled in Seville. Exotics from various countries 
 blended with the splendid plants indigenous to An- 
 dalusia, making the parterres one flush of brilliant 
 hues. Italian statues adorned gilded fountains that 
 threw up scented waters to sparkle in the sua
 
 AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 171 
 
 Here, ander the shade of orange-trees, ladies listened 
 to the strains of some manly voice, accompanied by 
 the tinkling guitar. There the fandango was danced 
 on the velvet turf, while clattering castanets kept 
 time. Servants in gorgeous liveries carried about 
 ices shaped into the forms of fruits, or costly luxuries 
 brought from the most distant parts of the world. 
 Others followed with wines such as were to be found 
 in no cellars in Seville save those of the wealthy 
 governor, who was as lavish in expending his money 
 as he was unscrupulous in acquiring it. 
 
 The centre of the brilliant circle, the observed of 
 all observers, the magnet which drew to itself the 
 admiration of every cavalier present — Donna Antonia 
 stood like the queen of beauty, surrounded by satel- 
 lites that only shone in the light of her smile. 
 Antonia concentrated in herself the charms for which 
 the women of Andalusia are famed. Hers were the 
 lustrous almond-shaped eyes, the luxuriant hair, the 
 exquisite form whoso every movement is the per- 
 fection of grace. Perhaps to the eye of an artist 
 Antonia would have appeared more to advantage in 
 the picturesque long white robe and lace veil of the 
 Spanish costume, than in the dress of the newest 
 Parisian fashion with which she had chosen to 
 replace them. But let her wear what she might, 
 Antonia in any garb must have been acknowledged
 
 172 A.V IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 
 
 to be the most beautiful woman in Seville ; and no 
 one was more aware of the fact than hereelf. No 
 expense had been spared in showing off her beauty; 
 the arms and neck of the governor's daugliter were 
 loaded with splendid jewels, and a circlet of brilliants 
 sparkled round her brow. 
 
 It was to be expected that such a subject of 
 interest as the arrest of Don Alcala de Aguilera 
 should afford a topic for gossip amongst members of 
 fasliionable circles, as well as amongst the poorer 
 inhabitants of Seville. Even the cavalier's late 
 adventure in the bull-ring had scarcely been a more 
 exciting, and therefore delightful, theme. There 
 was not a gToup in the gay garden of Lopez de 
 Rivadeo where Alcala's imprisonment did not form 
 a thread in the web of light converse, a thread 
 variously coloured, according to the temper of the 
 speakers, by disapproval, contempt, or pity. The 
 appearance, at least, of the noble hidalgo was familiar 
 to all the guests of Antonia, and every one, more or 
 less, took some interest in his fate. 
 
 " I always declared my conviction that De Aguilera 
 would sink lower and lower after he degraded him- 
 self by stooping to serve an English mechanic," ob- 
 served a stiff-backed don, who had himself not been 
 above begging a place in the customs and enforcing 
 his plea by a bribe.
 
 AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 173 
 
 " I'd have blown out my brains before I'd have 
 done that!" exclaimed a young Spanish officer, 
 twirlinof the end of his slender mustache. 
 
 "De Aguilera took almost as short a method of 
 cutting the life-knot when he rode spear in hand 
 into the Plaza de Toros," observed a stately duenna. 
 
 " I admired his daring," lisped her pretty young 
 charge. " One likes to see the knightly spirit flash 
 forth ; and if Don Alcala had been slain in the arena, 
 one could only have said that it was a pity that so 
 brave and handsome a caballero should come to such 
 an untimely end. But only think of a Spanish 
 hidalgo being carried off to a common prison on such 
 a charge as might be preferred against some book- 
 hawking pedlar !" 
 
 " Or a wretched heretic, whom Torquemada— rest 
 his soul ! — would have sent to the stake," joined in 
 her stern-faced duenna. 
 
 " Heresy must be put down," observed the don 
 who had first spoken, with a frown which might 
 have beseemed the Grand Inquisitor himself This 
 Spanish gentleman, who so strongly condemned what 
 he termed heresy, had himself no faith in an}'^ religion 
 whatever. 
 
 " One pities Don Alcala's sister," said the younger 
 lady. " I rather liked her looks, though she never 
 carried herself with the difirnitv of an Acruilera ; and
 
 174 AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 
 
 as for her dress, she, for one, seemed to tliink that 
 Spanish ladies were born in the frightful mantilla, 
 veil, and high comb worn by their mothers, and 
 must carry them, as birds do their feathers, to the 
 end of their lives !" It need scarcely be mentioned 
 that the fair speaker, like Antonia, had adopted a 
 fashionable Parisian costume, and wore her hair in 
 the Imp&atrice style. 
 
 A cavalier, with obsequious reverence, such as he 
 might have shown to Queen Isabella herself, was 
 presenting to Donna Antonia the fan which she had 
 dropped, when one of her servants approached her, 
 and in a low tone informed his mistress that a lady 
 who called herself Donna Inez de Aguilera asked a 
 few minutes of private audience with the senorita. 
 
 "Donna Inez de Aguilera!" exclaimed Antonia, 
 in a tone that expressed curiosity rather than pity ; 
 "is she waitinjx in her carriage without?" 
 
 " The senorita is on foot, and unattended," said 
 the lackey, hardly suppressing a smile. 
 
 Antonia laughed — such a light, gay laugh — and 
 the sycophants around her echoed the tones of her 
 mirth. " Donna Inez doubtless comes to entreat my 
 intercession for the caballero her brother," said the 
 governor's daughter. " Would it not be like a scene 
 out of some French romance, if we were to see this 
 demoiselle-err ante humbling herself to play the suj>-
 
 AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 175 
 
 plicant here !" And forgetting, or rather disregaiJ- 
 ing Inez's request that the audience might be private, 
 Antonia bade her servant introduce the senorita into 
 the crowded garden. 
 
 Purposely or not, Antonia moved a few steps to a 
 place where a slight elevation of the ground gave 
 her a raised position, such as might have been 
 afforded by a dais, and her flatterers formed behind 
 "her a semicircle which might have graced the court 
 of a queen. There was a smile of conscious triumph 
 on the lips of the governor's daughter. The house 
 of Aguilera was older by three centuries than that 
 of Rivadeo, and to see a descendant of one of the 
 conquerors of the Moors reduced to implore a 
 boon in the presence of so many spectators was 
 a gratification to the mean ungenerous pride of 
 Antonia. 
 
 There mingled also with that pride a spirit of 
 petty revenge. Inez had once been invited to a 
 party at the governor's house, and the invitation had 
 not been accepted. There had been various reasons 
 for the refusal of Inez to appear in the gay assembly, 
 — one of the most potent amongst them being the 
 lack of a suitable dress, — but Antonia imagined but 
 one. The heiress of De Rivadeo thought herself 
 slighted by a proud descendant of heroes, and deeply 
 resented the slight.
 
 17G AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 
 
 " Inez de Aguilera is the only woman in Seville 
 wlio would not have thought herself honoured by 
 my invitation," Antonia had observed to one of her 
 numerous sycophants ; and the haughty girl had 
 added the bitter remark, " She may live to repent 
 her folly." Antonia now deemed that the time for 
 such repentance had come. 
 
 Inez, whose natural timidity had been increased 
 by habits of seclusion, felt as if she would fain have 
 sunk into the earth, when, on being conducted into 
 the garden, she saw what an ordeal was before her. 
 After all that she had suffered during that terrible 
 day, might she not have been spared the mental 
 torment of facing alone such a crowd of spectators ! 
 But still the weak and weary one felt that mysterious 
 sustaining power which led her gently on, like the 
 support of a father's arm. Inez lifted up her heart 
 in that short ejaculatory prayer which has been 
 beautifully described as the golden link between 
 earth and heaven. Then Inez remembered her 
 brother, and self was almost forgotten. With the 
 meek dignity of sorrow the lady followed the servant, 
 and feelings of compassion for her were awakened 
 even in worldly hearts. An elderly Castilian cava- 
 lier came forward, and with the profoundest respect 
 offered his escort to the desolate girl. Antonia was 
 annoyed on witnessing this little act of courtesy, and
 
 AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 177 
 
 more especially so as the Castilian's rank made him 
 one of the stars of her party. 
 
 " We are much flattered by the appearance at our 
 festival of Donna Inez de Aguilera," said Antonia, 
 with ironical politeness, as Inez approached the raised 
 place where the governor's daughter stood to receive 
 her. " To what happy chance may we owe this 
 somewhat unexpected gratification?" 
 
 All the courtly throng kept silence so profound 
 that Inez's low answer was heard distinctly. 
 
 " I come, Donna Antonia, to entreat you to pro- 
 cure some — some alleviation for the trials of my 
 brother. He has been accused by his own false 
 servant, a servant who has lately robbed hun, and 
 who, by this cruel means, hopes to shield himself 
 from the pursuit of his master." 
 
 "And what would you have me do in this 
 matter ?" interrupted Antonia. " Would you expect 
 me to hunt out the robber, who was doubtless 
 tempted by the hoards of wealth possessed, as we 
 all know well, by the family of De Aguilera ? I 
 am neither corregidor nor alguazil, and must beg to 
 make over the quest to the officers of the law." 
 
 Inez resumed her pleading as if the insolent taunt 
 were unnoticed by her. 
 
 " My brother Don Alcala is still very weak from 
 the effects of a wound received in the Plaza de 
 
 (466) 12
 
 178 AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 
 
 Toros," — the cavalier's sister laid an emphatic stress 
 on the name of the place. " This day my brother 
 was earned off to a prison ; the hardships and suf- 
 ferings to which he will there be exposed may cost 
 him his life. I only ask for your intercession that 
 Don Alcala may be suffered to return to his house, 
 and remain, if need be, a prisoner there on parole, 
 till the strictest search be made into his conduct. 
 I am certain " — the sister unconsciously warmed as 
 she spoke — " I am certain that such search will only 
 prove that Don Alcala has acted nobly." 
 
 " Donna Inez comes to plead rather like one 
 demanding a due than suing for a favour," said the 
 sarcastic Antonia. " An Aguilera must needs have 
 a claim to our utmost exertions ; even to hint that 
 our intercession would be acceptable must seem un- 
 necessary to the pride of his sister." 
 
 "Pride!" echoed the wondering Inez, to whom 
 her own position appeared to exclude such an idea ; 
 " pride !" she repeated passionately, " when I would 
 go on my knees to obtain the liberty of Alcala !" 
 
 "Scarcely, I suspect, even to save his life," said 
 the governor's daughter. 
 
 As if by a sudden impulse Inez sank on her 
 knees ; if that humiliation would win a protectress 
 for Alcala, even to that would she stoop. Antonia 
 glanced with a proud smile first down at Inez, then
 
 AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAL. 179 
 
 round at her guests. This was a crowning triumph 
 indeed ! 
 
 " Rise, Donna Inez de Aguilera," said the gover 
 nor's daughter after a pause ; " I am sorry that ] 
 cannot, even in your behalf, break the vow which I 
 have made, under no circumstances whatever to 
 interfere with my father's administration of justice." 
 
 Some of the spectators could hardly suppress the 
 exclamation of "Shame!" as Inez rose from her 
 knees, deadly pale, but perfectly calm. The screen 
 had, as it were, been withdrawn from before the idol 
 they had worshipped, and they had had a glimpse 
 of the moral hideousness which may lie under the 
 veil of outward beauty. 
 
 " May you. Donna Antonia, never know what it 
 is to ask for mercy in vain !" murmured Inez ; and 
 without uttering another word she turned to depart. 
 Many of those present would willingly have shown 
 the poor maiden sympathy and done her service, 
 but dared not com.e forward to do so under the eyes 
 of their tyrant. The Castilian alone, wdth lofty 
 courtesy, accompanied the young lady to the gate, 
 and beyond it. His escort was no small comfort to 
 Inez ; she had not to pass alone through the gazing 
 throng of servants who were without the garden 
 enclosure awaiting the departure of the guests of the 
 governor's daughter.
 
 180 AN IDOL ON ITS PEDESTAI-. 
 
 " May I have the honour of summoning the car- 
 riage of the Donna Inez de Aguilera?" asked her 
 courteous protector, bowing low as he spoke. 
 
 " No, senor ; I will return as I came," murmured 
 Inez faintly; "and thanks — thanks!" She could 
 not add more, but turned from her pitying conduc- 
 tor and went on her lonely way. 
 
 But Inez could not walk far. The excitement of 
 hope sustained her no longer, no strength for further 
 effort remained. Weights of lead seemed to cling 
 to the poor girl's feet, there was a rushing sound in 
 her ears as if the ocean were near. Mist gathered 
 before the eyes of Inez, dimming the brilliant sun- 
 shine which yet flooded the city. The Spanish 
 maide-n had painful difficulty in breathing, and to 
 get air intuitively threw back her veil. As she did 
 so the voice of one who was about to pass her in the 
 street uttered her name in a tone of surprise. The 
 fainting girl was only able to recognize the speaker 
 ere her powers completely gave way, and she would 
 have fallen to the ground in a swoon but for the 
 supporting arms of Lucius Lepine.
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 TWO ANGELS. 
 
 E will now return to Alcala, whom we left 
 on his way to the prison. 
 
 Slowly the conveyance in which the 
 cavalier was seated, guarded by several alguazils, 
 rolled through the streets of Seville. Alcala sat as 
 far back in the vehicle as he could, to avoid the gaze 
 of curious eyes ; for many of the populace were 
 eager to get a sight of a hidalgo sent to prison for 
 White Judaism, that mysterious crime. Once only 
 did Alcala lean forward in his seat, and that was to 
 catch a glimpse of the outer wall of the huge Coliseo 
 of Seville, the Plaza de Toros. 
 
 What a gush of thankfulness came into the breast 
 of Alcala at the sight of that place, the scene of his 
 rash, ungodly venture ! Had he been left to expire 
 in that arena which it had been a crime to enter, 
 where would his soul now have been ! But tlie 
 heavenly Father, whom he liad so deeply offended,
 
 182 TWO ANUELS. 
 
 would not suft'er the sinner to perish in his sin. 
 Mercy had not only snatched him from destruction 
 both of body and soul, but had made the rebel a son, 
 had granted to the ti-ansgressor the privilege of suf- 
 fering for the sake of the gospel. The realization 
 of the freeness of God's grace, the depth of His love, 
 excluded for the time from the spirit of the Spaniard 
 all less powerful emotions. 
 
 It may be said that there are two heaven-sent 
 guides appointed to lead through life's pilgrimage 
 all those who in faith seek a heritage above. The 
 FEAR OF God and the love of God are these two 
 guiding angels. The former, in somewhat austere 
 beauty, appears in garments of spotless white ; for 
 the fear of the Lord is dean, and on his snowy 
 pinions is inscribed the word " obedience." Blessed 
 are they who are led by this spirit of reverence, as 
 a poet has uobly expressed the thought, — " Fearino- 
 God, they have no other fear."* 
 
 It is this angel who is wont to meet pilgrims 
 on the outset of their career, to guide their first 
 feeble steps in the narrow path of duty ; but often- 
 times he yields place to another spirit even more 
 glorious than he. Not tliat the fear of God can 
 ever be far removed from the Christian, but his 
 form is half hidden by the radiance of his twin- 
 
 " " Je crains i)ieu, cher Abiier, et je n'ai il'autre craiute." — Racikk.
 
 TWO AXGELS. 183 
 
 brother, the second guide of the pilgrim. Holy fear 
 is fair indeed, but who can describe the seraphic 
 beauty of holy love ! He shines with the glory 
 reflected from the smile of a reconciled God ; all the 
 tints of heaven's i-ainbow glitter in his quivering 
 wings, their motion is light, and their inscription is 
 "joy." The fear of God leads us onward, the love 
 of God bears us upward. Blessed, thrice blessed, 
 those over whom the second angel waves his pinions 
 of joy ! 
 
 Often, very often, has this spirit been sent on a 
 special mission to those who suffer for conscience' 
 sake. When he is near, earthly griefs seem to have 
 lost their power to pain ; his soft whisper drowns 
 with its music the scoff of the persecutor, the yell 
 of the furious mob. Cheered by that whisper, the 
 martyr has gone with light step and joyous counte- 
 nance to meet the king of terrors. He has felt, 
 though man could not see, the waving of the bright 
 wings, and has, with cheerful courage, embraced the 
 cross or the stake ' 
 
 It is this angel of light who has come into many 
 a sick-room, and turned it into a chamber of peace. 
 He has gently smoothed the pillow, touched the 
 pain- wrinkled brow, and its furrows have disap- 
 peared ; there has been such happiness imparted by 
 the presence of the love ol" Gud that weeping, won-
 
 184 TWO ANGELS. 
 
 deriiig Ineuds have owned that the last enemy him- 
 seli' has lost all his stino:. 
 
 o 
 
 " No smile is like the smile of death, 
 Wben all good musings past 
 Rise wafted on the parting breath. 
 The sweetest thought the last !" 
 
 Alcala, on his way to his prison, was accompanied 
 by this invisible angel, and, in the strength imparted 
 by the love of God, could make an apostle's words 
 his own. He could say, " We rejoice in the glory 
 of God. And not only so, but we glory in tribula- 
 tions also: knowing that tribulation worketh im- 
 tience ; and patience, experience ; and experience, 
 hope. And hope maketh not ashamed; because the 
 love of God is shed abroad in our hearts!"
 
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 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 STRANGE COMPANY. 
 
 ]HE vehicle which conveyed Alcala to his 
 destination stopped at the entrance of a 
 dark and gloomy building, situated in a 
 narrow street. Through a vaulted passage, dimly 
 lighted, Alcala was conducted to a door in which was 
 a c'ratino; formed of thick ii'on bars. At this door 
 one of the alguazils who escorted the prisoner knocked. 
 The face of a jailer was dimly visible through the 
 grating, and then there was the sound of withdrawal 
 of bolt and turning of key ; the heavy door was 
 slowly swung back, and Alcala entered the prison. 
 
 Through a vestibule the cavalier was then con- 
 ducted to an office-room, in which, seated at a high 
 desk, appeared the alcalde of the prison, a hollow- 
 eyed, melancholy man. He glanced at the warrant 
 which was formally })resented to him by one of the 
 alguazils, then rose, and with gloomy ceremony 
 welcomed his involuntary guest.
 
 186 STRANGE COMrANY. 
 
 " Seiior," said the alcalde, with a low inclination 
 of the head, " may your residence here be a brief 
 one. Permit me to have the honour of myself in- 
 troducing you into your temporary abode. I regret 
 to see that the health of the illustrious caballero 
 appears to be impaired." 
 
 After a ceremonious exchange of courtesy with 
 the alcalde who had arrested him, and who retired 
 after delivering up his charge to the prison authori- 
 ties, Alcala followed his jailer to a huge grated door, 
 which was guarded by a couple of turnkeys. This 
 barrier also was passed, and with a heavy, echoing 
 clang the massive door closed on the prisoner. 
 Alcala and his jailer were now in a corridor, lighted 
 by narrow barred windows, looking on a patio, in 
 which a number of prisoners were taking what air 
 and exercise its confined space permitted. 
 
 " Most noble caballero," said the jailer, who now 
 walked by the side of Alcala, "in this melancholy 
 abode there is preserved a due distinction of ranks. 
 We have a few apartments reserved for illustrious 
 seiiors like yourself, whom misfortune may have led 
 to visit our retreat for awhile." 
 
 As Alcala only replied by a slight inclination of 
 the head, the alcalde thought that his hint had not 
 been understood by his captive. 
 
 " Cavaliers are permitted to furnish their apart-
 
 STRANGE COMPANY. 187 
 
 merits according to their good pleasure, senor ; and 
 they are waited on by the attendants with the dis- 
 tinction becoming their rank. But, of com-se, this 
 alleviation of the trial of detention within these 
 walls belongs only to those who — " The alcalde 
 hesitated, so Alcala relieved him from the difficulty 
 of further explaining his meaning. 
 
 " I suppose that the private apartments are re- 
 served for those who have the means of paying for 
 them," said Alcala. ''This, sehor, I have not." 
 
 " I regret that on the present occasion every one 
 of these rooms is occupied, illustrious caballero," 
 observed the jailer, still — though disappointed of 
 his expected gains — preserving his ceremonious 
 politeness, as he ushered Alcala into the large 
 vaulted gloomy dungeon which the cavalier was to 
 share with the fifty or sixty criminals who crowded 
 the place. 
 
 The sioht, the scent of the den in which he was 
 to pass, perhaps, the remainder of a brief life, were 
 enough to try the fortitude of any one who had, 
 like Alcala, been gently nurtured. The place was 
 dirty to a disgusting degree, and utterly unfur- 
 nished. The brick floor, on which some of the 
 inmates were squatting and others reclining, served 
 at once for chair, table, and bed. Ofiensive odours 
 poisoned the air; the aspect of the place was revolting.
 
 188 STRANGE COMPANY. 
 
 To an artist, iudeed, the scene, as beheld by light 
 stniggling through grated windows coated with 
 dust, might not have appeared devoid of picturesque 
 effect. There was no clipped hair to be seen, no 
 prison-di-ess common to all the inmates ; each crim- 
 inal wore what he would, and a curious variety of 
 costumes appeared before the eyes of Alcala There 
 were here and there dashes of bright colour from 
 waistcoats of green or blue silk, worn, uncovered 
 by coat or jacket, over shirts with large flowing 
 sleeves. These gaudy articles of costume marked 
 the bandit race, who had probably been committed 
 to prison for robbery or murder on the highway. 
 On other criminals appeared the sheep-skin of the 
 peasant, or the mantero of the citizen ; one man 
 was seen in buff jerkin, with jack-boots reaching 
 half-way up his thigh. Most of the prisoners wore 
 the faja, or waist-belt, so characteristic a part of 
 Spanish costume, — being a very long piece of cloth, 
 usually black or red, twisted round the middle of 
 the person, and forming a receptacle for the purse, 
 and sometimes the dagger. 
 
 Of course the entrance of a new companion in 
 misfortune awakened curiosity, and attracted the 
 attention of all the motley groups. A murmur of 
 " 'Tis a caballero ! " was heard from the dark re- 
 cesses of the place of confinement
 
 STRANGE COMPANY. 189 
 
 But though the den was mostly filled with mis- 
 creants who had broken every one of the ten com- 
 mandments, an Englishman must have been struck 
 by the absence of bnital coarseness, whether of 
 manner or conversation, which he would have ex- 
 pected amongst the lowest class of criminals thus 
 promiscuously thrown together. Men who had pre- 
 served no sense of honour, no scruple of conscience, 
 men who might have robbed a church or murdered 
 a brother, demeaned themselves as though they pre- 
 served some self-respect still. It is a peculiarity of 
 the Spanish race that, to a certain extent, even the 
 poorest appear to be gentlemen born. The beggar 
 has his dignity ; the picker of pockets his grace. 
 Alcala had to encoimter no insolent banter, no 
 brutal jests, when he found himself amongst the 
 scum of Spanish society in the common prison of 
 Seville 
 
 The cavalier's first feeling was one of utter dis- 
 gust and repulsion, and an intense longing for soli- 
 tude, were it even only to be sought in the darkest 
 and most narrow of cells. Alcala had been brought 
 up in aristocratic seclusiveness, and his besetting sin 
 was pride. He reproached himself now for the 
 selfish haughtiness which would fain have raised an 
 impenetrable wall between himself and his com- 
 panions in suffering.
 
 190 STRANGE COMPANY. 
 
 " How is it that I, myself rescued from depths of 
 guilt, dare to despise my fellow-sinners ? " mused 
 Alcala. " Who hath made me to differ from them ? 
 Wherefore should I desire to be secluded from all 
 opportunities of serving my kind, because my pride 
 shrinks from contact with those whom I deem be- 
 neath me ? Here is the post which my Lord has 
 assigned me. May He give me strength to bear 
 witness for Him even in the prison, and deliver His 
 message to some who, if they had heard it before, 
 might never have entered this horrible den." 
 
 Alcala had scarcely had time for these reflections, 
 when he was accosted by a lithe, active-looking 
 man of very dark complexion, who had come from 
 the further end of the dungeon on seeing him enter. 
 
 " Most illustrious caballero, Don Alcala de Aguilera, 
 we have met before," said the man. 
 
 " And where, my friend ? " asked Alcala. 
 
 " In the Plaza de Toros, senor. My name is 
 Diego. I was one of the chulos who planted a 
 banderilla in the neck of the bull which your 
 worthiness met so bravely." 
 
 " I am engaged in a different contest now," said 
 Alcala, who was resolved not to let either the weari- 
 ness of his frame, or the repugnance of his spirit, 
 prevent his entering into conversation with the 
 companions whom he hoped to influence for their
 
 STRANGE COMPANY. 191 
 
 good. The cavalier seated himself on the floor, 
 supporting his back against the wall ; and the 
 chulo, who was inclined to be sociable, stretched 
 himself, resting on his elbow, beside the senor. 
 
 " Your woriship finds yourself in strange com- 
 pany," observed this self-constituted cicerone of the 
 prison, lowering his tone so as not to be overheard 
 by the ruffians around him. "Yonder, jabbering 
 their Egyptian gibberish, is a party of Zingali : the 
 worst punishment to them is to have a roof over 
 their heads ; the Gitano would rather lie in a ditch 
 than a palace, boil his kettle under a hedge than 
 feast at the governor's table. To the left there, 
 senor, are smugglers from Cadiz ; many a contra- 
 band bale has galled the backs of their mules as 
 they moved over the sierra by moonlight. He in 
 the red faja behind them is a highly respectable 
 man ; he merely hacked a rival to death in a com- 
 bat with knives : it is strange that the alguazils 
 should have thought it worth while to an-est the 
 poor fellow for a simple affair like that. But yon 
 gentleman with the bright blue jacket has earned 
 his lodging at Her Majesty's expense ; he is a 
 brigand from the Sierra Morena, and has, I trow, 
 cut more throats than he has fingers upon his two 
 hands." 
 
 Alcala wondered silently for what crime his com-
 
 192 STRANGE COMPANY. 
 
 municative companion had himself been committed 
 to prison. Diego did not long leave him in ignor- 
 ance of the cause. 
 
 " It is a .shame to put me with such as these," 
 said the talkative chulo ; " I am a i)olitical offender," 
 he added, with something like pride. " Not a Car- 
 list, mind you, senor ; I am locked up in this ken- 
 nel merely for saying what all the world thinks, 
 though not all have the courage to speak out their 
 minds. I did but say that it is a disgrace that 
 such a wretch as he whom the Queen has always 
 at her elbow should be suffered to ride rough-shod 
 over the necks of the Spanish nation, and that I 
 wished that the nun Patrocinio would keep to her 
 cell and leave politics alone. I did add — and 1 
 care not who knows it," continued the chulo, " that 
 we shall never see good days till we have our ex- 
 iled General Prim back again ! Prim is the man to 
 make Spain once more what she was in the gloriou.s 
 old times I "
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 PREACUING IN PRISON. 
 
 ^lEGO was not suffered long to monopolize 
 conversation with the new-comer. One 
 of the smugglers drew near, and ad- 
 dressed himself to Alcala. 
 
 " I trow, caballero, that you've not seen the in- 
 side of a prison quite so often as I have ; you are 
 new to this kind of lodging. Maybe you've been 
 sent hither for some little duelling affair ; you've 
 run some rival through the body, and, to judge by 
 your looks, he has returned the compliment by 
 giving you a taste of his steel." 
 
 There was a general hush in the conversation 
 which had been going on amongst the various 
 groups of prisoners, all listening to hear Alcala's 
 reply. 
 
 " No," answered De Aguilera, " I have injured no 
 man." 
 
 " You're a Carlist ? " suggested the brigand, who 
 
 (466) 13
 
 194 PREACHING IN PRISON 
 
 stood near, with liis brawny arms folded across his 
 broad chest. 
 
 " I have taken no ])art in ])olitics," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " What then have you done ? " asked Diego ; 
 " gentlemen are not given free quarters for nothing." 
 
 " I have been placed under confinement," an- 
 swered Alcala, " for the crime of reading a book 
 aloud in my own private dwelling." 
 
 This reply excited a good deal of surprise amongst 
 the assemblage of gipsies, foot-pads, smugglers, and 
 thieves. They were acquainted with most kinds 
 of crimes ; the novelty of this one whetted their 
 curiosity. 
 
 " What was the book, senor ? " was asked by 
 half-a-dozen voices at once. 
 
 " The Bible," replied Alcala. 
 
 " Ah ! that's what the friars are mad against," 
 said one. 
 
 " What the monks want to burn," muttered an- 
 other. 
 
 " What is to Claret and the rest of 'em what the 
 red flag is to the bull," observed Diego the chulo. 
 
 Alcala remarked that not one of the speakers 
 appeared inclined to make cojimon cause wnth the 
 priests. 
 
 " I wonder what there is in that Bible to make
 
 PKEACUING IN PRISON. 195 
 
 men fear it as if a stiletto were hidden between its 
 two boards ! " said the robber. 
 
 " Have you the book with you, caballero?" asked 
 the smuggler who had before addi-essed Aguilera. 
 
 " Unfortunately I have not," said Alcala ; " but 
 I have committed to memory many portions of its 
 contents. If it would be any gratification to the 
 gentlemen present," — Alcala glanced around him as 
 he spoke, — " I would willingly let them judge for 
 themselves whether or not it is wise and right in 
 the priests to try to put the Bible beyond the reach 
 of the people." 
 
 " Let's hear, let's hear," resounded from every 
 side, and the groups at the further end of the dun- 
 geon drew nearer to listen. Curiosity, the love of 
 novelty, and eagerness to hear anything that would 
 break on the "wretched monotony of prison life, were 
 powerful incentives with all. 
 
 That was a stranije audience indeed ! Villains 
 stained with various crimes thus brought together 
 to hear for the first time in their lives the gospel 
 message of mercy. Alcala silently prayed for wis- 
 dom and the bodily strength which he so sorely 
 needed ; for what with the heat and the scent of the 
 place, the fatigue which his weakened frame had 
 undergone, and the reaction after excitement, the 
 cavalier doubted whether his physical powers would
 
 196 PKEACHING IN PRISON. 
 
 hold out under tlie strain. Diego noticed the deadly 
 pallor of the prisoner's face, and stretching out his 
 hand where he lay, the chulo drew towards him a 
 jar partly filled with water, which had been left 
 near the wall. 
 
 " Let the senor drink first," said Diego. " Pity 
 'tis that we cannot offer him the good wine of 
 Xercs ; but water is better than nothing." 
 
 " It is the gift of God," thought Alcala, as he 
 first drank eagerly of the contents of the jar, and 
 then pouring some into his hand, moistened with it 
 his feverish brow and aching temples. The refresh- 
 ment was great, and Alcala' s strong will could now 
 for a time master the weakness of nature. Diego, 
 who seemed to think that the fact of their having 
 attacked the same bull formed a kind of link be- 
 tween himself and Alcala, now helped the cavalier 
 to rise to his feet. It was only in a standing 
 posture that Aguilera could make himself heard by 
 his numerous auditors, but he still leaned for sup- 
 port against the friendly wall of the prison. 
 
 " I will repeat to you," began Alcala, " the Bible 
 account of the imprisonment, after severe scourging, 
 of the Apostle Paul and Silas his friend and com- 
 panion. You shall hear how they endured their 
 sufferings, how they prayed and recei-\'ed such an 
 answer from Heaven, that their jailer himself,
 
 PREACHING IN PRISON. 197 
 
 struck with terror, came trembling and fell at their 
 feet." 
 
 This preface commanded the silent attention of 
 those who were themselves inmates of a prison. 
 
 Simply, but impressively, Alcala repeated the 
 naiTative contained in the sixteenth chapter of Acts ; 
 but when he came to the jailer's all-important ques- 
 tion, " What miLst I do to be saved ? " the speaker 
 made a solemn pause, and gazed earnestly on the 
 wild dark faces before him. 
 
 " What Tnust I do to be saved ? is not that ques- 
 tion echoed by each one here ? " said Alcala, every 
 word welling up from the depths of a soul filled 
 with that love to the Saviour which overflows in 
 love to the souls which His life-blood bought. 
 " Can reason answer that question ? " The speaker 
 paused ; no voice made reply. " How does the 
 Chui-ch of Rome try to answer it ? She bids us 
 trust the safety of our undying souls to confession 
 to man, and absolution pronounced by man, to the 
 penance which man may prescribe, to forms and 
 rites and Latin prayers, and the intercessions of 
 those who were themselves but men in need of 
 salvation. In the Romanist Church man comes be- 
 tween the sinner and the Saviour. But what was 
 the an.swer to the cry, ' What must I do to be 
 saved ? ' given by the holy apostle whom the Spirit
 
 19b I'REACHING IN PRISON. 
 
 of God inspired ? " Tlie prisoner for conscience' 
 Scake forgot all but the glorious truth which he 
 uttered when repeating another prisoner's words, 
 " ' Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shall 
 be saved !' " 
 
 " Is that message for us too ? " asked Diego, 
 whose voice was the first to break the silence which 
 ensued. 
 
 " It is for all," cried Alcala ; " the offer of mercy 
 embraces all. Will you hear in how singular a 
 manner it was brought home to me ? " 
 
 The time had not been long past when it would 
 have been impossible to the proud young Spaniard 
 to have owned a weakness, or confessed an error, 
 before such an audience as this. The cavalier 
 would sooner have died than have stooped to place 
 himself on a level with such outcasts as those now 
 before him. But pride, a strong man armed, had 
 been overcome by a stronger than he. Alcala told 
 how his own soul had been darkened by the shadow 
 of death, how the future had seemed a terrible blank, 
 and how life and light and joy had been brought by 
 a single verse from that Book which the Church ol 
 Rome would shut out from the people. The cava- 
 lier told of the strange coincidence, which to some 
 of his hearers appeared a miracle, by which the torn 
 leaf once flung to the dust, then written upon by
 
 PREACHING IN PRISON. 199 
 
 himself, had reappeared at the moment when most 
 he needed its message of peace. Then, leaving all 
 personal themes, Alcala spoke of justification by 
 faith, of free pardon offered to rebels, but not that 
 they should continue in their rebellion against a 
 merciful God. Alcala spoke of what that pardon 
 had cost, — of the cross and passion, the agony and 
 bloody sweat, and of the return of love which the 
 redeemed must make for such unutterable love ! 
 Scripture truths in Scripture words flowed spon- 
 taneously from the Hps of Alcala ; and while the 
 fervour of the spirit overcame the weakness of the 
 suffering flesh, the Spaniard was indeed as " a dying 
 man preaching to dying men." 
 
 The effort could not last long ; the address was a 
 brief one, and all the more forcible because it was 
 brief When Alcala, faint and exhausted, stretched 
 himself on the hard floor of his dungeon, and closed 
 his eyes, he experienced that sweet rest which has 
 been described as "a, sense of duty performed." 
 The captive had borne witness for his Master, he had 
 glorified God in the fires, he had been permitted to 
 scatter seeds of life where no sower had ever laboured 
 before. Alcala left the result in the hand of Him 
 who once from a cross spoke the word of grace to a 
 thief 
 
 " Is he sleeping— or dead ? " said one of the rob-
 
 200 PREACniNG IN PRISON 
 
 bers to Diogo, who was nearest to the now prostrate 
 form of Alcala. 
 
 " I trow that he sleeps, — but he looks as if the 
 sleep would be his last," was the softly-uttered re- 
 ply. The chulo took off his own mantle, and laid 
 it gently over the young cavalier. 
 
 " No marvel that the Bishop of Cadiz calls the 
 Bible contraband," observed a smuggler ; " if it were 
 carried through Spain by such men as this caballero, 
 I trow that it would spoil the business of friar and 
 monk." 
 
 "And ours too," muttered the robber.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A FRIEND. 
 
 HE cause of Lucius Lepine's unexpected 
 reappearance at Seville must be briefly 
 explained. While on his journey to- 
 wards Madrid, to which city Mr. Passmore had sent 
 his clerk to transact some business, Lucius had acci- 
 dentally heard that the merchant to whom he was 
 going had actually passed him on the road, having 
 made up his mind to travel to Seville in order to 
 have a personal interview with the manufacturer. 
 As there would consequently be no use in Lepine's 
 prosecuting his journey, he returned at once to 
 Se\dlle, in time, as we have seen, to meet Inez a 
 few minutes after she had quitted the governor's 
 gate. 
 
 As Inez had almost swooned, the first care of 
 Lucius was to stop an empty vehicle which chanced 
 to be passing, in order that the young lady might 
 lie at once conveyed to her home. Lucius would
 
 202 A FlllENU. 
 
 not have so violated Spanish decorum as to have 
 accompanied Inez in the carriage, had not her state 
 of utter prostration made his presence needful. The 
 poor girl was scarcely sensible of anything that was 
 passing around her when Lucius gently lifted her 
 into the carriage. He bade the driver stop at the 
 nearest fountain, and brought from it water to 
 revive the fainting maiden. Before the Calle de 
 San Jose was reached, Inez had so far recovered 
 herself as to recognize her brother's friend, and to 
 catch a gleam of hope from his opportune return to 
 the city. 
 
 " You will not desert Alcala ? you will at least 
 try to see him?" faltered Inez de Aguilera. 
 
 " You may trust me," was the Enghshman's 
 reply. 
 
 And Inez did trust young Lepine. It was with 
 the confidence that a sister might have felt in a 
 brother's protecting care that she leant on his strong 
 arm to stay her feeble steps when she re-entered her 
 home. Necessity and a common sorrow had to a 
 gi-eat degree broken down the barrier of reserve be- 
 tween Alcala's sister and his English friend. Inez 
 found the patio empty ; Teresa was in attendance 
 on her mistress in a different part of the mansion. 
 
 Inez and Lepine seated themselves near the foun- 
 tain, and there, in trembling tones, Inez gave a full
 
 A FRIEND. 203 
 
 account to her companion of much that had passed 
 on that, to her, most eventful day. The maiden 
 told of the discovery of the treasure, and pointed, as 
 she did so, to the spot whence it had been dug out 
 by herself and Chico. Inez did not dwell long on 
 her own imprisonment ; she did not care to fix the 
 attention of her indignant hearer on what only con- 
 cerned herself Of Alcala's subsequent arrest his 
 sister could only speak through tears. Inez lightly 
 glanced at her own unsuccessful efforts to obtain the 
 help of friends for Alcala, and would hardly have 
 mentioned them at all, had she not, from maidenly 
 instinct, wished to account for her own solitary 
 wanderings so far from her home. 
 
 " And now that you know all, senor," said Inez, 
 raising for a moment her dark tearful eyes to the 
 face of Lepine, " can you — will you aid us ? " 
 
 "If I do not, most assuredly it will not be will 
 but power that is wanting," replied Lucius, who 
 had been deeply interested both by the narrative 
 and by the grief of the artless narrator. 
 
 " Will you not visit Alcala in his prison ? will 
 you not stir up your English friends to save him ? " 
 
 Lucius was silent for a few seconds, revolving the 
 difficulties before him, ere he returned an answer. 
 The young man knew how utterly useless it would 
 be to attempt to enlist the aid of Mr. Passmore,
 
 204 A FRIEND. 
 
 even were that aid of any value. It was more than 
 doubtful whether any interference on the part of 
 Englishmen would avail even to mitigate punish- 
 ment inflicted on one who was not a British subject. 
 Spanish jealousy might even resent a foreigner's 
 intei-vention. Lucius could hardly bear to quench 
 the hope which his presence had kindled, but it 
 would liave been more cruel to raise expectations 
 which must end in keen disappointment. England 
 might reprobate the way in which the Spanish 
 government dealt with the Spanish people ; she might 
 view with indignation the cruelty of the oppressor ; 
 but when his arm was raised to strike an innocent 
 victim, she had no right to cry, "Hold! hold!" 
 Lucius felt that he could do nothing to free Alcala 
 from his prison ; it was doubtful whether he would 
 even be permitted to see him there. 
 
 " I do not think that any stranger would be suf- 
 fered to visit your brother to-day, seiiorita," said 
 Lucius at last ; " the evening is now coming on, and 
 it is too late for me to obtain an order of admission. 
 I shall certainly do my utmost to procure one ere 
 long. But it seems to me," Lucius continued, " that 
 it is of the utmost importance to your brother that 
 he should be furnished with the means of securing 
 good legal advice, and that fair play which, I fear, 
 is not always shown to those whose purses are empty."
 
 A FRIEND. 205 
 
 There was something ahnost reproachful in the 
 sad tone of Inez as she replied, " Think you, senor, 
 that gold would be spared — if we had it to give ?" 
 
 " There is, as you have told me just now, seno- 
 rita, a considerable amount of valuable property of 
 which you have been basely robbed. It appears to 
 me that our first eflforts must be directed to recover- 
 ing that property." 
 
 " I fear that its recovery is impossible — at least 
 to us, senor," replied Inez. " No one cares to take 
 up our cause. I suspect that the alguazils them- 
 selves have been bribed. How can we, poor help- 
 less ladies, track out a robber, as Alcala, if free, 
 might have done ? " 
 
 " Think you that this Chico will remain in 
 Seville to bear witness against your brother ?" asked 
 Lucius. 
 
 " I should doubt it," replied Inez. " I believe 
 that Chico only accused Alcala in order to prevent 
 his being able to take any measures to recover the 
 jewels and gold." 
 
 " This is the conclusion to which I also have 
 come," said Lepine. " Chico is not likely to stop 
 long in Seville, where he could not, without awak- 
 ing suspicion, dispose of such gems as you have 
 described. He will doubtless be leaving this city ; 
 but he was in it but a few hours ago, and cannot as
 
 206 A FRIEND. 
 
 yet be far off. Men caunot travel in Spain with 
 the raih'oad speed that they do in my country. 
 Have you any idea, senorita, whether Chico has any 
 friends or connections in Seville, in whose house he 
 might be likely to lurk for awhile with his ill-gotten 
 spoil ?" 
 
 Inez reflected for a brief space. " A cousin of 
 Chico keeps the Posada de Quesada," she said ; " it 
 is in the entrance of the Dehesa, about a mile be- 
 yond the city." 
 
 "I know it — I know it!" cried Lepine, who 
 had often in his Sunday rambles noticed tlie lone 
 picturesque little inn ; " it is in a lane that opens 
 on the highroad to Xeres." 
 
 " My brother once passed a night there," contin- 
 ued the maiden ; " from that inn he rode forth to 
 the di-eadful Plaza de Toros. Chico had mentioned' 
 the posada to Alcala, on account of having a rela- 
 tive there. But Alcala has told me that he would 
 never set foot in that place again, for that it had 
 seemed to him like a haunt of robbers." 
 
 " Which makes it all the more likely that the 
 villain Chico may at this moment be lying concealed 
 there !" cried Lucius eagerly. " Senorita, I will 
 sleep in that posada to-night ! " 
 
 The face of Inez expressed anxiety and alarm. 
 " There might be danger, seiior, in your doing so ;
 
 A FRIEND. 207 
 
 you know not what things happen in Spain," she 
 said, lowering her voice. 
 
 Lucius smiled, the free joyous smile of a light- 
 hearted youth to whom anything would be welcome 
 that might come in the shape of adventure. He 
 was one to whom 
 
 " If a path be dangerous known, 
 The danger's self is lure alone." 
 
 Wliat an attractive episode in a life given to dull 
 counting-house drudgery would be some exploit 
 performed in a romantic Spanish posada ! Consi- 
 deration for his widowed mother, of whom he was 
 the earthly stay, would have kept Lucius from wan- 
 tonly risking his safety for mere amusement ; but 
 to run some risk for the sake of a friend was quite 
 a different thing. Even conscience made no protest, 
 so inclination might be gratified without violation 
 of duty. 
 
 Lucius now rose and took his leave of the young 
 desolate beino: to whom he was more than ever 
 anxious to act the part of a brother. It cannot be 
 denied that the pleasure of serving Inez was a great 
 additional stimulus to the Englishman's efforts to 
 help his friend. As Lucius quitted the patio on 
 the one side, it was entered on the other by Teresa, 
 who caught sight of the visitor's form ere it disap- 
 peared under the archway.
 
 208 A FRIEND. 
 
 " Donna Inez ! " exclaimed the old duenna, almost 
 choking with indignation, " how dare that Inglesito 
 presume to enter a house of sorrow like this ! How 
 can you — the grand-daughter of Don Pedro de 
 Aguilera — you, a high -bom lady of Andalusia, 
 brought up as becomes your rank — suffer the sha- 
 dow of that foreign heretic to darken this threshold! 
 We have had nothing but misery since that young 
 man came near us with his deceiving words and his 
 dangerous book ! If I'd my will" — the duenna 
 clenched her hands and stretched forth her skinny 
 arras as she spoke — " I'd fling both the heretic and 
 his book into the Guadalquivir ! " 
 
 " Oh ! hush ! hush !" exclaimed Inez de Agui- 
 lera ; " would you speak thus of the only protector 
 whom we have found in Seville, the only being who 
 comes forward to help us when all the rest of the 
 world stand back?" 
 
 Teresa's passion was cooling a little, but her 
 Spanish pride recoiled from the idea that the family 
 whom she served should need either help or pro- 
 tection from an English clerk in the employ of 
 Messrs. Passmore and Perkins. 
 
 " The house of De Aguilera has many friends in 
 Seville," said the ancient retainer. 
 
 " Where are these friends?" exclaimed Inez with 
 emotion. " 1 have been to Donna Maria — to her
 
 A FRIEND, 209 
 
 who was my mother's playmate in childhood, and 
 companion in youth. She refused even to see me !" 
 
 Teresa lifted up her hands, and uttered an excla- 
 mation of indignant surprise. 
 
 " I went then to Donna Antonia," continued Inez, 
 while Teresa bent eagerly forward to listen, for the 
 duenna's chief hopes for Alcala lay in that quarter ; 
 " Antonia mocked my misery, rejected my prayer, 
 though I asked for her aid on my knees !" 
 
 " On your laiees !" echoed Teresa in the shrillest 
 of tones ; " an Ao-uilera kneel to a daughter of the 
 upstart, money-making, time-serving, poor-grinding 
 Lopez de Rivadeo ! Donna Inez ! Donna Inez ! how 
 could you have stooped so low ?" 
 
 " I forgot that I was an Aguilera — I only felt 
 that I was a woman," said Inez. " Teresa, what 
 has a broken-hearted girl like me to do with pride ? 
 May it not be our pride that has drawn Heaven's 
 displeasure upon us ? Nay, you must hear me, 
 Teresa. Alcala has shown to me in his Book the 
 words of our heavenly Master, ' Learn of Me, for 1 
 am meek and lowly.' If He spake thus, He v/ho is 
 Lord of heaven and earth, shall we, poor children ot 
 dust, be proud of title or birth ? Is not such pride 
 a grievous sin in His sight ?" 
 
 " Do you quote to mo out of the Protestant's 
 book ?" said Teresa bitterly. 
 
 (400) 14
 
 210 A FRIKXD. 
 
 " It is God's book/' returned Inez ; " I have felt 
 certain of that since its blessed words have sounded 
 in my heart as tliey have sounded to-day ! These 
 words have been my comfort, my strength, my sup- 
 port under trials which, without them, would have 
 utterly crushed me. And now it is one who is 
 guided by that book who stands by us when every 
 other mortal deserts us. Don Lucius has promised 
 to do all in his power to aid us ; he will try his 
 utmost to track out the man who has robbed us." 
 
 "Robbed us!" repeated Teresa, her intense curi- 
 osity getting the better of every other feeling ; 
 " you have spoken before of Chico's stealing pro- 
 perty, but 3'ou have never fully explained what that 
 property was." 
 
 " The treasure which my grandfather had buried 
 under the orange-trees yonder, — a treasure acci- 
 dentally discovered by me," answered Inez. 
 
 An expression of eager hope and })leasure flashed 
 across the face of Teresa. "The golden goblet?'' 
 she hurriedly asked. 
 
 " That, and money, and my grandmother's jewels 
 besides." 
 
 Teresa clasped her hands, and uttered a cry of 
 delightw 
 
 " But all are gone — Chico has carried all away," 
 said Inez sadly ; " our only hope of recovering any-
 
 A FRIEND. 211 
 
 9 
 
 thing is through the generous exertions of my 
 brother's English friend ; Don Lucius will try to 
 find out and restore the lost treasure." 
 
 " Ah ! if the Inglesito do that," exclaimed the 
 duenna, " never again will Teresa speak a word 
 ascainst him or his book ! Restore the treasure — 
 the pearls which I myself have clasped round the 
 seiiora's neck, the brilliants which she wore at her 
 bridal, the goblet out of which I've seen Don Pedro 
 de Aguilera so often quaft' the red wine ! Oh ! that 
 goblet of chased gold," continued the old retainer, 
 kindling into enthusiasm as she recalled the days of 
 wealth and splendour with thought of which that 
 cup was connected — " I'd rather have that inestim- 
 able treasure restored to the family than — than even 
 the lock of Santa Veronica's hair !"
 
 CHAPTER XX\. 
 
 WARNINGS. 
 
 MUST report my return to Mr. Passmore, 
 and procure a few necessaries from my 
 lodgings, before I start for the Posada 
 de Quesada," said Lucius to himself, as he emerged 
 from the richly sculptured gateway of the house of 
 the Aguileras. 
 
 Making this detour necessarily occupied a con- 
 siderable time, and took the young Englishman 
 through some of the most thickly populated parts 
 of Seville. It seemed to Lucius as if all the world 
 were abroad, — except, perhaps, the priests and 
 monks, who were rather conspicuous by their ab- 
 sence. Lucius had sometimes difficulty in makino- 
 his way along the narrow crowded streets. In 
 many places knots of people were collected together, 
 conversing in subdued tones, but with more anima- 
 tion of gesture than is common with the stately and 
 solemn Spaniard. The beggar seemed to forget to
 
 
 fmWr^ 
 
 A STREET IN SEVILLE. 
 
 P*k'e 2; X
 
 WARNINGS. 213 
 
 beg ; the muleteer let the lieavily-laden beast on 
 which he was mounted pick his own way, unguided, 
 over the large rough stones which paved the road, 
 while the rider eagerly listened to words exchanged 
 between men who to him were strangers. Had not 
 the mind of Lepine been preoccupied with forming 
 plans, and revolving his chances of success in his 
 coming adventure, he must have noticed that on 
 that Saturday afternoon in September one topic of 
 common interest engaged the attention of the inha- 
 bitants of Seville, whether of high or low degree. 
 It might be a bull-fight announced for the mon'ow, 
 or some grand ceremonial of the Romish Church 
 which was to come off on the following day. 
 
 The air was still sultry, though the greatest heat 
 of the afternoon was over. Lucius, feeling thirsty, 
 stopped to buy a few oranges of an old woman who 
 sat with her basket before her at the corner of one 
 of the streets. Another old crone who crouched 
 close to her neighbour, with a covered basket on 
 her knee, watched the Englishman, as he made his 
 trifling purchase, with keen black eyes which glit- 
 tered like beads from a face bronzed by sun and 
 wind to almost African darkness. 
 
 " Will you not buy my wares too, senor ? " she 
 eaid in deep guttural tones, raising the cover of her 
 basket, in which Lucius saw several knives. The
 
 214 WARNINGS. 
 
 appearance of the scimitar-shaped clasp-knife, so 
 commonly used among Spaniards whether for pur- 
 poses peaceful or warlike, was of course familiar to 
 Lucius ; but the knives in the basket were of a size 
 which he had never seen before. They were nearly 
 a foot in length, making allowance for the curve, 
 and such a knife when unclasped looked a truly for- 
 midable weapon. 
 
 " Thanks ; I need not such wares," said Lucius. 
 
 " You will need one, my goodly youth, and that 
 ere twenty-four hours be over," muttered the dark- 
 visaged woman, whose appearance and voice re- 
 minded Lucius of those of the witches who met 
 Macbeth on the blasted heath. " Better the sharp 
 than the sweet; better the steel at the side than 
 the fruit at the lip ! There is wild work before 
 thee." 
 
 The words of the old crone sounded like a pro- 
 phecy of evil to come ; but Lucius, who was no 
 Spaniard, and little troubled with superstition, only 
 smiled and passed on, 
 
 " Perhaps, after all, I might as well have taken 
 the old gipsy's advice," thought Lucius, " and had 
 something sharper and stronger than a pencil-case 
 upon me before going to pass the night in that lone 
 Spanish posada." The young man was half disposed 
 to retrace his steps and make the purchase ; he
 
 WARNINGS. 215 
 
 might liave done so, had not the state of his funds 
 been so low that it would have inconvenienced him 
 to expend even a few dollars on a long Spanish knife. 
 
 Lepine found Mr. Passmore at his private resi- 
 dence, his business hours closing earlier on Satur- 
 days than on other days of the week. 
 
 " Glad to see you back, Lepine," said the manu- 
 facturer, extending to Lucius a thick flabby hand, 
 which never closed with a kindly pressure. 
 
 " I have returned earlier — " 
 
 " Oh, you need not explain ; I know why you 
 are at Seville instead of Madrid," interrupted Mr. 
 Passmore. " Tasco has been with me for an hour, 
 and all that affair is settled. I have never been so 
 bothered with business in all my life as during these 
 two days of your absence. As for that Miguel, 
 whom Pve got in place of the bull-fighting don, what 
 with his bad Spanish " (that was to say, Spanish 
 unintelligible to his English employer), " his stu- 
 pidity, and his laziness, he has almost driven me 
 crazy. I don't know whether Miguel is most ignor- 
 ant, superstitious, or idle. I had determined not 
 to have a hidal^fo a^jfain as a clerk, so was content 
 to try the son of a barber ; but I soon found out my 
 mistake. Don Alcala de Aguilera, though he might 
 wear his sombrero with the air of a prince, had at 
 least brains under the brim. I've half a mind,"
 
 216 WARNINGS. 
 
 continued Passmore, lolling back in his easy-chair, 
 " I've half a mind to ascertain whether the don is 
 likely soon to get over the effects of his poke from 
 the bull, and would like to come back to his desk. 
 His fall may have brought down his pride a bit, and 
 made him more willing to do my work and pocket 
 my pay, like a sensible man. I'd sooner take Agui- 
 lera back to my office than endure longer this oily- 
 fingered, garlic-scented mule of a Miguel," 
 
 " You are not aware then," said Lucius, " that 
 Don Alcala has unhappily been arrested and taken 
 to prison." 
 
 Passmore received the intelligence with a whistle 
 of surprise. " Arrested for debt?" he inquired. 
 
 " No ; not for debt," replied Lucius. 
 
 "If not for debt, what then?" cried Passmore. 
 " What new prank of folly has the don managed 
 to play when one thought him safe on a sick-bed ? 
 I bet Aguilera has been meddling with politics and 
 burning his fingers, as every one must do who tries 
 to fish raisins out of such a seething caldron as is 
 always fizzing and boiling over in Spain. What 
 was Aguilera' s offence ? Was it drinking in physic 
 a health to Prim ?" 
 
 " No, sir," replied the clerk ; " my friend was 
 arrested in his sick-room for merely reading the 
 Scriptures to his household !"
 
 WARNINGS. 217 
 
 I will not say that Peter Passmore sprang to his 
 feet, for the manufacturer's bulky frame was never 
 very quick in its movements, but he rose from his 
 easy-chair with an exclamation by no means rever- 
 ential. "He's insane, utterly insane!" cried the 
 irritated man, " and may as well be shut up in 
 prison as in a lunatic asylum. Was it not enough 
 for this Spaniard narrowly to escape throwing away 
 life by acting the picador, that he must throw away 
 liberty also by acting the preacher?" 
 
 "I hope, sir, that you do not compare the two 
 acts," said Lucius, with spirit. 
 
 " Both have the same root, I warrant you ; both 
 spring out of pride, the desire to be talked of," said 
 Passmore. " Reading the Scriptures indeed ! Don 
 Alcala may make a fine clerk, he may make a 
 superb picador (though an unlucky one, by the way), 
 but nothing can persuade me that he can ever make 
 a quiet, sober, matter-of-fact Protestant, like my- 
 self;" and Passmore subsided into his chair. 
 
 No ; assuredly nothing could have transformed 
 Alcala into the self-complacent worshipper of Mam- 
 mon, who assumed to himself the title of a Protest- 
 ant Christian. 
 
 " I cannot see why Spaniards should not be again 
 what their fathers were," said Lepine. " This land 
 has had many martyrs."
 
 218 WARXINGS. 
 
 " I've no doubt of it, no doubt of it, my lad. 
 Martyrs presuppose murderers, and Spain has never 
 been lacking in them. I'm a Briton, and have no 
 fancy to be either murderer or martyr. That re- 
 minds me," continued Passmore, " of what Tasco 
 has been telling me of the state of affairs in Madrid. 
 Clouds are gathering there pretty thick, and wise 
 men will get under shelter when they hear the 
 thunder rumbling. If I were not tied to a business 
 like this, I'd be off to old England; but an ironware 
 manufactory is a pretty heavy anchor to drag. It's 
 just as well to be armed, however ; I've to-day 
 bought a brace of revolvers. The proverb says 
 that an Englishman's house is his castle, so I'll 
 have artillery for mine. Ho, ho, ho ! And while 
 I think of it, Lepine, you can have my old pistol 
 if you like, as I am provided with others." Here 
 Passmore opened a drawer in his table, and took 
 out rather a rusty-looking weapon, with gunpowder- 
 flask, and bag of bullets. " You go to and fro day 
 and night through these streets of Seville, where 
 ruffians think no more of sticking a knife into a 
 man than of paring a turnip ; it's just as well to 
 have with you a friend who can speak for you, if 
 need be, in a language even Spaniards can under- 
 stand. Take the pistol ; you may need it before 
 twenty-four hours are over."
 
 WARNINGS. 219 
 
 Lepine could not help noting as a curious co- 
 incidence that the warning of the dark woman 
 should be repeated in almost the same words by 
 his English employer. The young man, bound on 
 a dangerous mission, gladly accepted the proffered 
 weapon. 
 
 " Now mind that you neither blow out your own 
 brains nor those of any one else without necessity," 
 said Peter Passmore, as he handed the pistol to 
 Lepine. " I'd not have made such a present," he 
 added, with his explosive laugh, " to Don Alcala de 
 A-guilera."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE LONELY POSADA. 
 
 IGHT had come on before Lucius, on foot, 
 and carrying a small carpet-bag, entered 
 the lane in which stood the lonely 
 posada. The night was dark, for the sky was un- 
 usually cloudy, and the moon had not yet risen. 
 Lucius was guided by the lights which gleamed 
 from the window of the inn to which he was bound. 
 " What shall be my plan of operations ?" thought 
 the young Englishman, as he groped his way along 
 the dark road, not infrequently stumbling against 
 the large stones which lay in his path. " I must 
 conceal my object, or I am likely to defeat it. I 
 must make no inquiries regarding Chico, but keep 
 both my eyes and ears open to receive whatever in- 
 formation may come in my way. Heaven speed 
 my efforts, and keep me from stumbling blindly on 
 the difficult and possibly dangerous course on which 
 I have entered !"
 
 INTERIOR OF A SPANISH POSADA 
 
 Page 221
 
 THE LONELY POSADA. 221 - 
 
 Lucius reached the posada, of which the entrance, 
 as usual, was open. There was neither porter nor 
 hostler visible, and the Englishman, unquestioned, 
 crossed the threshold, and found himself in a larsre 
 stone-paved apartment which, from its scent, he 
 judged to be a stable. This communicated through 
 an open archway with another similarly paved 
 apartment, which from the same organ of smell was 
 easily recognized as the kitchen of the posada. 
 
 It was a strange and wild-looking place, that 
 Spanish hostelry, as the interior was seen by the 
 light of a single iron lamp sus])ended from the bai'e 
 rafters, and a fire in the kitchen, round which a 
 group of dark figures appeared, engaged in smoking. 
 Several other forms, enwrapped in mantles, and ap- 
 parently sleeping, encumbered the floor of the stable. 
 Its recesses were probably occupied by mules, — at 
 least so thought Lucius, from the occasional sound 
 of a snort, or the click of a hoof striking the stones ; 
 but the place was too dark for him to take in at a 
 glance all that its depths might contain. 
 
 Lucius, taking care not to brush against the 
 sleepers as he passed them, walked through the 
 stable into the kitchen, the atmosphere of which 
 was heavy with mingled odours of stale tobacco, 
 puchero, rancid oil, and garlic. 
 
 " I wish you good evening, gentlemen," said
 
 222 THE LONELY POSADA. 
 
 Lucius, laising his hat to the smokers before the 
 fire, who scarcely turned their heads as he entered. 
 " Where is the landlord of the posada?" 
 
 The question was answered by a heavy, dark- 
 featured man slowly rising from the cane-bottomed 
 chair which he had occupied, and taking a cigarillo 
 ft-om his mouth. The landlord, for it was he, 
 turned and surveyed the stranger with a scrutiniz- 
 ing stare which was not expressive of welcome. 
 
 " Can I lodge here to-night?" asked Lepine. 
 
 " A caballero and Inglesito," muttered the land- 
 lord gruffly, after his survey of his guest. " He 
 must have a room to himself, I trow." 
 
 " Presently," replied young Lepine ; " but I 
 should now prefer joining these gentlemen at the 
 fire." He hoped that something might be dropped 
 in conversation that might serve as a clue to guide 
 him in his search for Chico. 
 
 No one, not even the surly landlord, gave up his 
 place to the stranger ; the courtesy so natural to 
 Spaniards was not shown on the present occasion. 
 There being no unoccupied seat, Lucius set down 
 his bag on the floor, folded his arms, and stood near 
 enough to the huge fireplace to scrutinize by the 
 red glare the features of those who formed a semi- 
 circle before it. An ill-favoured set they mostly 
 were, but Chico was not amongst them.
 
 THE LONELY POSADA. 223 
 
 Politics appeared to be the favourite topic of 
 conversation amongst these Spaniards. Lucius 
 made several not very successful attempts to turn 
 it into the channel which would have Letter suited 
 his views. The Englishman spoke of the arrest of 
 De Aguilera ; some of the smokers had heard of it, 
 but merely shrugged their shoulders and went on 
 puffing their cigarillo.s, as if the affair were one in 
 which they felt no deep concern. 
 
 " Is reading the Scriptures an offence against the 
 law?" inquired Lucius. 
 
 The law !" mockingly repeated one of the 
 Spaniards, who wore his peaked hat with a 
 suspiciously brigand-like air. " The law is a net 
 that spreads its meshes far and wide to catch the 
 flies and mosquitoes ; but the big wasps, with their 
 rings of gold, break through it easily enough." 
 
 " So the net wants mending," growled a comrade 
 at his side. 
 
 " Or tearing to bits," laughed another of the 
 guests ; and the laugh was echoed by his com- 
 panions. 
 
 Lucius perseveringly renewed his inquiries as 
 soon as the rude mirth had subsided. 
 
 " Is the report true," he demanded, " that Don 
 AJcala's own servant is his accuser ?" The English- 
 man purposely addressed the question to the landlord.
 
 22't THE LONELVr POSADA. 
 
 " Wlio knows ? I do not trouble myself about 
 the matter/' was the careless reply. There was 
 nothinijf in the hard, stolid countenance, thou^di 
 Lucius surveyed it keenly, to betray the slightest 
 intelligence on the subject. Lucius was unable to 
 draw the smallest information from either the land- 
 lord or his guests. 
 
 The conversation reverted to politics. Some of 
 the sentiments of the speakers were expressed in 
 language so enigmatical as to be almost unintelligible 
 to a stranger. Lucius noticed that one of the men 
 sharpened his huge knife against the sole of his 
 boot ; and that he who looked like a brigand 
 examined the priming of his pistol. 
 
 After about an hour had been spent in smoking 
 and talking, one after another the Spaniards rose 
 from their seats ; each wrapped himself in his 
 mantero, and without further toilet stretched him- 
 self to rest on the floor. Lucius then asked the 
 landlord to show him his room. 
 
 The Spaniard lighted a torch, and with slow 
 deliberate steps led the way up a rude staircase, 
 which might more properly be termed a ladder. 
 When he had reached the top, he ushered his guest 
 into an attic-room, sufficiently spacious, but so low 
 that the head of the Englishman almost touched the 
 smoke-blackened rafters, for ceiling there was none.
 
 THE LONELY POSADA. 225 
 
 The landlord stuck the torch into an iron rin(» 
 which projected from the wall, but ere he did so, 
 held it near to Lucius, so that the light might 
 tiash on the Englishman's face. 
 
 " I take it you're the Inglesito who brought the 
 Book to the house of Don Alcala," said he. 
 
 " How know you that an Englishman ever 
 visited that house?" asked the young man quickly. 
 He half repented that he had put the question, such 
 an expression of dark suspicion and threatening 
 insolence passed across the visage of the Spaniard. 
 That look was the landlord's only reply ; as soon 
 as he had fitted the torch into the iron ring, he 
 left the chamber without even the common courtesy 
 of bidding his guest " good-night." 
 
 Lucius examined his lodging-place carefully as 
 soon as he found himself alone. There was scarcely 
 an article of furniture within the room, save a three- 
 legged stool and a bed. The latter was so disgust- 
 ingly filthy, that for a resting-place Lucius would 
 have preferred even the unswept, dirt-stained floor. 
 There was no ornament in the apartment, unless a 
 little plaster image of some saint in a niche could be 
 called by that name. Almost all the panes in the 
 window had been broken away, and the night-breeze, 
 finding free passage, made the torch flicker and flare. 
 This dreary guest-chamber in the lonely posada was 
 
 (4C6) 15
 
 226 THE LONELY POSADA. 
 
 just one which imagination might picture as the 
 scene of a midnight murder. 
 
 Lucius was on his guard ; he had no intention of 
 sleeping tliat night ; he made no attempt to un- 
 dress ; abkitions were out of the question, for the 
 room contained neither basin nor water. The young 
 man looked to the priming of his pistol, then seated 
 himself near the window, and gave himself up to 
 reflection. 
 
 " I am as certain as I am of my own existence 
 that yon landlord knows of the robbery committed 
 by Chico, and that he is the villain's accomplice. 
 The thief is probably at this moment concealed in 
 the house, for he is scarcely likely, encumbered with 
 his booty, to have travelled far from Seville by 
 daylight. That Chico should willingly stay to appeal 
 at the trial of his deeply-wronged master I cannot 
 for a moment believe. The robber's one object will 
 be to get clear off with the jewels and plate, for it 
 would be ruin to him were it to be known that such 
 treasure is in his possession. But how could I — 
 even should I succeed in discoverinfj the lurking- 
 place of this Chico — rescue that treasure from his 
 grasp, and restore it to its rightful owner ? I am 
 not in England, where I should have the power of 
 the law to back me. Unless report do them injus- 
 tice, some of the alguazils ai'e as much robbers as are
 
 THE LONELY POSADA. 227 
 
 the brigands wliom they affect to pursue ; nay, the 
 very magistrates themselves, it is said, can scarcely 
 be trusted. A foreigner like myself, destitute of 
 interest or money, would have as much chance of 
 wrenching the property of Aguilera out of the clutch 
 of thieves, licensed or unlicensed, as of moving the 
 rock of Gibraltar. I am far more likely to get my- 
 self into trouble, than Aguilera out of it, by any 
 appeal to Spanish justice. It seems probable enough 
 that I shall never have the opportunity even of 
 making such appeal ; I do not now hold the safest 
 of positions, if I have read the look of that landlord 
 aright. I may have unwelcome visitors to-night, 
 and may as well look to the fastenings of the door." 
 Lucius rose from his seat and went up to the 
 door ; there was neither bolt nor bar on its inner 
 side, nothing but a rusty latch ; the occupant of the 
 room had no means whatever of shutting out an 
 intruder. This confirmed the suspicions of Lucius : 
 he lifted the latch, and tried to pull open the door, 
 but it resisted all his attempts. The door had been 
 locked on the outside, and the young Englishman 
 started to find himself indeed a prisoner in his attic. 
 To add to his alarm, at the same moment the flame of 
 the torch suddenly went out, and the room was left 
 in total darkness, save for a faint white light through 
 the window which told that the moon was rising.
 
 228 THE LONELY POSADA. 
 
 The position of the young man was one to try the 
 mettle of a hero. Lucius found himself, for the first 
 time, confronted with serious danger, and that danger 
 of a kind from which the boldest misfht shrink. 
 The idea of possible assassination in a lonely inn, 
 under the cover of darlcness, and in a countiy where 
 deeds of blood were too common to make it likely 
 that there would be any strict search for his body, 
 made a creeping sensation of horror thrill through 
 the Englishman's frame. But the spirit of Lucius 
 struggled against and overmastered the feeling oi 
 fear. He ejaculated a prayer to One who can see in 
 darkness, and protect in danger, and braced himself 
 with firm resolution to encounter the worst that 
 might happen. 
 
 " They shall find me no easy victim, if it come to 
 a struggle," said the young man to himself ; " with 
 God and a good cause I will not fear the villany of 
 man." 
 
 There being no means of exit by the door, the 
 captive naturally tvirned to the window. Like the 
 rest of the building, the casement had been very 
 roughly constructed, and had never been made to 
 open. The dry-rot had, however, got into the wood, 
 and the whole framework was much decayed. 
 
 " I think that this might give way under the 
 strong wi-ench of the arm of a desperate man," mut-
 
 THE LONELY POSADA. 229 
 
 tered Lucius to himself; and he forthwith made an 
 energetic attempt to force out some of the bars. A 
 few violent shakes did the work, and the Englishman 
 had soon broken away enough of the frame to make 
 an aperture sufficiently wide to admit of the- passage 
 of his body. Gasping from the physical effort, 
 Lucius paused to listen whether tlie noise which he 
 had made had roused any of the inmates of the 
 posada. The attic was not over the kitchen ; ap- 
 parently no one had heard him, for the dead silence 
 was only broken by the wail of the wind. 
 
 Lucius leaned out of the window and glanced 
 down, to judge if escape were practicable. The 
 room was at the back side of the posada, and the 
 casement opened on a waste bit of ground which, as 
 far as could be seen in the dim light, appeared to be 
 a mere receptacle for rubbish, and not fenced in by 
 any paling or wall. The height of the casement 
 from the ground was not so considerable that ar 
 active man, holding by the window-sill, might not 
 drop down without any very great risk of breaking 
 a limb. Had the iron ring fixed in the wall been 
 near enough to the window to have been available 
 for a fastening, Lucius might have torn the sheet 
 into strips, and by means of such an improvised rope 
 have let himself down to the ground. But the ring 
 was at the further corner of the room, and there
 
 230 THE LONELY POSADA. 
 
 were such difficulties in the way of making such a 
 rope that Lucius dismissed from his mind a scheme 
 which must have involved considerable delay, when 
 every minute was precious. 
 
 The young man was cool enough to take every 
 needful pi-ecaution to avoid crippling himself by a 
 fall. The cloak, which would have impeded his 
 motions, he flung out at the window, and the bed- 
 clothes followed, to lessen the chance of his spraining 
 an ankle, or breaking a bone. His pistol the young 
 man replaced in his belt ; it must indeed add to the 
 difficulty of passing through a narrow aperture, but 
 Lucius would not leave so trusty a friend behind 
 him. 
 
 " They will find the bird flown," said Lucius to 
 himself, as, with as little noise as possible, he passed 
 first one limb, and then another, through the hole in 
 the broken frame. He had no small trouble in try- 
 ing to avoid cutting himself with the fragments of 
 glass which stiU, here and there, stuck in the wood. 
 It was a work of time and difficulty to get his whole 
 body free, while he retained a firm grasp on the sill. 
 At last this task was eflfected ; for an instant Lucius 
 hung by his hands — then let go — and with a gasp 
 of relief the late prisoner found himself safe on the 
 ground.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 FOLLOWING SCENT. 
 
 EAVEN be praised ! " was the intuitive 
 expression of thankfulness which burst 
 from the lips of Lucius Lepine, when 
 he stood, a free man, beneath the window of that 
 posada which he had scarcely hoped to quit alive. 
 He resolved at once to return to Seville, grateful for 
 being permitted to come forth unharmed from an 
 adventure which he now suspected that it had been 
 folly to undertake. The young man was so well 
 pleased with his escape, that he was not at fii'st 
 troubled by the thought that he had failed of success. 
 Chico had not been detected ; the chances were as 
 remote as ever of the stolen property being restored. 
 Lucius had descended, as the reader is aware, on 
 waste ground at the back of the lonely posada ; he 
 had now to find his way to the road. As the young 
 man was quietly and cautiously groping along, feeling 
 his way by the wall of the house, he was arrested in
 
 232 FOLLOWING SCENT. 
 
 his movements Ly sounds which betrayed that some 
 one was movinijc in front of the dwellino;. Lucius 
 remained perfectly still, and so close to the wall, "which 
 lay in partial shadow, that it was scarcely possible 
 that his fjcTure should be seen from the lane. The 
 full orb of the moon was now visible above the 
 broken line of the eastern horizon, and every inter- 
 vening object cast long shadows upon the ground 
 whitened with silvery light. Lucius saw three forms 
 moving as noiselessly as they could in the direction 
 of the highroad; they had evidently just issued forth 
 from the wayside inn. One, the tallest, carried a 
 carBine, — his outline resembled that of the man who, 
 to the eye of Lucius, had looked like a brigand; the 
 second, who led a loaded mule, was suspiciously like 
 the landlord himself; the third man was short, and 
 in his awkward gait Lepine recognized that of the 
 bandy-legged Chico. 
 
 " There goes the robber, then, stealing away with 
 his plunder, and little dreaming that he is detected 
 and watched ! " said Lucius to himself " But what 
 now is to be done ? Were Chico alone I would at 
 once pursue, and arrest him as soon as he should be 
 far enough from this inn to prevent his shouts bring- 
 ing any of his accomplices to his assistance. But 
 he has a body-guard of two of them already, one 
 caiTying fire-arms, and doubtless all three men have
 
 FOLLOWING SCENT. 233 
 
 long Spauish knives under their cloaks. To en- 
 counter such odds would be simply to throw life 
 away, I having no weapon but one old pistol — and 
 I have never fired one in my life ! Shall I return 
 to Seville, and as quickly as possible set the police 
 on the track of the robbers ? To follow this plan 
 would take time, and during that time the scent 
 might be lost ; the alguazils are not wont to be 
 quick in their movements. Even were the treasure 
 to be recovered by the police of Seville, it is doubt- 
 ful that any of it would reach the hands of its 
 rightful possessors. Shall I follow these men at a 
 little distance, watch their movements, and be ready, 
 should opportunity occur, to have them taken up 
 as robbers caught in the act of carrying away stolen 
 goods ? It is all-important that I should not lose 
 sioiit of Chico, or of that mule which doubtless 
 carries his spoils." 
 
 The resolution of Lucius was quickly taken. 
 His was a bold adventurous spirit ; and though he 
 had been but a few minutes before congratulating 
 himself on preservation from one gi'eat danger, he 
 was ready to throw himself into another. If a 
 doubt crossed the young man's mind, he cast it 
 from him when he thought of the penury of Inez, 
 and the prison of Alcala. 
 
 But Lucius had hardly calculated on the extreme
 
 231 FOLLOWING SCENT. 
 
 difficulty of carrying out his plan of tracking the 
 thieves. At first, indeed, it was comparatively 
 easy to do so, as they pursued a beaten track, and 
 a kind of hedge of prickly pear, which divided the 
 Englishman from the robbers, afforded the former 
 an effectual screen. But the Spaniards soon di- 
 verged from the highway and took their course 
 across open country, so that Lucius could scarcely 
 keep them in sight without incurring great risk of 
 himself being seen. It was a strange chase, where 
 the hunter was in greater danger than the quarry 
 whom he was stalking ! The moonlight was now 
 only too bright for the safety of Lucius, to whom 
 detection would have been almost certain death. 
 It was well for him that the night was windy, and 
 the sky dotted with many a cloud that was drifted 
 on by the gale. Lucius followed the rifleman's 
 practice when secretly approaching a foe : many 
 times, when the moonlight was clear, the young 
 man lay almost flat on the ground, when the nature 
 of that ground afforded no cover. Then, if a cloud 
 was borne across the face of the moon, Lucius took 
 advantage of the temporary darkness to follow with 
 what speed he might in the direction which the 
 robbers had taken. Since the pursuer could not 
 then trace their dark forms against the horizon, he 
 would listen intently for the slight sound made by
 
 FOLLOWING SCENT. 235 
 
 the hoofs of their mule. Whenever the brio-htenin(^ 
 
 o o 
 
 edge of the cloud-veil showed that the moon was 
 emerging again to bathe the landscape in light, 
 Lucius would resume his prostrate position, or take 
 advantage of such screen as cactus-bush or lonely 
 aloe, planted here and there, might afford. 
 
 During the frequent pauses which he thus neces- 
 sarily made, the pursuer had ample time for reflection. 
 
 " How would my poor mother feel could she see 
 me here, creeping onwards stealthily as the wolf on 
 the track of his prey, myself the more probable 
 victim ! Shall I ever live to tell by an English fire- 
 side the story of my wild moonlight adventure on 
 the Dehesa?" The memories of home which gushed 
 on the mind of Lucius as he made this reflection 
 almost changed his resolution to pursue his perilous 
 chase. Life was so sweet, when viewed in connec- 
 tion with the home delights which he hoped one 
 day to enjoy, to be lightly parted with, even for 
 the sake of a friend. 
 
 But when the mind of the Englishman recurred 
 to Arjuilera, now sufferincj affliction for that faith to 
 which Lucius himself had been a means of convert- 
 ing the Spaniard ; when Lepine remembered the 
 tears of Inez, he resolved that, come what might, 
 he would persevere in his efforts to redeem his 
 promise, and save a noble family from ruin. Was
 
 236 FOLLOWING SCENT. 
 
 not the eye of his heavenly Father upon hun ? was 
 not danger met in the path of duty ? It was to 
 gi'atify no idle craving for excitement, no vain desire 
 for man's applause, that Lucius was acting the part 
 of a detective under circumstances which rendered 
 that part one of peculiar difficulty and peril. The 
 young Englishman, as he crouched low on the 
 ground, prayed for help and protection, firmness 
 not to give up his chase, and such success that he 
 might not find that he had risked his life in 
 vain. 
 
 Ever and anon the robbers paused and turned to 
 look or to listen, as if, like deer, they scented the 
 hunter. Ha ! have they not caught sight of him 
 now, as, while resting his chest on the sod, he has 
 incautiously raised his head a little to gain a clearer 
 view of their retreating forms ? The three men 
 have stopped at the skirt of a wood ; one, the land- 
 lord, retraces his steps ; the carbine of the bandit 
 seems to be pointed towards the spot whei'e lies the 
 pursuer. The heart of Lucius throbs fast ; tightly 
 he grasps his pistol, his sole defence, — his finger is 
 on the trigger ! Shall he fire at the nearest man, 
 then spring from the earth and trust to his speed, 
 and the chance that the robber's bullet may miss 
 its mark ? The landlord approaches nearer, glanc- 
 ing cautiously from right to left on the ground ; he
 
 FOLLOWING SCENT. 237 
 
 is now so near that Lucius half closes his eyes, lest 
 their glitter in the moonlight should betray his 
 lurking-place behind the small bush, whose shadow 
 affords so poor a screen ! Within a few yards of 
 Lucius the Spaniard stoops and picks up some ob- 
 ject, it might be a purse or a cigar-case, that he 
 had dropped on the ground. Then he turns round, 
 and, to the gi-eat relief of his hidden pursuer, strides 
 back to rejoin his companions. Then the three, 
 with their mule, enter the covert of the wood, 
 whose dark mass of shade lies before them. 
 
 Lucius now feared that, unless he should lessen 
 the distance between himself and the robbers, he 
 might, from the intricacies of the wood, lose trace 
 of them altogether. The Englishman therefore rose, 
 and for a time exchanmnof cautious advance for 
 rapidity of motion, made his way quickly towards 
 the place where the figures of the Spaniards had 
 disappeared in the shadow of the trees. Chico and 
 his comrades had hitherto moved forward in silence ; 
 or if they conversed together, it had been in tones 
 too low to reach their pursuer. But the silence was 
 soon to be fearfully broken. Just as Lucius had 
 gained the edge of the wood, a fearful cry, as of one 
 in mortal agony or terror, suddenly thrilled on his 
 ear. The shriek of " Murder ! " the cry for help, 
 was repeated again and again, and then came the
 
 238 FOLLOWING SCENT. 
 
 sharp report of a carbine. There was evidently a 
 death-struggle going on in the wood. 
 
 Lucius could not hear that cry and stand still. 
 He could not coldly calculate on the probability 
 that crime was only meeting its due reward, nor 
 reflect that when thieves fall out and slay one 
 another, honest men may be gainers. Obeying the 
 generous impulse of his heart, the young English- 
 man plunged through the crackling brushwood, 
 shouting loudly as he did so to give notice that 
 help was at hand, and for the same purpose firing 
 off the pistol which he held in his grasp. The 
 latter act was perhaps one of imprudence ; yet rash 
 daring oftentimes commands more success than cal- 
 culating caution. The report of fire-arms, the loud 
 crackling of underwood over which Lucius was 
 forcing his way, his shouts which rang through the 
 wood, alarmed the murderers into the belief that a 
 body of alguazils was upon them. The cries sud- 
 denly ceased, and were followed by sounds as of 
 men in flight, pushing through bushes and brambles 
 to make their escape from pursuers. When Lucius 
 came up to the spot which had been the scene of a 
 terrible struggle, he only found a dead mule lying 
 on the blood-stained turf, and a dying man beside it.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 WANDERINGS. 
 
 PRIEST !— for the love of the Virgin, 
 bring a priest ! " groaned forth the 
 wretched Chico, for it was he who 
 had fallen under the murderer's steel. Lucius knelt 
 beside him, and raised the head of Chico. Ghastly 
 looked his face in the moonlight, which streamed 
 upon it from an opening between the trees ; the 
 stamp of death already was there, seen in the livid 
 hue and the glazing eye. The betrayer had been 
 betrayed, the robber had been robbed, the false 
 servant had been murdered for the sake of the gold 
 to obtain which he had bartered his soul. Yet 
 superstition still retained some hold on the dying 
 wretch. Though his dull ear could not take in the 
 words of Holy Writ uttered by Lucius in the faint 
 hope that even at the last moment the sinner might 
 find grace, Chico's dying breath was expended in 
 calling for a priest to save him from the worst
 
 240 WANDERINGS. 
 
 penalty of his crimes ! But conscience was not to 
 be soothed by fatal opiates in the moment of spirit 
 and body's parting ; Chico was not to be given that 
 false comfort which has deluded so many at the 
 solemn hour of death. Without a priest near him 
 to hear confession or pronounce absolution, the soul 
 of the murdered man passed forth to its dread 
 account. 
 
 Chico was dead, — no one could look on the face 
 of the corpse and doubt that all was over. Lucius 
 gently laid down on the turf the head that he had 
 been supporting, and spread Chico's mantle over his 
 mangled body. The Englishman then rose from his 
 knees, and went up to the mule, which lay stiff and 
 dead. Lucius could but conjecture that, in the 
 struggle between Chico and those who had slain him, 
 the I'obber's carbine might accidentally have been 
 discharged and have killed the beast of burden, as 
 it seemed to have but one wound, and that from 
 a bullet. Lucius, with a strange sensation, as if he 
 wei'e robbing the dead, examined the load which was 
 still on the back of the mule. He removed the 
 sacking in which it was wrapped, and then, even by 
 the uncertain light of the moon, easily recognized 
 the treasure-box, with its hinges and bands of metal, 
 by the description of it which he had received fi'om 
 Inez.
 
 WANDERINGS. 241 
 
 " The treasure is then actually in my possession!" 
 thought Lepine, scarcely able at first to realize that 
 success in his difficult search had indeed been 
 obtained. " But my difficulties are by no means 
 over. The robbers may return to this spot — they 
 will not readily abandon so rich a booty." Lucius' 
 put down the box on the ground, and took the 
 precaution of reloading his pistol, that, should the 
 murderers come back to seize the fruit of their crime, 
 they at least should not find him unarmed. Con- 
 quering a strong feeling of repugnance, Lucius also 
 went to the corpse of Chico, and possessed himself of 
 the large clasp-knife which was stuck in the dead 
 man's belt. It was unopened and unstained ; the 
 assailants of the miserable man had given him no 
 time to draw forth his weapon. 
 
 Lucius was now at least armed for any encounter; 
 but the more he thought over his position, the mc)re 
 difficulties appeared to surround it. 
 
 " I cannot carry so heavy a box as this back to 
 Seville on my shoulder ; and even had I the strength 
 to do so, how could I hope to pass unchallenged 
 through the city at night, bearing so suspicious- 
 looking a burden ? It is likely enough that I should 
 be arrested as guilty of robbery, perhaps of murder 
 besides, for the blood of that wretched Chico now 
 stains my garments !" Lucius flushed at the mere 
 
 (466) IG
 
 242 WANDERINGS. 
 
 thought of being thrown into prison as a criminal, 
 and under circumstances which might render it 
 difficult — nay, almost impossible — for him, a 
 foreisrner, to make his innocence clear. He could 
 produce no witnesses in his defence ; he would, he 
 feared, have interested accusers, and prejudiced 
 judges. 
 
 The result of the young man's anxious reflections 
 was a resolve to bury the treasure which he could 
 not remove. Lucius at once began his search for 
 some favourable spot in which the box might be 
 thoroughly hidden from view. It must not be too 
 near the scene of the murder, lest the robbers, re- 
 covering from their alarm, should return and find 
 it ; and it must be in some locality which Lucius 
 himself should be able to recognize when he should 
 revisit the s]iot. The young Englishman searched 
 for some time before he could satisfy himself in 
 regard to these necessary points. 
 
 Lucius fixed at last on a spot just outside the 
 thicket, where in a rough bank there appeared a 
 hole, probably the burrow of some wild creature. 
 A neighbouring palm, towering high above the other 
 trees of the wood, formed a natural landmark, 
 Lucius, with the knife which he had taken, bciran to 
 enlarge the hole, that it might be wide and deep 
 enough to conceal the box of trcju^ure.
 
 WANDERINGS. 243 
 
 Perhaps even the firm nerves of the young man 
 had been somewhat shaken by the horrors of that 
 night, for never before had Lucius found any task 
 so tedious, nor felt such fear from the slightest 
 sound. Often did he interrupt himself to listen, 
 when the wind shook the branches or rustled the 
 leaves, almost certain that he could detect the noise 
 of footsteps, and in constant expectation of being 
 assailed from behind, while his hands were engaged 
 with his work. 
 
 " 1 am ashamed of my weakness. Where is the 
 boasted courage of an Englishman ? — I am like a 
 nervous grirl !" muttered Lucius, when for the twen- 
 tieth time he had turned his head to look round, 
 that a foe misrht not take him unawares. " It is 
 harder to await the approach of danger alone, and 
 in the dead hours of night, with the brain excited 
 by a scene of murder such as I have just witnessed, 
 than it would be to encounter any open danger under 
 the clear light of day. There ! — happily my task is 
 over at last!" exclaimed Lepine, as he covered in 
 the entrance of the hole in which he had buried the 
 box. " The plate and jewels of Alcala are safe, and 
 nothing remains for me to do but to find my way 
 back to the city." 
 
 But again difficulties beset the young stranger, 
 who had never before traversed the cross-country
 
 244 WANDERINGS. 
 
 way along which his pursuit of the robbers had led 
 him. It would perhaps have been easy to Lucius 
 to have retraced his steps if he had had daylight to 
 guide him, but the beams of the moon were not 
 sufficient to direct his course through that wild and 
 desolate tract. Lucius wearied himself in vain 
 attempts to regain the highroad to Seville. Seen 
 by the uncertain light, one clump of trees so much 
 resembled another that none could serve as a land- 
 mark. Of dwellings there seemed to be none. 
 
 Lucius came at last to a stream, on whose slug- 
 gish current the moonshine faintly glimmered. He 
 was at least certain that he had crossed no brook 
 when following the track of the thieves, therefore 
 he must have diverged from the way. The weary 
 wanderer was glad to slake his thirst by the stream, 
 and he then, by means of its water, removed as 
 completely as he could the dark red stains from his 
 dress. 
 
 "There is no use in my wandering further till 
 day dawn and show me the way," said the youth to 
 himself. " I will lie down and try to sleep. There 
 is little hardship in passing a night on the ground 
 in such a climate as this, and under such a glorious 
 sky." 
 
 Before Lucius gave way to the drowsiness which 
 now overpowered him, he repeated, with the simple
 
 WANDERINGS. 245 
 
 faith of a child, the praj^er which he had first learned 
 at his mother's knee, at the close of it returning 
 fervent thanks for preservation in great danger, and 
 almost unhoped-for success in a difficult quest. With 
 Lucius and Aguilera religion showed its power over 
 the soul in somewhat different ways. Lucius had 
 not the impetuosity of character, the passion which, 
 under the veil of reserve, animated the Spaniard 
 born under more southern skies. Alcala's devotion 
 had all the fervour of a fii'st love. Had he con- 
 tinued to be a Romanist when his deepest feelings 
 were stirred by religion, he would probably have 
 become a missionary or a monk — have been a 
 Dominic in asceticism, or a Xavier in active zeal. 
 Alcala's love for his newly-found Lord was like a 
 glorious stream bursting from mountain snows, 
 springing over every obstacle, throwing up diamond 
 spray, and wearing its own bright rainbow as a 
 jewelled tiara. The religion of Lucius was a current, 
 quiet but deep, which had flowed on through child- 
 hood, so that not even his mother could have told 
 where it had first risen to light. Lucius would not, 
 like Alcala, have bemm his work of ministering to 
 souls by reading aloud in a sick-room or preaching 
 in a prison, no more than he would, like Alcala 
 when yet unconverted, have dared death in the 
 Plaza de Toros from an overstrained sense of honour
 
 246 WANDERINGS. 
 
 The one man was an Englishman, the other a 
 Spaniard, and each showed national characteristics ; 
 but both had given themselves heart and soul to the 
 Saviour, sought to live to His glory, and would have 
 died for His sake.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE EARTHQUAKE. 
 
 LCALA, in his noisome prison, might well 
 have envied Lucius his couch on the 
 earth, and the pure fresh breezes which 
 fanned the slumberer's brow. Whenever the prisoner 
 awoke, it was with a sensation of stifling suffocation, 
 which made him doubt how long his physical powers 
 could hold out. 
 
 " Perhaps," thought AJcala, " a messenger more 
 speedy than Spanish justice may one day come to 
 release me. In the meantime let patience have its 
 perfect work, my heavenly Father will bring a bless- 
 ing out of all ;" and, composed by such reflections, 
 the cavalier would sink into slumber again. It was 
 weU that Alcala was able thus to snatch some hours 
 of sleep, for the coming day was to be one of the 
 most eventful and excitinc: ones of his life. 
 
 It has been said, " Happy is the nation that has 
 no. history;" the words express wisdom condensed
 
 248 THE EARTHQUAKE. 
 
 into wit ; we read its trutli in its converse. In 
 England, during late j-ears, the progress of political 
 events has produced none of those sudden, violent 
 convulsions which shake society to its centre ; the 
 movement has rather resembled that of the earth in 
 its orbit, so quiet and regular that the bulk of the 
 people scarcely know that motion goes on. But in 
 unliappy Spain, instead of calm progress, there has 
 ever and anon come a violent shock, as of an earth- 
 quake, overturning loftiest houses, throwing down 
 highest pinnacles into the dust ; an upheaving of the 
 earth which, while it destroys much that is evil, 
 endangers much that is good. We can only look 
 for settled peace and prosperity in Spain to days 
 when the Bible shall guide the counsels of her 
 Senate, and control the passions of her people. 
 
 Not many hours had passed since the light of 
 morning, forcing its way through gratings into the 
 prison of Seville, had aroused its inmates to com- 
 mence, as they thought, the dreary monotony of 
 another day, when even the dungeon's depths were 
 stirred by a consciousness that exciting scenes were 
 passing outside the walls. A look of expectation 
 was on every face, every ear was bent to listen. 
 
 " Hark to tlie distant roar ! One might deem 
 that we were near the sea ! " cried one of the smug- 
 glers.
 
 THE EARTHQUAKE. 249 
 
 " It's a sea, 1 warrant ye, that will send many a 
 proud galley to the bottom ere the sun go down," 
 observed a thief, whom his previous conversation 
 had shown to be also a keen politician. 
 
 " It's a sea that won't be stilled by Claret's 
 sprinkling drops of holy oil upon it ! " said a gipsy; 
 and what a devout Romanist must have deemed a 
 profane jest, was received with a burst of laughter. 
 
 " Let the sea rage as it will," observed Diego the 
 chulo to Aguileia, " so that it bear back to old Spain 
 the noblest man that ever drew breath in her air. 
 I'U drink the health of Prim yet in a bumper of 
 wine, and down with — " 
 
 The chulo had not time to conclude his sentence, 
 when the louder, nearer noise of vivas from a thou- 
 sand voices showed that the massive prison door no 
 longer dulled outer sounds, or obstructed the free 
 passage of the mob into the building. In surged 
 the rushing human torrent ; in one minute the cor- 
 ridor was, as their voices showed, filled by an ex- 
 cited rabble ; the next minute the dividing door 
 was burst open ! The mob rushed into the dun- 
 geon, its walls resounded with loud vivas, re-echoed 
 by most of the prisoners thus suddenly released 
 from confinement, and let loose to swell the numbers 
 of the wild crowd. The noise and confusion which 
 prevailed were so great that it was difficult at the
 
 250 THE EARTHQUAKE. 
 
 first instant to gain a clear idea of what had 
 occurred ; but it was soon as well known in the 
 prison as it was already through every corner of 
 Seville, that great and exciting news had arrived 
 from Madrid during the course of the night. The 
 reins of power had suddenly been wrenched from 
 the hand of Queen Isabella; the sovereign of Spain 
 had fled the kingdom ; her minions had barely 
 escaped with their lives ; the fabric of government 
 was overthrown, and no one could tell what would 
 replace it. Like the criminals from the dungeon, 
 all the fiercer passions of men were let loose, and 
 who would have power to rule them ? 
 
 If the prison of Seville had been suddenly filled 
 almost to suffocation, it was nearly as suddenly 
 emptied. There was nothing in it to tempt cupi- 
 dity, nothing to retain the excited mob ; and those 
 who had been inmates of the gloomy abode were the 
 most easier of the throng to rush forth into the free 
 air. Robbers and murderers remembered that there 
 might be palaces to plunder, and enemies to pursue. 
 Ajxuilera found himself almost alone in the dungeon 
 where, but a few minutes before, he had hardly had 
 space wherein to breathe. Diego only remained by 
 him still. 
 
 "Shall we follow the rest, senor?" asked the 
 chulo. " There's not a jailer dare draw a bolt on
 
 THE EARTHQUAKE. 251 
 
 US now. Methinks your prayer last night, like 
 that of St. Paul, has been answered by an earth- 
 quake." 
 
 " I will return to my house, if I have strength to 
 reach it," replied Alcala, making an effort to walk 
 to the door. The cavalier was very desirous that 
 at a time when anarchy and confusion prevailed 
 throughout Seville, he should be in his home to pro- 
 tect the ladies of his family. 
 
 " You will scarcely reach the Calle de San Jose on 
 foot, illustrious caballero," observed the chulo. " If 
 it please you to wait in the comdor for awhile, it 
 will go hard with me if I cannot find a mule, or 
 some kind of conveyance, to bear you back to your 
 home." 
 
 " I am greatly indebted to you, my friend," grate- 
 fully answered Alcala, who felt that without such 
 aid as that proffered by Diego, it would be hardly 
 possible for him to return to his dwelling. 
 
 " The debt is on my side, senor," said the chulo, 
 looking steadily into the pallid face of the young 
 cavalier. " You gave me such a message last night 
 as was never brought to me by shaven monk or 
 friar, — a message that Diego will never forget. 
 Lean on my arm, senor ; there's fresher air and a 
 seat near the entrance. Hark ! how the people are 
 shouting and yelling now in the streets ! They are
 
 252 THK KARTHQUAKE. 
 
 as mad in tlieir rush after freedom as the bull when 
 the toril is opened, and he bursts into the circus, 
 ready to tear down everything that stands in his 
 way ! It is to be hoped," added the chulo, uttering 
 the words under his breath, " that this wild, excited 
 people meet not the same fate as the bull !"
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 PURSUED. 
 
 E will now return to an English acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 If there was one thing on which Mr. 
 Passmore prided himself more than another, it was 
 on being a steady man of business, one " who stuck 
 to his work, and did not care to take a holiday from 
 the first of January till the thirty -first of December." 
 
 But if Peter Passmore reg-ularly gave his week- 
 days to work, he as regularly gave his Sundays to 
 amusement. No idea of devotion was Imked with 
 the Sabbath in the mind of the money-making man, 
 Passmore considered time wasted that was spent on 
 anything that brought no immediate return of 
 worldly profit or pleasure. 
 
 As surely as Sunday came round, unless Seville 
 offered some peculiar attraction, so surely at Mr. 
 Passmore's door appeai'ed a travelling carriage drawn 
 by two stout horses. This was to bear the manu-
 
 254 PURSUED. 
 
 facturci" to some agreeable spot several miles out of 
 the city, where he could, as he expressed it, " get 
 beyond hearing of the din of the bells of Seville, and 
 the smell of its cigarillos." A picnic basket was 
 always carefully placed in the carriage, — a basket 
 well filled with bottles of champagne, pdtes-de-foie- 
 gras, or other such poi-table dainties. For Passmore 
 was not a man to content himself with such fare as 
 he might find in a Spanish posada. " I'll not make 
 my Sunday dinner off puchero or safiron-soup," he 
 would say, " or dishes prepared with oil, the very 
 smell of which would spoil the appetite of a 
 trooper ! " 
 
 On this eventful Sunday morning Mi'. Passmore, 
 like every one else in Seville, had received tidings 
 of the revolution which had taken place in the 
 Spanish capital. But the manufacturer took little 
 interest in politics, save as they might affect trade, 
 especially trade in ironware goods. Whether Isa- 
 bella or Carlos, prince or republican, Narvaez or 
 Prim bore sway, it mattered nothing to Peter Pass- 
 more, so long as his furnaces blazed undisturbed, 
 and he received a high price for his wares. 
 
 " Not take my Sunday drive ! — why on earth 
 should I not take it ? " cried Passmore to the 
 Spanish servant who had come to receive his orders. 
 " The wheels of government may have come oflT,
 
 PURSUED. 255 
 
 but my wheels roll steadily enough ; Claret and his 
 rascally crew have faller», but my horses keep on 
 their legs ! " 
 
 But though Passmore found it easy enough to 
 order his carriage, enter his carriage, and set out on 
 liis journey, he did not find it so easy on that Sep- 
 tember forenoon to drive through Seville, The 
 coachman did his utmost to avoid meeting with 
 obstructions from the excited rabble of the town, by 
 driving through little frequented streets, but he had 
 more than once to turn his horses sharply, and hurry 
 them down some lane where, had another vehicle 
 met that which he was guiding, both must have 
 come to a stand-still, as there was not breadth 
 enough of road to admit of their passing each other. 
 More than once ]\Ir. Passmore thrust his bald head 
 and broad shoulders out of the carriage-window to 
 demand, in an angry voice, whither the coachman 
 was driving, and whether he meant to smash the 
 vehicle through a shop-front. The shouts and vivas 
 heard on turning every corner ; the walls chalked 
 over with political squibs or fierce denunciations 
 against late rulers, — " rauera Claret," " muera Riva- 
 deo," — save the EnMishman a more intellio;ible 
 answer to his questions than any which he received 
 from his frightened servant. 
 
 " Drive over the bridge to Triaua, and through it
 
 256 PURSUED. 
 
 to the open country!" cried out Passraore to his 
 coachmau, hi the best Spauish which he could com- 
 mand. 
 
 The driver did his best to obey, but the bridge 
 itself was crowded with people, and it was no easy 
 matter to make a way through the throng. There 
 was no special enmity, however, at that time enter- 
 tained against the English by the Spanish mob, and 
 the more ferocious of the population of Seville did 
 not chance to be at the bridge. Bare-legged boys, 
 indeed, climbed up at the back of the carriage, and 
 dark visages were thrust in at the windows ; but 
 as Passmore was perfectly ready and willing to shout 
 viva from his stentorian lungs for any one and every 
 one whom the mob chose to favour, no serious 
 opposition was made to his onward progress. The 
 bridge was safely although not rapidly passed over, 
 the rabble were left behind, and the coachman, still 
 seeking in the suburb, as he had done in the city, 
 the quietest streets, had soon almost reached the 
 nearer end of the Calle de San Jose. 
 
 Here the onward course of the carriage was again 
 arrested, but in a different way. A voice, which 
 was one of mingled command and entreaty, in tones 
 which could scarcely be resisted, ordered the driver 
 to stop. A hand on the rein of the nearer horse 
 enforced the command. Before Passmore had time
 
 PURSUED. 257 
 
 to shout out "Drive on!" the door of the vehicle 
 was flung open, and to Peter's amazement a lady, 
 shrouded in a military cloak, was rather thrust than 
 lifted into the carriage. She was instantly followed 
 by a Spaniard whose features were so distorted by 
 fear, so disordered were hair and beard, that Pass- 
 more could scarcely recognize in the fugitive the 
 proud governor of Seville, Don Lopez de Rivadeo. 
 The lady, who was his daughter, wore neither man- 
 tilla nor veil ; she looked as if she had been sud- 
 denly dragged away while in the act of performing 
 her morning toilette. A cloak had been hastily 
 thrown over the dress of Antonia ; one of her feet 
 was slipperless ; her long black tresses streamed 
 down her back ; she was mute with horror and fear, 
 and breathless from the rapid pace at which she had 
 been hurried along. 
 
 " Drive on — drive for your life ! " shouted out 
 Rivadeo to the coachman, and the lash which fol- 
 lowed the command made the horses boimd forward 
 furiously. 
 
 The governor was too full of alarm and impa- 
 tience to get beyond reach of the vengeful people 
 whom he had fleeced, cheated, and oppressed, and 
 who would fain pursue him to the death, even to 
 apologize to Mr. Passmore for so unceremoniously 
 taking possession of his can-iage. The manufacturer 
 
 466) 17
 
 258 PURSUED. 
 
 was revolving in his mind Low he could best explain 
 to the Spaniard that ho was not a man to be made 
 chivalrous or benevolent against his will, when, with 
 a violent jerk, the coachman again stopped the 
 horses. The carriage had just been turned into the 
 Calle de San Josd, and the driver saw that the fur- 
 ther end of the street was blocked up by a furious 
 mob that, with yells like the howling of wolves, 
 were demanding the blood of Don Lopez. 
 
 Antonia shrieked aloud in the agony of her ter- 
 ror ; Rivadeo started up in the carriage and drew 
 his stiletto, as one to whom no hope was left but 
 that of selling his life dearly. 
 
 " What's to be done ? " exclaimed Passmore, who 
 retained his presence of mind, and a certain buU-dog 
 courage characteristic of his race. " Here's an open- 
 ing into a house which looks strong enough to resist 
 anything short of cannon. Lift out the girl ! " he 
 cried, as he pushed open the carriage door ; " be 
 quick, or the ruffians will be upon us before we can 
 get under cover." 
 
 There was no need to urge speed ; in the twink- 
 ling of an eye the carriage was vacated by its 
 terrified occupants. Antonia stumbled in her haste 
 as she rushed under the archway of the house of the 
 Aguilcras, and was lifted up by the aim of a stranger 
 who at the same moment was entering the dwelling.
 
 PURSUED. 259 
 
 "Ha, Lepine, you here!" exclaimed Peter Pass- 
 more ; there was no time for another word. The 
 last of the party had barely cleared the vestibule, 
 and passed through the grating, which was instantly 
 closed behind them, before the mob, bent on slaughter, 
 swarmed into the archway. 
 
 " Muera Rivadeo ! 7)iuera Rivadeo ! " How 
 horrible sounded that cry for blood yelled from 
 the throats of the savage rabble, mingled with the 
 clash of weapons furiously struck against the iron 
 grating. 
 
 Antonia dropped her cloak as she staggered for- 
 ward into the patio ; the once proud queen of 
 beauty, now disrobed and discrowned, with torn 
 dress and dishevelled hair, stood in the presence of 
 Alcala and Inez, — of the admirer whom she had 
 slighted, the woman whom she had insulted ! Riva- 
 deo' s daughter, who had shown no mercy, must seek 
 for mercy from them ! 
 
 But no feeling of triumph swelled in the breast 
 of the gentle Inez on beholding the humiliation of 
 one who had treated her with cruelty and scorn. 
 The maiden's heart had in it now only room for 
 tender compassion. With such sympathy as she 
 might have shown to a dear friend in distress, Inez 
 welcomed the fugitive lady, took her by the trem- 
 bling hand, and drew her away from the patio into
 
 260 PURSUED. 
 
 an inner apartment, that the horrible sound of 
 voices demanding a father's life might be less 
 audible to the ear of the governor's daughter. Inez 
 made Antonia rest on her own bed, spoke softly 
 and soothingly to her, and then left her to give 
 directions to Teresa to bring wine to revive the 
 spirit of the terrified lady. Inez could not bear to 
 be herself long absent from her newly-recovered 
 brother ; she dreaded lest his harbouring Don Lopez 
 should bring Alcala into new peril. But even if it were 
 so, Inez would never regret that her hand had thrown 
 open the grating to receive the hunted fugitives. 
 
 The delicacy and tenderness of Inez were by no 
 means shared by Teresa. It was very unwillingly 
 indeed that, in obedience to her young lady's orders, 
 the old servant poured out for Antonia the very 
 last glassful of wine from the very last bottle left 
 in the once well-filled cellars. Teresa, her visage 
 looking more grim and ill-tempered than usual, 
 carried the beverage which she grudged to the 
 daughter of Don Lopez de Rivadeo. 
 
 " There — take it, Donna Antonia," said Teresa 
 bitterly, as she proffered the glass. " If I were 
 you, it would choke me ! Remember Don Alcala 
 de Aguilera — he of whose love you never were 
 worthy — lying bleeding, for your pride, under the 
 horn of a bull !"
 
 PURSUED. 261 
 
 Antonia's hand shook so violently, that she could 
 scarcely raise the glass to her lips. 
 
 " Remember Donna Inez," continued the tor- 
 mentor, " the descendant of countless generations 
 of heroes, stooping to sue for a boon from you, 
 who were but too much honoured if a lady of the 
 house of Aguilera deigned to enter your gate. Re- 
 member — " 
 
 "Oh, those yells! holy Virgin!" shrieked 
 Antonia, dropping the glass, as a louder ebulli- 
 tion of popular fury from without made her start 
 in alarm. " Shut the door, woman ! oh, shut it 
 and bolt it ! the wretches may rush in even here !" 
 
 Teresa turned, and gloomily obeyed, muttering 
 half-aloud as she did so, " An Aguilera would have 
 had no thought of self, when a father was so near 
 to the knives of assassins !"
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 VENGEANCE. 
 
 NTONIA mio^ht well be excused for the 
 excess of her terror. If in one Eiu'opean 
 country more than another an infuriated 
 mob is to be dreaded, that country, perhaps, is 
 Spain. A people accustomed to find delight in 
 seeing bulls tortured, horses gored to death, and 
 men imperilled and often wounded or slain, are not 
 likely, when their passions are roused, to be moved 
 to pity, or to feel horror at deeds of blood. Religion, 
 degraded into superstition or utterly cast aside, has 
 little power to control. The commandment, " Thouu 
 slialt not hill," has been broken so often, that its 
 breach has almost ceased to be regarded as a crime. 
 The stoutest heart might have quailed at the sound 
 of the savage roar of voices, and that of thunder- 
 ing blows on the oi-namcntal grating which alone 
 divided the mob from their prey. 
 
 A little group stood together in the patio, whose
 
 VENGEANCE. 263 
 
 marble pavement was likely so soon to be stained 
 with the blood of at least one victim. Lucius 
 Lepine, with the generous spirit which makes the 
 Englishman " strike as soon for a trampled foe as 
 he would for a soul-dear friend," stood by the side 
 of Aguilera, to protect his endangered guest. The 
 Briton gi-asped his loaded pistol, the Spaniard was 
 quite unarmed. A little behind them appeared 
 Lopez de Rivadeo, a haggard, desperate man, clutch- 
 ing his dagger and clinching his teeth, as he watched 
 the grating, which he every moment expected to 
 give way under the clanging blows which were 
 showered upon it. Near the governor stood Peter 
 Passmore, flushed and snorting with excitement, 
 and heartily wishing himself out of a country where 
 an honest man could not take a morning drive 
 without the risk of being baited like a wild beast. 
 Diego completed the group ; the chulo had attached 
 himself to Alcala, and was resolved to stand by the 
 cavalier to the last. Once the pale face of Inez had ap- 
 peared at a door which led to the interior pai-t of the 
 dwelling, but she had retired at the urgent desire of 
 her brother. " This is no place for ladies !" cried he. 
 " That bit of wrought iron will not hold out long 
 under such battering," cried Passmore, addressing 
 himself to Lopez ; " why do you not hide yourself 
 in some inner apai'tment ? "
 
 264 VENGEANCE. 
 
 " Because I would rather make my last stauu 
 here, under the open sky, than be killed like a rat 
 in a hole," hoarsely muttered the desperate man. 
 
 Cr — cr — cr — ash ! down goes the grating, and 
 over it lush the human wolves towards their victim. 
 
 " Back, back, ye men of Seville !" exclaimed 
 Alcala, coming forward to meet the mob with that 
 calm dignity which marked one born to command. 
 " How dare ye thus force your way into the dwell- 
 ing of a cavalier of Andalusia ? " Alcala' s stern 
 eyes were fixed on the leader of the rioters, in 
 whom he recognized one of the robbers with whom 
 he had passed the previous night in prison. The 
 bandit was taken aback by the unexpected meet- 
 ing with that strange fellow-prisoner whom he had 
 almost deemed a prophet inspired by Heaven. 
 
 " We seek not to harm ^^ou or yours, senor, but 
 that wretch — " 
 
 " Is my guest, and as such shall be protected 
 with my life!" cried Alcala. "What, my brave 
 countrymen ! will ye celebrate the birthday of your 
 liberty with deeds of violence which would dis- 
 grace the heathen ? When the eyes of Europe are 
 upon them, will Spaniards show themselves un- 
 worthy of their freedom ? I have heard in your 
 streets the shout of 'Viva la Constitucion !' I 
 hailed it as a sign that my countrymen could
 
 VENGEANCE. 265 
 
 distinguish liberty from license, and that in Spain 
 at least revolution meant not robbery and murder !" 
 
 Alcala had appealed to the self-respect of his 
 hearers — that quality which appears to be inherent 
 in Spaniards, and which, as history proves, can act 
 as a curb even on the rage of their mobs. No one 
 of the intruders rushed violently forward, although 
 the only barrier between them and their prey was 
 the firm will and dauntless courage of one unarmed 
 individual. But a haggard, wild-looking man came 
 a little in front of the rest, to act as the spokesman 
 of all. Fierceness, almost resembling that of in- 
 sanity, flashed from his sunken eyes, as, glaring on 
 Rivadeo, the Spaniard brandished aloft his huge 
 knife, and then addressed himself to Alcala. 
 
 " We must have justice, we must have revenge 
 on a villain who for years has trampled the people 
 under foot as the mire in the streets ! Did ye 
 know half his crimes, ye would not protect him. 
 Look at me, senor!" A ten^ible tale of sufiering 
 was written on the speaker's haggard face and al- 
 most skeleton frame. " You have been for one 
 night in that den of misery into which robbery, 
 under the mask of justice, thrusts its victims ; I 
 have been there for seven years ! And my crime 
 was that I could not bribe yonder tyrant to give 
 me back my bh-thright of freedom ! Seven years !"
 
 2GG VENGEANCE. 
 
 repeated the man with energy, " rotting in a 
 dungeon worse than the lair of a beast, whilst my 
 wife and children were starving outside !" 
 
 A deep murmur of indignation rose from the lis- 
 tening crowd. The man went on ^yith increasing 
 fierceness of tone and gesture. 
 
 " Seven years ! and every day of those years I 
 breathed a deeper vow of vengeance. I am but one 
 of many who have made that vow — " 
 
 "Yes, yes!" howled forth many threatening 
 voices. 
 
 "And shall we not keep it?" exclaimed the 
 deeply- wronged man. 
 
 "Yes, yes!" was more loudly repeated. "The 
 tyrant is before us, shall we not strike ! Vengeance 
 is within reach, shall we not gi'asp it ! " 
 
 " Hold, men of Seville !" exclaimed Alcala ; " hear 
 me but for a moment. There are those amonefst 
 you who listened last night in a dungeon to an offer 
 of mercy from Heaven. To whom was that oflfer 
 made ? To all, from the criminal in ermine to the 
 thief on the cross. By whom was that offer made ? 
 By Him who had power to crush His enemies — to 
 annihilate or hurl them down into fire that shall 
 never be quenched. Transgressors were before Him ; 
 did He strike ? Vengeance was within His reach ; 
 did He gi-asp it ? Did not the Deity take man's
 
 VENGEANCE. 267 
 
 nature, that as Man He might die, not for His friends 
 alone, but for His foes ? Did He not purchase, at 
 the price of His own life's blood, the right to extend 
 free forgiveness even to the guiltiest of all?" 
 
 Acrain words that glowed with the fervour that 
 warmed the heart of the speaker fell with strange 
 power on men to whom pure and simple gospel truth 
 was as a new revelation. Alcala felt that he was 
 making some impression on his wild audience, and 
 thus went on with his appeal to their nobler feel- 
 ings :— 
 
 " Let me not speak to you in my own words, but 
 in the words of the Lord of Life, who for our sakes 
 underwent agony, shame, and death ! It is He who 
 says, even to the most deeply injured, the most 
 cruelly oppressed amongst us all, ' Forgive, as ye 
 have been forgiven.' The lips of Him who on the 
 cross breathed a prayer for His own murderers, is 
 now saying to our souls, ' Blessed are the merciful : 
 for they shall obtain mercy.' Is there one man 
 here who needs not that mercy — is there one here 
 who without that mercy dare stand before the tri- 
 bunal of God ?" 
 
 There was a deep silence amongst the throng. 
 After a brief pause, Alcala resumed speaking, but in 
 a different tone. 
 
 " Return, my brave friends, to your homes, thank-
 
 2G8 VENGEANCE. 
 
 fill that you have hands unstained with blood, and 
 consciences not burdened by murder. We Spaniards 
 have a nobler and more arduous task before us than 
 that of slaying a defenceless foe. Our glorious land 
 has long gi'oaned under that worst form of bondage 
 — the bondage which fetters the soul. We have 
 been robbed of our noblest heritage — the heritage of 
 the Word of Truth. Let us throw off our chains, 
 and show ourselves men ! The Moor was driven 
 from our Andalusia by the prowess of our brave 
 sires ; let ours be a gi*eater victory, a more glorious 
 conquest than theirs. Let Spain rise from the dust 
 of ages to be the champion of freedom and faith. 
 Let us not rest till one of the fairest lands upon 
 which the light of heaven shines becomes an example 
 to the nations around her, and a blessing to all the 
 world!" 
 
 " Viva Aguilera ! viva la Spagna ! " exclaimed 
 Lucius Lepine, witli an enthusiasm which was con- 
 tagious. The mob caught up the words, and re- 
 echoed the shout ; the patio resounded with " Viva 
 la Spagna! viva Aguilera!" — Diego's voice heard 
 above all. Alcala was too much exhausted to speuk 
 more to the crowd, but he smiled and bowed his 
 thanks ; and the people, obeying his gesture, slowly 
 and without confusion defiled aijain throuirh the arched 
 passage, and made their way back into the street.
 
 VENGEANCE. 2G9 
 
 " I never saw anything to equal that !" exclaimed 
 the astonished Passmore, when he saw the last in- 
 dividual of the rabble disappear from the court. 
 " Iron at white heat to be cooled down by a few 
 brave words !" 
 
 " To God be the glory I" said Alcala,
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 A LAST FAREWELL. 
 
 HE agony of suspense whicli had been suf- 
 fered by the wretched Don Lopez whilst 
 his life hung trembling in the balance 
 was now shown by his vehement impatience to get 
 out of Seville. The governor could hardly thank 
 his preserver ; he would taste no refreshment ; he 
 would not so much as sit down, so restless was he 
 in his eager desire to escape. De Rivadeo was furi- 
 ous even at the brief delay which took place ere his 
 daughter obeyed his reiterated call. Lopez would 
 on no account stop to encounter the chance of a 
 repetition of such an attack by the mob as that 
 from which he had so narrowly escaped with life. 
 Mr. Passmore's carriage was still at the entrance, 
 and the manufacturer consented, though with no 
 good gi'ace, to take the fugitives to the nearest 
 town, where they would be likely to get another 
 conveyance to carry them to some port. Lopez de
 
 A LAST FAREWELL. 271 
 
 Rivadeo must follow Queen Isabella into exile, as 
 others, worthless as himself, already had done. 
 
 Diego, who liked adventure, and whose intelli- 
 gence might further the governor's escape, volun- 
 teered to take his seat beside Mr. Passmore's 
 coachman, who had been so much frightened by 
 the events of the morning that he could hardly 
 manage the reins. 
 
 Just as these little arranijements had been con- 
 eluded. Donna Antonia re-entered the patio, leaning 
 on the arm of Inez, and followed by Teresa. The 
 governor's daughter now wore a veil and mantiUa ; 
 these, to a Spanish lady, needful articles of dress, 
 had been given to Antonia by Inez, notwithstanding 
 the angry expostulations of the old duenna. Teresa 
 was indignant to see her mistress robbed, as she 
 called it, of what she so ill could spare. 
 
 " My only comfort," muttered Teresa, as she 
 hobbled after the ladies, " is that the mantilla has 
 been worn till the silk will hardly hold together, 
 and that the veil has more of neat darning on it 
 than of the original lace." 
 
 Alcala came forward to hand Donna Antonia to 
 the carnage ; oppressed as he was with weakness 
 and languor, the cavalier of Andalusia would not 
 suffer another to take his place in doing the honours 
 of his house to his unfortunate guests. This was
 
 272 A LAST FAREWELL. 
 
 the fii'st day on which the proud beauty of Seville 
 had met Don Alcala de Aguilera since that on which 
 he had rashly risked his life for her sake. If any 
 touch of womanly feeling was in Antonia's selfish 
 bosom, that feeling must have been stirred now into 
 remorse as she beheld her father's preserver. Alcala's 
 pale features showed the sufferings which he had 
 lately undergone : he looked like one newly risen 
 from a sick-bed, with sunken cheek, colourless lip, 
 and languid eye. As with graceful courtesy the 
 cavalier proffered his wasted hand to the lady, on 
 the minds of both Alcala and Antonia flashed back 
 memory of the hour when that hand had been 
 deemed unworthy to touch the white kid glove of 
 the heiress — that hour when, like an empress, she 
 had stepped into her galley on the glittering Gua- 
 dalquivir. 
 
 Silently Alcala conducted Antonia through the 
 arched way to the carriage which was to bear her 
 from Seville. Not till she had j)laced her foot on 
 the carriage-step did the cavalier utter a word. 
 
 " Farewell, senorita !" said Alcala. Antonia turned 
 towards him, but in silence ; the eyes of the two 
 met — it was the last look that was ever to pass be- 
 tween them. Soon the motion of the rolling wheels 
 separated Alcala and Antonia de Rivadeo for ever. 
 
 But for the support of Lucius's arm, Alcala could
 
 A LAST FAREWELL. 273 
 
 hardly have walked back to the patio. He sank 
 down wearily on the first scat that he reached, too 
 much exhausted to do more than extend his hand, 
 with a faint smile on his lips, to Inez, who knelt by 
 his side. 
 
 "Bring wine, Teresa!" cried Inez, looking anxi- 
 ously at the face of her brother. 
 
 "Wine!" exclaimed the old woman, stung into 
 momentary forgetfulness of the presence of the Eng- 
 lish stranger — " wine!" she repeated bitterly, " when 
 the last drop left in this ruined house was poured 
 out for that proud woman ; and there's not a cuarto 
 in the coffer to buy more for the caballero if his 
 life depended upon it ! Woe, woe to the Aguileras !" 
 
 "Never say so!" cried Lucius Lepine, and the 
 joy of being the bearer of good news seemed to the 
 young man at that moment to outweigh all that he 
 had gone through to procure it. " The Aguileras have 
 a casket of golden plate and rich jewels safely buried 
 near a palm-tree beside a wood, not two miles from 
 Seville ; they have only to dig it out and possess it. 
 Donna Inez, the Englishman has kept his word." 
 
 "A casket of gold plate and jewels!" almost 
 screamed out Teresa, who scarcely dared to believe 
 her own ears ; " you don't say it — you can't mean 
 it ! — what ! the box with clamps of steel, the old 
 scnora's jewel-case, which I've handled many a day!" 
 
 (466) 18
 
 274 A LAST FAREWELL. 
 
 The wrinkled hand laid on the arm of Lucius was 
 shakinc: with violent excitement. 
 
 " I do say it — I do mean it," replied Lucius, 
 whose countenance was beaming with pleasure. 
 
 " But, my friend, how is this possible ?" asked 
 Alcala ; " the miserable Chico — " 
 
 " Lies murdered by his own accomphces," said 
 Lucius more gi-avely ; " fearful retribution has over- 
 taken the servant who robbed his master." 
 
 Lucius then recounted to his deeply interested 
 hearers the tale of his night's adventures, dwelling 
 as lightly as he could on what only related to him- 
 self. No one interrupted the nai-ration, save Teresa, 
 who could not refrain ever and anon from uttering 
 some ejaculation, now of indignation, now of delight. 
 When Lucius came to the account of burying the 
 box near the palm-tree, the old duenna could restrain 
 her feelings no longer. To the astonishment of the 
 Englishman she suddenly flung herself at his feet, 
 and clasped his knees in an ecstasy of gratitude, ad- 
 miration, and joy ! 
 
 " The blessing of all the saints be upon you, brave, 
 noble Senor Inglesito !" exclaimed old Teresa, while 
 tears streamed down her w^rinkled face ; " if you 
 were as deep-dyed a heretic as Luther himself, I 
 would bless you a thousand times over ! You have 
 saved a noble family from ruin !"
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A TREASUKE. 
 
 ERHAPS the proudest and happiest hour 
 of Teresa's life was that in which she 
 saw the treasure, the family heirlooms, 
 in the hands of Alcala de Aguilera, as they were on 
 the following day. Teresa clasped the steel-clamped 
 box as if it had been a living child. Would she not 
 burnish up the rusted metal till every hinge should 
 shine as brightly as Aguilera's honour I The duenna 
 handled the contents of the case with as much rever- 
 ence as she might have shown to the hair of Santa 
 Veronica ! Every article in that jewel-box had its 
 history foi Teresa. That bracelet was a wedding- 
 gift from a duchess to the mother of Alcala and 
 Inez ; that ring had been worn by a cavalier who 
 had slain three Moors with his own right hand ; 
 that gold snuff-box was a gift from the Empress 
 Catherine to an Aguilera then ambassador at the 
 Russian Court ; those medals were, every one of
 
 276 A TREASURE. 
 
 them, tokens of some gallant deed performed by one 
 of the ancestors of Alcala. Teresa counted each 
 pearl in the chaplet, and every link in the massive 
 gold chain. 
 
 Alcala and Inez watched with amusement the old 
 duenna's delight. 
 
 " Nay, Teresa, lay not down that chain," said De 
 Aguilera ; " you have well earned some little ac- 
 knowledgment of your long and faithful service. 
 The very first use which we make of our newly- 
 recovered property is to show our gratitude to her 
 who in weal or woe has never forsaken our house." 
 
 " The chain— for me ! " exclaimed the astonished 
 duenna ; " what could the like of me do with so 
 costly an ornament as this ? " 
 
 " Turn it into dollars," said Alcala quietly ; but 
 the Spanish cavalier could not help a flush rising to 
 his cheek as he added, " as I am going to turn the 
 goblet of gold." 
 
 Teresa looked aghast at such an unexpected an- 
 nouncement. She could scarcely believe that any- 
 thing could induce Alcala to part with that splendid 
 relic of family grandeur, embossed with the Aguilera 
 arms— a goblet which had been touched by the lips 
 of princes — a goblet which had been the most costly 
 ornament of a table at which a hundred guests had 
 sat down.
 
 A TREASURE. 277 
 
 " Better part with anything than with that ! " 
 exclaimed the old servant, making a passionate 
 protest against what seemed to her little short of 
 sacrilege. 
 
 " I have talked the subject over with my sister," 
 replied Aguilera ; " neither of us would touch our 
 grandmother's property during her lifetime, and the 
 greater part of the gems are hers. Nor is this a 
 time for disposing of jewels ; for that we must wait 
 for more quiet days. Gold always commands its 
 value." 
 
 " But that goblet," expostulated Teresa — " that 
 which was the pride of your house !" 
 
 " Teresa, I must have nothing more to do with 
 pride," said Alcala gi-avely but kindly. "I have 
 renounced the pride of life as one of those things 
 which are inconsistent with the character of a Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 Inez saw that this was an argument incomprehen- 
 sible to Teresa, and in her own gentle way the 
 Spanish maiden brought forward others which had 
 a far greater effect upon the old servant's mind. 
 Donna Benita should now have the little pleasures 
 which she could yet enjoy, and the comforts which 
 she required ; so many things had long been needed 
 by the family which could now be procured by the 
 sacrifice of one costly cup. Surely, suggested Inez,
 
 278 A TREASURE. 
 
 it was better to havo food in an earthenware dish, 
 than to sit hungry at a board laden vnih empty 
 plate, albeit of gold. 
 
 Teresa drew a deep sigh ; she could not gainsay 
 her young lady's words, but she looked at the 
 doomed goblet with tearful eyes, as a parent might 
 look at a child from whom she was forced to part. 
 
 "Oh, seiior," cried Teresa with emotion, "grant 
 to me but one boon ; it is but a small one — it will 
 cost you no effort or loss — it is the first favour 
 which your old servant ever has asked of her 
 master." 
 
 " It will scarcely be denied," said Alcala. 
 
 " Before you sell that precious heirloom, bid to a 
 banquet those two English senors who have seen you 
 in your — ^your difficulties ; the brave caballero who 
 recovered your treasure, and the elder one whose " 
 — Teresa could not bring herself to say, "whose 
 salary you have stooped to earn," so she described 
 Mr. Passmore as he whose head was bald with age 
 
 Alcala could not altogether disappoint the earnestly 
 expressed wisH of his old retainer, or deny her the 
 gi-atification of letting his late employer see some 
 proof of the wealth once enjoyed by the family of 
 his clerk. Teresa's "banquet" was, however, re- 
 duced to a simple evening collation, to which not a 
 single guest but the two Englishmen was to be in-
 
 A TREASURE. 279 
 
 vited. Teresa would fain have had all the great and 
 wealthy inhabitants of Seville bidden to a grand en- 
 tertainment, and have had the goblet of gold pass 
 down the length of a table thronged with as many 
 guests as had found place at the wedding-feast of 
 Don Pedro de Aguilera. 
 
 " Our poor Teresa thinks our newly-found treasure 
 inexhaustible," said Inez with a happy smile to her 
 brother, when the duenna had hurried off to make 
 purchases of some of the innumerable articles which 
 she had now discovered to be indispensable, " Of 
 what are you thinking, my Alcala ? " continued Inez, 
 laying her hand caressingly on that of her brother, 
 and looking up lovingly into his face, which wore an 
 expression of deeper thought than usual. 
 
 " I was thinking, dearest, of another to us long- 
 buried and newly-recovered treasure, even the wi'itten 
 Word of God," replied Alcala. " This in itself is 
 truly inexhaustible wealth. Our country, our beau- 
 tiful Spain, basely robbed of that treasure, has for 
 ages been poor indeed ! But Heaven is restoring to 
 us now that which is beyond all price, even the 
 knowledge of gospel truth. May we Spaniards be 
 given grace to hold fast to the end that doctrine for 
 which so many martyrs have perished in the flames, 
 — the doctrine of justification by faith !" 
 
 The attention of both Alcala and of his friend
 
 280 A TREASURE. 
 
 Lucius being now earnestly directed to the subject 
 of the evangelization of Spain, they found, with both 
 pleasure and surprise, how many faithful labourers 
 had been in the field before them. As in our own 
 city, strangers might pass through hundreds of streets, 
 marvel at the traffic of London, and wonder at its 
 wealth, and yet be unaware all the time that, under- 
 ground and out of sight, trains are rapidly bearing 
 its merchant princes from place to place, — so those 
 who had believed themselves well acquainted with 
 Spain had lived in almo.st total ignorance of a gi-eat 
 hidden work going on beneath the surface of society. 
 Aleala and Lucius now heard for the first time of 
 the band of Spanish reformers who had been receiv- 
 ing: instruction from a Scotch minister * on the rock 
 of Gibraltar. They now first heard of the gifted con- 
 vert from Romanism, Jean Baptista Cabrera, gather- 
 ing around him these his brethren, the hope of the 
 infant Church, and organizing them to form a band 
 of faithful confessors, who, in the name of the only 
 Saviour, should bear the bamier of the truth into 
 Spain. Aleala found that arrangements for the 
 revision of the Scriptures, the compilation of an 
 evangelical creed, and the division of Spain into 
 districts, for the better diffusion of religious know- 
 ledge, had actually been made under the shadow of 
 
 • The Eev. A. Sutherland. Vide " Daybreak in Spain."
 
 A TREASURE. 281 
 
 the tj^ranny which had so long darkened the laud of 
 his birth, Cabrera's conference with other Spanish 
 reformers had taken place in the spring of the same 
 year of which the autumn saw the flight of Queen 
 Isabella. I will quote from an account of this con- 
 ference given in the work* to which I have so often 
 referred in this little volume : — 
 
 " In this transaction we see the foundations laid 
 of the Reformed Church of Spain. That glorious 
 event took place under the flag of Great Britain. 
 The day is well worthy of being noted ; it was the 
 25th of April 1868. This was the birthday of that 
 Church, and this day will long be a memorable one in 
 the annals of Spain and in the annals of Christianity." 
 
 " Yes, the Lord Bishop of Cadiz had some cause 
 to sound his cry of alarm ! " exclaimed Lucius, after 
 he and Alcala had been reading together a copy of 
 the soul-stirring address of Cabrera. "The grand 
 struggle between light and darkness has begun 
 already, thank God ! my own dear old country 
 has furnished weapons for the warfare ; " and the 
 Englishman laid his hand on a complete Spanish 
 Bible, which had been Aguilera's first purchase with 
 the treasure so lately restored. 
 
 But though the hopeful Briton looked forwM'd to 
 a speedy and glorious termination to that warfare, 
 
 • " Daybreak in Spain."
 
 282 A TREASURE. 
 
 Alcala revolved with some anxiety the difficulties 
 which were likely to obstruct the progress of the 
 evangelization of Spain. Isabella, that bigoted votary 
 of Rome, no longer, indeed, bore sway ; a priest- 
 ridden government had fallen, and the Spanish 
 people had shown little desire to uphold the Papal 
 power ; but all the political horizon was overspread 
 with a dense mist of uncertainty regarding the 
 future. Who would take the reins of government 
 that had dropped from the hands of the Queen ? 
 Who would manage obstinate Juntas, control violent 
 mobs, and guide the chariot of the State into any- 
 thing resembling an orderly course ? The eyes of 
 Spain were turned towards her banished General 
 Prim, that man who was, though but for a brief 
 period, to play so important a part in her histoiy. 
 Prim would return to his country, would rise to be 
 a ruler in the land from whence he had once been 
 driven. His coming triumph was the perpetual 
 theme of the exultant Diego, who now filled the 
 place in Alcala' s household which had been occupied 
 by Chico. Alcala, too, foresaw that General Prim 
 was likely to be the leader of the Spanish people : 
 but was his accession to power an event to be desired 
 or dreaded by those whose dearest object in life was 
 the evangelization of Spain ? Would Prim come to 
 sustain the power of the Romish priesthood with the
 
 A TREASURE. 283 
 
 support of the secular arm ? Would he, like his 
 predecessors, regard Protestantism as a punishable 
 crime ? Was the circulation of the Scriptures to be 
 prohibited, and a dungeon to be deemed the fittest 
 place for the bold evangelist who should proclaim 
 its life-giving truths ? What was a subject of 
 anxiety to De Aguilera was also a subject for fervent 
 prayer. Earnestly he besought the Ruler of all the 
 events of this changing scene to raise up a powerful 
 protector for the infant Reformed Church of Spain.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 GLAD TIDINGS. 
 
 T was with an expression of amusement 
 and surprise on his heavy features that 
 Mr. Passmore read a note inviting: him 
 to pass an evening at the house of Don Alcala de 
 Aguilera, some little time after the events related in 
 the preceding chapters. Peter Passmore turned the 
 paper over with his thick, short fingers, and laughed 
 aloud. 
 
 "I shall take care to fortify myself by a good 
 dinner beforehand — ho ! ho ! ho ! — lest the enter- 
 tainment prove as unsubstantial as the Barmecide's 
 feast ! " said the manufacturer to himself " But 
 there is something extraordinary after all in this 
 Spanish clerk or caballero. If he's mad, ' there's 
 method in his madness,' as Walter Scott would have 
 said. It was frantic folly to stand the onslaught of 
 a bull to please some silly senorita ; scarcely better 
 to get thrown into prison for the sake of reading a
 
 GLAD TIDINGS. 285 
 
 book. I thought Aguilera insane when he went 
 forward to meet a mob that looked ready to dash 
 out the brains of any man who stood in their way ; 
 but somehow or other this Quixote has contrived to 
 get through all his adventures with credit, if not 
 always with success. He subdued all those blood- 
 thirsty ruffians with a few sentences uttered in his 
 sonorous Spanish, better than a squad of their 
 alguazils could have done with bludgeons and pikes. 
 And certainly the dwelling of this Aguilera looks 
 more fit to lodge a grandee of Spain than a clerk of 
 the firm of Passmore and Perkins. A man has not 
 time to look about him as he would at an exhibition 
 when a set of howlincj rae^amuffins are battering; the 
 door, and he expects soon to have his throat cut 
 with their horrid long knives, but it seemed to me 
 as if the place in which I stood was a palace. It 
 might not answer our notions of English comfort, 
 for we Islanders like to have a roof over our sitting- 
 rooms, and don't care for gardens in the middle of 
 'em ; and I confess to preferring a well-stufied arm- 
 chair to the finest seat carved in marble. But it 
 gave an idea of grandeur. Well, well, I should like 
 to see more of this Spanish palace, and I will cer- 
 tainly accept the invitation of Don Alcala de 
 Aguilera, even at the risk of coming in for another 
 adventure."
 
 286 OLAD TIDIiNGS. 
 
 So, on the appointed evening. Mi*. Passmore, 
 dressed more carefully than usual, but wearing with 
 indifferent grace his gay neck-tie and tight-fitting 
 gloves, made his a})pearance in the patio of the house 
 in the Calle de San Josd Aguilera received his 
 guest with the refined courtesy natural to Spanish 
 gentlemen, and introduced him to Donna Inez. 
 
 The patio was lighted up for the occasion, if not 
 with the brilliancy which Teresa desired, yet suffi- 
 ciently well to display the beauty of the delicate 
 Moorish architecture, the graceful columns and horse- 
 shoe arches, the exquisite carving, and the rich hues 
 of flowers clustering around the fountain, no longer 
 silent, nor bearing the marks of decay. Passmore 
 looked around him with admiration, but with some- 
 thing of the feeling of the boor in the story who 
 foimd that the stranger to whom he had shown scant 
 courtesy was a prince in disguise. Aguilera making 
 up accounts at the desk, and Aguilera doing the 
 honours of his noble mansion, seemed to the manu- 
 facturer to be two different beings. Peter Passmore 
 was not at his ease, and all the less so because of his 
 imperfect knowledge of the language of his enter- 
 tainers. His Spanish was seldom correct and never 
 fluent, and the manufacturer was not devoid of that 
 shyness which belongs to our national character, and 
 which makes the Briton fear to compromise himself
 
 GLAD TIDINGS. 287 
 
 by committing some breach of etiquette in a foreign 
 land, with whose customs he is but imperfectly 
 acquainted, Passmore greatly missed his usual inter- 
 preter Lucius. 
 
 " I thought that I should have met Lepine here," 
 Mr, Passmore observed to his host. 
 
 " I cannot imagine what detains my friend/' said 
 Alcala ; "I have expected him here this last hour, 
 Lepine never fails to keep an appointment," 
 
 " I never knew him late but once," observed Pa,ss- 
 more, attempting to keep up conversation in his 
 broken and most ungrammatical Spanish, " It was 
 on the evening before you killed — I mean to say, 
 when you were killed — no, that's not exactly the 
 thing — I beg yom- pardon, senor, for biinging up so 
 awkward a subject," stammered forth the clumsy 
 Briton, seeing the cloud that for an instant passed 
 over the bright happy face of Alcala' s sister. 
 
 Diego now appeared with a tray covered with the 
 fruits of Andalusia, and other elegant but inexpen- 
 sive dainties. But Teresa would suffer no hands but 
 her own to have the honour of bearing the goblet of 
 gold, filled with the wine of Xeres. Proud as if she 
 can-ied a monarch's orb and sceptre, the old retainer 
 of the Aguileras brought iu the family heirloom. 
 Teresa was almost satisfied by the manufacturer's 
 look of surprise, as, after taking a draught of the
 
 288 Or.AD TIDINGS. 
 
 Nvine, he retained the goblet for some seconds in his 
 hold, to examine before he returned it. Peter Pass- 
 more was more puzzled than ever by the late conduct 
 of the possessor of such a magnificent piece of plate. 
 
 " Is that pure gold ?" inquired Passmore, curiosity 
 getting the better of politeness. 
 
 Alcala, by a slight movement of the head, gave an 
 affirmative reply. Teresa was offended by the doubt 
 implied by the question, and muttered to herself, 
 "Does the Inglesito take it for a bit of his own 
 worthless iron ? " 
 
 " I suppose, Don Alcala de Aguilera," observed 
 Passmore after a pause, " that you will scarcely care 
 to take service again ? " The question would, we 
 may hope, have been more delicately put, but for the 
 speaker's difficulty in expressing himself in Spanish. 
 
 This was too much for the endurance of Teresa ; 
 her indirrnation and disijust overcame even her sense 
 of decorum. 
 
 " Take service ! " she repeated, every wrinkle in 
 her face appearing tc quiver with passion ; " is such 
 a word spoken to the illustrious caballero, Don Alcala 
 de Aguilera ? " 
 
 Alcala quieted his retainer by a gesture of the 
 hand ; and then, turning to his late employer, thus 
 calmly replied to his question, — 
 
 "I am assuredly going to take service, senor, but
 
 GLAD TIDINGS. 289 
 
 of a different land from that to which you refer. I 
 am preparing myself, with my friend's kind aid, for 
 work in a sphere where I shall deem it an honour 
 to hold the lowest place. I hope, ere long, to become 
 a teacher where I have so lately become a learner, 
 and to give myself to the ministry of the gospel in 
 my native Andalusia." 
 
 Passmore but half understood the reply of the 
 Spaniard, but he asked for no explanation of what 
 might have been almost equally incomprehensible to 
 the worldly man had it been spoken in English. 
 
 Lucius Lepine, breathless with the speed at which 
 he had come, at this instant burst into the patio. 
 The eagerness of his manner, the animation of his 
 look, showed him to be the bearer of tidings, and at 
 once riveted on the young Englishman the attention 
 of all. 
 
 " Pardon me, senorita, — and you, Alcala," gasped 
 forth the guest who had so unceremoniously rushed 
 into the court ; " I have earned forgiveness for my 
 delay for the sake of the news which I bring. Prim 
 is in Spain — " 
 
 Diego could not suppress a triumphant viva. 
 
 " He has met with the evangelist Cabrera at the 
 to^vn of Algeciras — " 
 
 With intense interest Alcala bent forward to listen, 
 while the breathless naiTator went oa 
 
 (466) 19
 
 290 GLAD TIDINGS. 
 
 " Cabrera had an interview with the chief who is 
 now the foremost man in the State — " 
 
 " What said the general ? " asked Alcala, with 
 mingled anxiety and hope. 
 
 " Prim said to Cabrera, ' Are you of those who 
 were prosecuted by the late Government as being 
 bad religionists?' — 'We are,' replied our noble evan- 
 gelist. — ' Then I have to tell you/ said the chief, 
 ' that you may enter Spain with your Bible under 
 your arm' " * 
 
 There was a louder viva from Diegco. But Alcala 
 did not speak ; he had sunk on his knees, and was 
 breathing forth from the depths of his soul a thanks- 
 giving for the glorious sun of life and light that was 
 rising upon his beloved Spain. 
 
 • "Daybreak in Spain."
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 FICTION AND TRUTH. 
 
 |ERE closes my story, but not my work. 
 The information which some writers 
 might have put into a preface, I have 
 pui-posely reserved, as the choicest part of my 
 volume, for its conclusion. 
 
 I hope that A. L. 0. E. may be pardoned for 
 giving to the hero of her fiction the name actually 
 borne by a noble Spanish evangelist now a standard- 
 bearer of the gospel in Seville. Her tale has failed 
 of its purpose if it has awakened no interest in the 
 good work at this time going on in Seville, as well 
 as in other cities of Spain. To give an idea of the 
 nature and success of that work, and to place the 
 true beside the fictitious Aguilera, she has but to 
 transcribe from an " Occasional Paper," published 
 in September 1873, by the Spanish Evangelical 
 Mission.* This date is about five years later than 
 
 * Office, C Duke Street, Adelphi, London.
 
 292 FICTION AND TRUTH. 
 
 that chosen for the preceding story, and belongs to 
 a period when a fresh revolution had convulsed the 
 country of Spain, 
 
 " Our missionary agents at Seville have been 
 called to pass through a season of great anxiety and 
 of considerable danger, in consequence of the in- 
 surrections which took place in June and July, 
 and the subsequent siege of the city. Through 
 the love and tender mercy of our Heavenly 
 Father, our friends were preserved from all harm, 
 as were also the churches, mission-houses, and 
 schools." 
 
 An extract from a letter written by an English 
 eye-witness of the alarming insurrection which took 
 place in Seville in that eventful summer of 1873 
 then follows. 
 
 " A terrible scene took place. The people gathered 
 in many thousands, and vociferously demanded the 
 heads of the members of the Junta, who were at 
 this moment prisoners in the Ayuntamiento. The 
 Plaza Nueva, now Plaza de la Republica Federal, 
 and the Plaza de San Francisco, were filled with 
 people who savagely shouted, ' Que r)iuera ! ' Se- 
 veral hundred volunteers had already formed a 
 circle, expecting the prisoners to be shot. The 
 governor tried in vain to appease the people, who, 
 like so many hungry tigers, yelled for the lives
 
 FICTION AND TRUTH. 293 
 
 of the unfortunate men. Then a heart-rending 
 scene took place. The wives and children of the 
 prisoners, pressing through the crowd, knelt in the 
 midst of the circle, and begged the people to spare 
 the lives of those who were so near and dear to 
 them, the children imploring with tiny outstretched 
 arms ; but all in vain. ' Que muera ! ' (Let them 
 die !) was the only response. 
 
 " Suddenly Aguilera, our evangelist, accompanied 
 by a few friends, appeared on one of the balconies 
 facing the Ayuntamiento, and gave a heart-stirring 
 address to the people. He spoke so loudly that I 
 could hear him distinctly on the other side of the 
 Plaza. The crowd at first would not listen. Some 
 said, 'He is a traitor!' others, 'He is a Protestant!' 
 and many shouted, ' Shoot him ! ' But by degi-ees 
 the shouts subsided, and the crowd soon became 
 thoroughly moved by his earnest words, and broke 
 forth into hearty cheers and cries of ' Let them 
 live ! ' Thus did Senor Aguilera by his courageous 
 conduct save the lives of the unhappy prisoners, 
 who would otherwise have been sacrificed to the 
 bloodthirsty mob." 
 
 In another letter,* written less than a month 
 after the preceding, a Spanish missionary, the Rev. 
 F. Palomares, gives details which can scarcely fail 
 
 * Wliat follows is a translation.
 
 294 FICTION AND TRUTH. 
 
 to interest those who care for the progress of our 
 Lord's kingdom in Spain. 
 
 " The events at Seville during the last few days 
 have been most serious. We passed three days of 
 greater anguish than we had ever before experienced. 
 A barricade was erected in front of the door of San 
 Basilio Church,* and a cannon was placed by the 
 volunteers in the door of the schoolroom. On seeingr 
 these preparations, I had the English flag, and that 
 of the Red Cross or hospital flag, hoisted on the 
 church. I invited the neighbours, without distinc- 
 tion of religion or politics, to contribute bandages, 
 medicines, and other necessaries for the wounded. 
 This they did most willingly. A committee was 
 formed to assist me in conveying the wounded, not 
 only to our own hospital, but also to those that 
 were in the vicinity of the fighting. All this was 
 done with great risk to our lives, but our Lord 
 Jesus Christ was with us on all occasions. At the 
 same time I occupied myself in gathering under the 
 roof of San Basilio the women and children, the 
 sick and aged. By this means consolation and 
 shelter were ofiered to more than fifteen hundred 
 persons during the three days of danger, who left 
 us with expressions of gratitude." 
 
 A few more touches from the pen of an English 
 
 • A large Protestant church in Seyille.
 
 FICTION AND TRUTH. 295 
 
 missionary at Seville must be added to fill up the 
 picture from real life now placed beside that which 
 is the mere creation of fancy. 
 
 " Thanks be to the Keeper of Israel, and praises 
 to His name, for His loving-kindness towards us in 
 having kept us from all harm. The churches, 
 houses, and schools connected with the Mission, 
 although two of them are very near the scene of 
 destruction, were not injured in the least. The 
 June insurrection ended, comparatively speaking, 
 pacifically ; but that of July, I am sony to say, 
 was the cause of much bloodshed and loss of pro- 
 perty. No one knows the precise number of the 
 dead and wounded. The [Madrid] newspapers an- 
 nounce them to be about 800, but that is probably 
 an exaggeration. The city had the appearance of 
 a vast camp. Barricades were erected in all parts 
 of it. On Sunday, July 27th, the Government 
 troops could be seen advancing from the top of the 
 Giralda. No one, excepting women and children, 
 were allowed to leave the city. 
 
 " It was uncertain which part of the town the 
 troops would attack, but the general opinion was 
 they would attack the [Macarena] district in which 
 San Basilio is situated ; consequently many of the 
 inhabitants of the adjacent quarters emigrated 
 towards the cathedral and the river. I was at that
 
 296 FICTION AND TRUTIl. 
 
 time at San Basilio, making arrangements M-itli 
 Senor Palomares for the reception of the wounded. 
 The church was filled with women and children, 
 who were invited to take shelter under the Enirlish 
 and Red Cross flags. I could not help remarking 
 to Senor Palomares that God would probably bring 
 good out of this evil, by causing some of those 
 bigoted Roman Catholic families, who were now 
 sheltering themselves under the roof of a Protestant 
 church, to take refuge under the blessings of the 
 gospel, and so save their souls from everlasting de- 
 struction. 
 
 " The bombardment commenced at half-past two 
 on Monday, and continued till Wednesday, when 
 the troops succeeded in taking possession of the city. 
 
 " Senor Palomares, myself, and several members 
 of the Red Cross went out on Tuesday evening to 
 bring in some wounded ; but we could not get 
 beyond the barricade of San Jose, for the balls still 
 rushed by. It was a sad scene to behold. The 
 whole neighbourhood had been saturated with 
 petroleum, and the pillars of smoke and fire were 
 terrible : I have never witnessed in my life such 
 a scene before. The disasters of Bourbaki's army, 
 of which I was an eye-witness, seem to me less 
 than what I beheld during the three days of the 
 bombardment of Seville.
 
 FICTION AND TRUTH. 297 
 
 "It is most astonishing and worth while men- 
 tioning that, whilst the houses to the right and 
 left, before and behind, our (Garci Perez) school are 
 more or less damaged, it should have escaped with- 
 out even a ball-mark ; and that, whilst houses only 
 a few yards distant were burned, and a large cork 
 manufactory not more than ten yards from it was 
 almost totally destroyed, it should have escaped 
 without injury. 
 
 " Our schools were only discontinued for a few 
 days, and they are now as well attended as before. 
 May the Lord have mercy on poor Spain, and cause 
 the light of His gospel to shine in her midst !" 
 
 Let the reader of these pages breathe a fervent 
 " amen " to this prayer ; nor let him content him- 
 self with this sign of sympathy with those who 
 maintain so holy a cause. Men and money are 
 needed ; the conflict is going on at this moment, 
 the battle is not yet decided. Such Spaniards as 
 Cabrera and Aguilera still contend in their nobler 
 Plaza de Toros with fierce bigotry and superstition : 
 a formidable enemy is before them ; but their 
 weapon is the Word of God, and English friends, 
 faithful and firm, stand at their side. When in 
 eternity the ancient martyrs and the modem spiri- 
 tual heroes of Spain remember in the mansions of 
 peace and bliss the struggle in which they once
 
 298 FICTION AND TRUTH. 
 
 bore so noble a pai-t, may my reader be able with 
 humble joy to exclaim, " I was no idle spectator of 
 the struggle ! Such help as I could give I willingly 
 gave, and I — even I — may now, while ascribing 
 all glory to the God of hosts, join in the song of 
 victory and the psalm of thanksgiving — for the 
 triumphs of the Gospel in Spain !" 
 
 Another Occasional Paper, issued by the Spanish Church Mission 
 whilst this volume was passing through the press, gives a cheering 
 account of the progress of evangelical work in Seville. The number of 
 children under religious tuition is a peculiarly encouraging feature of 
 this work. Portions of Scripture, illuminated by English hands, are 
 nung up not only in schools, but some of them in jirivate houses, to the 
 great annoyance of Romish priests. Though Spain is yet convulsed by 
 civil war, and fierce bigotry has not ceased to oppose the truth, an 
 Aguilera still holds his glorious post in Seville ; and in the city where 
 BO many martjTS once died in flames kindled by the Inquisition, Spanish 
 lips are now preaching the doctrine of justification by faith.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
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