XVII.

Disclosures.

"No distance breaks the tie of blood;

Brothers are brothers evermore;

Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood,

That magic may o'erpower."--Keble

The opportunity for free converse with his brother which Carlos desired,

yet dreaded, was unexpectedly postponed. It would have been in

accordance neither with the ideas of the time nor with his own feelings

to have shortened his period of retreat in the monastery, though he

would not now prolong it. And though Don Juan did not fail to make his

appearance upon every day when visitors were admitted, he was always

accompanied by either of his cousins Don Manuel or Don Balthazar, or by

both. These shallow, worldly-minded young men were little likely to

allow for the many things, in which strangers might not intermeddle,

that brothers long parted might find to say to each other; they only

thought that they were conferring a high honour on their poorer

relatives by their favour and notice. In their presence the

conversation was necessarily confined to the incidents of Juan's

campaign, and to family matters. Whether Don Balthazar would obtain a

post he was seeking under Government; whether Dona Sancha would

eventually bestow the inestimable favour of her hand upon Don Beltran

Vivarez or Don Alonso de Giron; and whether the disappointed suitor

would stab himself or his successful rival;--these were questions of

which Carlos soon grew heartily weary. But in all that concerned

Beatrix he was deeply interested. Whatever he may once have allowed

himself to fancy about the sentiments of a very young and childish girl,

he never dreamed that she would make, or even desire to make, any

opposition to the expressed wish of her guardian, who destined her for

Juan. He was sure that she would learn quickly enough to love his

brother as he deserved, even if she did not already do so. And it gave

him keen pleasure that his sacrifice had not been in vain; that the

wine-cup of joy which he had just tasted, then put steadily aside, was

being drained to the dregs by the lips he loved best. It is true this

pleasure was not yet unmixed with pain, but the pain was less than a few

months ago he would have believed possible. The wound which he once

thought deadly, was in process of being healed; nay, it was nearly

healed already. But the scar would always remain.

Grand and mighty, but perplexing and mournful thoughts were filling his

heart every day more and more. Amongst the subjects eagerly and

continually discussed with the brethren of San Isodro, the most

prominent just now was the sole priesthood of Christ, with the

impossibility of his one perfect and sufficient sacrifice being ever

repeated.

But these truths, in themselves so glorious, had for those who dared to

admit them one terrible consequence. Their full acknowledgment would

transform "the main altar's consummation," the sacrifice of the mass,

from the highest act of Christian worship into a hideous lie,

dishonouring to God, and ruinous to man.

To this conclusion the monks of San Isodro were drawing nearer slowly

but surely every day. And Carlos was side by side with the most

advanced of them in the path of progress. Though timid in action, he was

bold in speculation. To his keen, quick intellect to think and to

reason was a necessity; he could not rest content with surface truths,

nor leave any matter in which he was interested without probing it to

its depths.

But as far at least as the monks were concerned, the conclusion now

imminent was practically a most momentous one. It must transform the

light that illuminated them into a fire that would burn and torture the

hands that held and tried to conceal it. They could only guard

themselves from loss and injury, perhaps from destruction, by setting it

on the candlestick of a true and faithful profession.

"Better," said the brethren to each other, "leave behind us the rich

lands and possessions of our order; what are these things in comparison

to a conscience void of offence towards God and towards man? Let us go

forth and seek shelter in some foreign land, destitute exiles but

faithful witnesses for Christ, having purchased to ourselves the liberty

of confessing his name before men." This plan was the most popular with

the community; though there were some that objected to it, not because

of the loss of worldly wealth it would entail, but because of its

extreme difficulty, and the peril in which it would involve others.

That the question might be fully discussed and some course of action

resolved upon, the monks of San Isodro convened a solemn chapter.

Carlos had not, of course, the right to be present, though his friends

would certainly inform him immediately afterwards of all that passed.

So he whiled away part of the anxious hours by a walk in the orange

grove belonging to the monastery. It was now December, and there had

been a frost--not very usual in that mild climate. Every blade of grass

was gemmed with tiny jewels, which were crushed by his footsteps as he

passed along. He fancied them like the fair and sparkling, but unreal

dreams of the creed in which he had been nurtured. They must perish;

even should he weakly turn aside to spare them, God's sun would not fail

ere long to dissolve them with the warmth of its beams. But wherefore

mourn them? Would not the sun shine on still, and the blue sky, the

emblem of eternal truth and love, still stretch above his head?

Therefore he would look up--up, and not down. Forgetting the things that

were behind, and reaching forth unto those that were before, he would

fain press forward towards the mark for the prize. And then his heart

went up in fervent prayer that not only he himself, but also all those

who shared his faith, might be enabled so to do.

Turning into a path leading back through the grove to the monastery, he

saw his brother coming towards him.

"I was seeking thee," said Don Juan.

"And always welcome. But why so early? On a Friday too?"

"Wherein is Friday worse than Thursday?" asked Juan with a laugh. "You

are not a monk, or even a novice, to be bound by rules so strict that

you may not say, 'Vaya con Dios' to your brother without asking leave of

my lord Abbot."

Carlos had often noticed, not with displeasure, the freedom which Juan

since his return assumed in speaking of Churchmen and Church ordinances.

He answered, "I am only bound by the general rules of the house, to

which it is seemly that visitors should conform. To-day the brethren

are holding a Chapter to confer upon matters pertaining to their

discipline. I cannot well bring you in-doors; but we do not need a

better parlour than this."

"True. I care for no roof save God's sky; and as for glazed and grated

windows, I abhor them. Were I thrown into prison, I should die in a

week. I made an early start for San Isodro, on an unusual day, to get

rid of the company of my excellent but tiresome cousins; for in truth I

am sick unto death of their talk and their courtesies. Moreover, I have

ten thousand things to tell you, brother."

"I have a few for your ear also."

"Let us sit down. Here is a pleasant seat which some of your brethren

contrived to rest their weary limbs and enjoy the prospect. They know

how to be comfortable, these monks."

They sat down accordingly. For more than an hour Don Juan was the chief

speaker; and as he spoke out of the abundance of his heart, it was no

wonder that the name oftenest on his lips was that of Dona Beatriz. Of

the long and circumstantial story that he poured into the sympathizing

ear of Carlos no more than this is necessary to repeat--that Beatriz not

only did not reject him (no well-bred Spanish girl would behave in such

a singular manner to a suitor recommended by her guardian), but actually

looked kindly, nay, even smiled upon him. His exhilaration was in

consequence extreme; and its expression might have proved tedious to any

listener not deeply interested in his welfare.

At last, however, the subject was dismissed. "So my path lies clear and

plain before me," said Juan, his fine determined face glowing with

resolution and hope. "A soldier's life, with its toils and prizes; and

a happy home at Nuera, with a sweet face to welcome me when I return.

And, sooner or later, _that_ voyage to the Indies. But you,

Carlos--speak out, for I confess you perplex me--what do _you_ wish and

intend?"

"Had you asked me that question a few months, I might almost say a few

weeks, ago, I should not have hesitated, as now I do, for an answer."

"You were ever willing, more than willing, for Holy Church's service. I

know but one cause which could alter your mind; and to the tender

accusation you have already pleaded not guilty."

"The plea is a true one."

"Certes; it cannot be that you have been seized with a sudden passion

for a soldier's life," laughed Juan. "That was never your taste, little

brother; and with all respect for you, I scarce think your achievements

with sword and arquebus would be specially brilliant. But there is

something wrong with you," he said in an altered tone, as he gazed in

his brother's anxious face.

"Not _wrong_, but--"

"I have it!" said Juan, joyously interrupting him. "You are in debt.

That is soon mended, brother. In fact, it is my fault. I have had far

too large a share already of what should have been for both of us alike.

In future--"

"Hush, brother. I have always had enough, more than I needed. And thou

hast many expenses, and wilt have more henceforward, whilst I shall only

want a doublet and hosen, and a pair of shoes."

"And a cassock and gown?"

Carlos was silent.

"I vow it is a harder task to comprehend you than to chase Coligny's

guard with my single arm! And you so pious, so good a Christian! If

you were a dull rough soldier like me, and if you had had a Huguenot

prisoner (and a very fine fellow, too) to share your bed and board for

months, one could comprehend your not liking certain things over well,

or even"--and Juan averted his face and lowered his voice--"your having

certain evil thoughts you would scarcely care to breathe in the ears of

your father confessor."

"Brother, I too have had thoughts," said Carlos eagerly.

But Juan suddenly tossed off his montero, and ran his fingers through

his black glossy hair. In old times this gesture used to be a sign that

he was going to speak seriously. After a moment he began, but with a

little hesitation, for in fact he held the _mind_ of Carlos in as true

and unfeigned reverence as Carlos held his _character_. And that is

enough to say, without mentioning the additional respect with which he

regarded him, as almost a priest. "Brother Carlos, you are good and

pious. You were thus from childhood; and therefore it is that you are

fit for the service of Holy Church. You rise and go to rest, you read

your books, and tell your beads, and say your prayers, all just as you

are ordered. It is the best life for you, and for any man who can live

it, and be content with it. You do not sin, you do not doubt; therefore

you will never come into any grief or trouble. But let me tell you,

little brother, you have a scant notion what men meet with who go forth

into the great world and fight their way in it; seeing on every side of

them things that, take them as they may, will _not_ always square with

the faith they have learned in childhood."

"Brother, I also have struggled and suffered. I also have doubted."

"Oh yes, a Churchman's doubts! You had only to tell yourself doubt was

a sin, to make the sign of the cross, to say an Ave or two, then there

was an end of your doubts. 'Twere a different matter if you had the

evil one in the shape of an angel of light--at least in that of a

courteous, well-bred Huguenot gentleman, with as nice a sense of honour

as any Catholic Christian--at your side continually, to whisper that the

priests are no better than they ought to be, that the Church needs

reform; and Heaven knows what more, and worse, beside.--Now, my pious

brother, if thou art going to curse me with bell, book, and candle,

begin at once. I am ready, and prepared to be duly penitent. Let me

first put on my cap though, for it is cold," and he suited the action to

the word.

The voice in which Carlos answered him was low and tremulous with

emotion. "Instead of cursing thee, brother beloved, I bless thee from

my heart for words which give me courage to speak. I have doubted--nay,

why should I shrink from the truth! I have learned, as I believe, from

God himself, that some things which the Church teaches as her doctrines

are only the commandments of men."

Don Juan started, and his colour changed. His vaguely liberal ideas

were far from having prepared him for this. "What do you mean?" he

cried, staring at his brother in amazement.

"That I am now, in very truth, what I think you would call--_a

Huguenot_."

The die was cast. The avowal was made. Carlos waited its effects in

breathless silence, as one who has fired a powder magazine might await

the explosion.

"May all the holy saints have mercy upon us!" cried Juan, in a voice

that echoed through the grove. But after that one involuntary cry he

was silent. The eyes of Carlos sought his face, but he turned away from

him. At last he muttered, striking with his sword at the trunk of a

tree that was near him, "Huguenot--Protestant--_heretic_!"

"Brother," said Carlos, rising and standing before him--"brother, say

what thou wilt, only speak to me. Reproach me, curse me, strike me, if

it please thee, only speak to me."

Juan turned, gazed full in his imploring face, and slowly, very slowly,

allowed the sword to fall from his hand. There was a moment of doubt,

of hesitation. Then he stretched out that hand to his brother. "They

who list may curse thee, but not I," he said.

Carlos strained the offered hand in so close a grasp that his own was

cut by his brother's diamond ring, and the blood flowed.

For a long time both were silent, Juan in amazement, perhaps in

consternation; Carlos in deep thankfulness. His confession was made,

and his brother loved him still.

At last Juan spoke, slowly and as if half bewildered. "The Sieur de

Ramenais believes in God, and in our Lord and his passion. And you?"

Carlos repeated the Apostles' Creed in the vulgar tongue.

"And in Our Lady, Mary, Mother of God?"

"I believe that she was the most blessed among women, the holiest among

the holy saints. Yet I ask her intercession no more. I am too well

assured of His love who says to me; and to all who keep his word, 'My

brother, my sister, my mother.'"

"I thought devotion to Our Lady was the surest mark of piety," said

Juan, in utter perplexity. "Then, I am only a man of the world. But

oh, my brother, this is frightful!" He paused a moment, then added more

calmly, "Still, I have learned that Huguenots are not beasts with horns

and hoofs; but, possibly, brave and honourable men enough, as good, for

this world, as their neighbours. And yet--the disgrace!" His dark

cheek flushed, then grew pale, as there rose before his mind's eye an

appalling vision--his brother robed in a hideous sanbenito, bearing a

torch in the ghastly procession of an _auto-da-fe_! "You have kept your

secret as your life? My uncle and his family suspect nothing?" he asked

anxiously.

"Nothing, thank God."

"And who taught you this accursed--these doctrines?"

Carlos briefly told the story of his first acquaintance with the Spanish

New Testament; suppressing, however, all mention of the personal sorrow

that had made its teaching so precious to him; nor did he think it

expedient to give the name of Juliano Hernandez.

"The Church may need reform. I am sure she does," Juan candidly

admitted. "But Carlos, my brother," he added, while the expression of

his face softened gradually into mournful, pitying tenderness, "little

brother, in old times so gentle, so timid, hast thou dreamed--of the

peril? I speak not now of the disgrace--God wot that is hard enough to

think of--hard enough," he repeated bitterly. "But the peril?"

Carlos was silent; his hands were clasped, his eyes raised upwards, full

of thought, perhaps of prayer.

"What is that on thy hand?" asked Juan, with a sudden change of tone.

"Blood? The Sieur de Ramenais' diamond ring has hurt thee."

Carlos glanced at the little wound, and smiled. "I never felt it," he

said, "so glad was my heart, Ruy, for that brave grasp of faithful

brotherhood." And there was a strange light in his eye as he added,

"Perchance it may be thus with me, if Christ indeed should call me to

suffer. Weak as I am, he can give, even to me, such blessed assurance

of his love, that in the joy of it pain and fear shall be unfelt, or

vanish."

Juan could not understand him, but he was awed and impressed. He had no

heart for many words. He rose and walked towards the gate of the

monastery grounds, slowly and in silence, Carlos accompanying him. When

they had nearly reached the spot where they were to part, Carlos said,

"You have heard Fray Constantino, as I asked you?"

"Yes, and I greatly admire him."

"He teaches God's truth."

"Why can you not rest content with his teaching, then, instead of going

to look for better bread than wheaten, Heaven knows where?"

"When I return to the city next week I will explain all to thee."

"I hope so. In the meantime, adios." He strode on a pace or two, then

turned back to say, "Thou and I, Carlos, we will stand together against

the world."