The Flood-Gates Opened.
"And they feared as they entered into the cloud."
For the first stage of Don Juan's journey Carlos accompanied him. They
spent the time in animated talk, chiefly about Nuera, Carlos sending
kind messages to the dying man, to Dolores, and indeed to all the
household. "Remember, brother," he said, "to give Dolores the little
books I put into the alforjas, specially the 'Confession of a Sinner.'"
"I shall remember everything, even to bringing thee back tidings of all
the sick folk in the village. Now, Carlos, here we agreed to part;--no,
not one step further."
They clasped each other's hands. "It is not like a long parting," said
Juan.
"No. Vaya con Dios, my Ruy."
"Quede con Dios,[#] brother;" and he rode off, followed by his servant.
[#] Remain with God.
Carlos watched him wistfully; would he turn for a last look? He _did_
turn. Taking off his velvet montero, he gaily bowed farewell; thus
allowing Carlos to gaze once more upon his dark, handsome, resolute
features, keen, sparkling eyes and curling black hair.
Whilst Juan saw a scholar's face, thoughtful, refined, sensitive; a
broad pale forehead, from which the breeze had blown the waving fair
hair (fair to a southern eye, though really a bright soft brown), and
lips that kept the old sweetness of expression, though, whether from the
manly fringe that graced them or from some actual change, the weakness
which marred them once had ceased to be apparent now.
Another moment, and both had turned their horses' heads. Carlos, when he
reached the city, made a circuit to avoid one of the very frequent
processions of the Host; since, as time passed on, he felt ever more and
more disinclined to the absolutely necessary prostration. Afterwards he
called upon Losada, to inquire the exact address of a person whom he had
asked him to visit. He found him engaged in his character of physician,
and sat down in the patio to await his leisure.
Ere long Dr. Cristobal passed through, politely accompanying to the gate
a canon of the cathedral, for whose ailments he had just been
prescribing. The Churchman, who was evidently on the best terms with
his physician, was showing his good-nature and affability by giving him
the current news of the city; to which Losada listened courteously, with
a grave, quiet smile, and, when necessary, an appropriate question or
comment. Only one item made any impression upon Carlos: it related to a
pleasant estate by the sea-side which Munebraga had just purchased,
disappointing thereby a relative of the canon's who desired to possess
it, but could not command the very large price readily offered by the
Inquisitor.
At last the visitor was gone. In a moment the smile had faded from the
physician's care-worn face. Turning to Carlos with a strangely altered
look, he said, "The monks of San Isodro have fled."
"Fled?" Carlos repeated, in blank dismay.
"Yes; no fewer than twelve of them have abandoned the monastery."
"How did you hear it?"
"One of the lay brethren came in this morning to inform me. They held
another solemn Chapter, in which it was determined that each one should
follow the guidance of his own conscience, those, therefore, to whom it
seemed best to go have gone, the rest remain."
For some moments they looked at each other in silence. So fearful was
the peril in which this rash act involved them all, that it almost
seemed as if they had heard a sentence of death.
The voice of Carlos faltered as he asked at last,--"Have Fray Cristobal
or Fray Fernando gone?"
"No; they are both amongst those, more generous if not more wise, who
have chosen to remain and take what God will send them here. Stay, here
is a letter from Fray Cristobal which the lay brother brought me; it
will tell you as much as I know myself."
Carlos read it carefully. "It seems," he said, when he had finished,
"that the consciences of those who fled would not allow them any longer
to conform, even outwardly, to the rules of their order. Moreover, from
the signs of the times, they believe that a storm is about to burst upon
the company of the faithful."
"God grant it may prove that they have saved _themselves_ from its
violence," Losada answered, with a slight emphasis on "themselves."
"And for us?--God help us!" Carlos almost moaned, the paper falling from
his trembling hand. "What shall we do?"
"Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might," returned Losada
bravely. "No other strength remains for us. But God grant none of us in
the city may be so unadvised as to follow the example of the brethren.
The flight of one might be the ruin of all."
"And those noble, devoted men who remain at San Isodro?"
"Are in God's hands, as we are."
"I will ride out and visit them, especially Fray Fernando."
"Excuse me, Senor Don Carlos, but you will do nothing of the kind; that
were to court suspicion. I will bear any message you choose to send."
"And you?"
Losada smiled, though sadly. "The physician has occasion to go," he
said; "he is a very useful personage, who often covers with his ample
cloak the _dogmatizing heretic_."
Carlos recognized the official phraseology of the Holy Office. He
repressed a shudder, but could not hide the look of terror that dilated
his large blue eyes.
The older man, the more experienced Christian, could compassionate the
youth. Losada, himself standing "face to face with death," spoke kind
words of counsel and comfort to Carlos. He cautioned him strongly
against losing his self-possession, and thereby running needlessly into
danger. "Especially would I urge upon you, Senor Don Carlos," he said,
"the duty of avoiding unnecessary risk, for already you are useful to
us; and should God spare your life, you will be still more so. If I
fall--"
"Do not speak of it, my beloved friend."
"It will be as God pleases," said the pastor calmly. "But I need not
remind you, others stand in like peril with me. Especially Fray
Cassiodoro, and Don Juan Ponce de Leon."
"The noblest heads, the likeliest to fall," Carlos murmured.
"Then must younger soldiers step forth from the ranks, and take up the
standards dropped from their hands. Don Carlos Alvarez, we have high
hopes of you. Your quiet words reach the heart; for you speak that
which you know, and testify that which you have seen. And the good
gifts of mind that God has given you enable you to speak with the
greater acceptance. He may have much work for you in his harvest-field.
But whether he should call you to work or to suffer, shrink not, but 'be
strong and of good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed; for
the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.'"
"I will try to trust him; and may he make his strength perfect in my
weakness," said Carlos. "But for the present," he added, "give me any
lowly work to do, whereby I may aid you or lighten your cares, my loved
friend and teacher."
Losada gladly gave him, as indeed he had done several times before,
instructions to visit certain secret inquirers, and persons in distress
and perplexity of mind.
He passed the next two or three days in these ministrations, and in
constant prayer, especially for the remaining monks of San Isodro, whose
sore peril pressed heavily on his heart. He sought, as much as
possible, to shut out other thoughts; or, when they would force an
entrance, to cast their burden, which otherwise would have been
intolerable, upon Him who would surely care for his own Church, his few
sheep in the wilderness.
One morning he remained late in his chamber, writing a letter to his
brother; and then went forth, intending to visit Losada. As it was a
fast-day, and he kept the Church fasts rigorously, it happened that he
had not previously met any of his uncle's family.
The entrance to the physician's house did not present its usual cheerful
appearance. The gate was shut and bolted, and there was no sign of
patients passing in or out Carlos became alarmed. It was long before he
obtained an answer to his repeated calls. At last, however, some one
inside cried, "_Quien es?_"[#]
[#] Who is there?
Carlos gave his name, well known to all the household.
Then the door was half opened, and a mulatto serving-lad showed a
terrified face behind it.
"Where is Senor Cristobal?"
"Gone, senor."
"Gone!--whither?"
The answer was a furtive, frightened whisper. "Last night--the
Alguazils of the Holy Office." And the door was shut and bolted in his
face.
He stood rooted to the spot, speechless and motionless, in a trance of
horror. At last he was startled by feeling some one grasp his arm
without ceremony, indeed rather roughly.
"Are you moonstruck, Cousin Don Carlos?" asked the voice of Gonsalvo.
"At least you might have had the courtesy to offer me the aid of your
arm, without putting me to the shame of requesting it, miserable cripple
that I am!" and he gave vent to a torrent of curses upon his own
infirmities, using expressions profane and blasphemous enough to make
Carlos shiver with pain.
Yet that very pain did him real service. It roused him from his stupor,
as sharp anguish sometimes brings back a patient from a swoon. He said,
"Pardon me, my cousin, I did not see you; but I hear you now--with
sorrow."
Gonsalvo deigned no answer, except his usual short, bitter laugh.
"Whither do you wish to go?"
"Home. I am tired."