"Though shining millions around thee stand,
For the sake of him at thy right hand
Think of the souls he died for here,
Thus wandering in darkness, in doubt and fear.
"The powers of darkness are all abroad--
They own no Saviour, and they fear no God;
And we are trembling in dumb dismay;
Oh, turn not thou thy face away."--Hogg
It was late in the evening when Carlos emerged from his chamber. How
the intervening hours had been passed he never told any one. But this
much is certain,--he contended with and overcame a wild, almost
uncontrollable impulse to seek refuge in flight. His reason told him
that this would be to rush upon certain destruction: so sedulously
guarded were all the ways of egress, and so watchful and complete, in
every city and village of the land, was the inquisitorial organization;
not to speak of the "Hermandad," or Brotherhood--a kind of civil police,
always ready to co-operate with the ecclesiastical authorities.
Still, if he could not be saved, Juan might and should. This thought
was growing gradually clearer and stronger in his bewildered brain and
aching heart while he knelt in his chamber, finding a relief in the
attitude of prayer, though few and broken were the words of prayer that
passed his trembling lips. Indeed, the burden of his cry was this:
"Lord, have mercy on us. Christ, have mercy on us. Thou that carest
for us, forsake us not in our bitter need. For thine is the kingdom;
even yet thou reignest."
This was all he could find to plead, either on his own behalf or on that
of his imprisoned brethren; though for them his heart was wrung with
unutterable anguish. Once and again did he repeat--"_Thine_ is the
kingdom and the power. Thine, O Father; thine, O Lord and Saviour.
Thou canst deliver us."
It was well for him that he had Juan to save. He rose at last; and
added to the letter previously written to his brother a few lines of
most earnest entreaty that he would on no account return to Seville.
But then, recollecting his own position, he marvelled greatly at his
simplicity in purposing to send such a letter by the King's post--an
institution which, strange to say, Spain possessed at an earlier period
than any other country in Europe. If he should fall under suspicion,
his letter would be liable to detention and examination, and might thus
be the means of involving Juan in the very peril from which he sought to
deliver him.
A better plan soon occurred to him. That he might carry it out, he
descended late in the evening to the cool, marble-paved court, or
_patio_, in the centre of which the fountain ever murmured and
glistened, surrounded by tropical plants, some of them in gorgeous
bloom.
As he had hoped, one solitary lamp burned like a star in a remote
corner; and its light illumined the form of a young girl seated on a low
chair, before an inlaid ebony table, writing busily. Dona Beatriz had
excused herself from accompanying the family on an evening visit, that
she might devote herself in undisturbed solitude to the composition of
her first love-letter--indeed, her first letter of any kind: for short
as he intended his absence to be, Juan had stipulated for this
consolation, and induced her to premise it; and she knew that the King's
post went northwards the next day, passing by Nuera on his way to the
towns of La Mancha.
So engrossing was her occupation that she did not hear the step of
Carlos. He drew near, and stood behind her. Pearls, golden Agni, and a
scarlet flower or two, were twined with her glossy raven hair; and the
lamp shed a subdued radiance over her fine features, which glowed
through their delicate olive with the rosy light of joy. An exquisite
though not very costly perfume, that Carlos in other days always
associated with her presence, still continued a favourite with her, and
filled the place around with fragrance. It brought back his memory to
the past--to that wild, vain, yet enchanting dream; the brief romance of
his life. But there was no time now even for "a dream within a dream."
There was only time to thank God, from the depths of his soul, that in
all the wide world there was no heart that would break for _him_.
"Dona Beatriz," he said gently.
She started, and half turned, a bright flush mounting to her cheek.
"You are writing to my brother."
"And how know you that, Senor Don Carlos?" asked the young lady, with a
little innocent affectation.
But Carlos, standing face to face with terrible realities, pushed aside
her pretty arts, as one hastening to succour a dying man might push
aside a branch of wild roses that impeded his path.
"I most earnestly request of you, senora, to convey to him a message
from me."
"And wherefore can you not write to him yourself, Senor Licentiate?"
"Is it possible, senora, that you know not what has happened?"
"Vaya, vaya, Don Carlos! how you startle one.--Do you mean these
horrible arrests?"
Carlos found that a few strong, plain words were absolutely necessary in
order to make Beatrix understand his brother's peril. She had listened
hitherto to Don Juan's extracts from Scripture, and the arguments and
exhortations founded thereon, conscious, indeed, that these were secrets
which should be jealously guarded, yet unconscious that they were what
the Church and the world branded as heresy. Consequently, although she
heard of the arrest of Losada and his friends with vague regret and
apprehension, she was far from distinctly associating the crime for
which they suffered with the name dearest to her heart. She was still
very young; and she had not thought much--she had only loved. And she
blindly followed him she loved, without caring to ask whither he was
going himself, or whither he was leading her. When at last Carlos made
her comprehend that it was for reading the Scriptures, and talking of
justification by faith alone, that Losada was thrown into the dungeons
of the Triana, a thrilling cry of anguish broke from her lips.
"Hush, senora!" said Carlos; and for once his voice was stern. "If even
your little black foot-page heard that cry, it might ruin all."
But Beatrix was unused to self-control. Another cry followed, and there
were symptoms of hysterical tears and laughter. Carlos tried a more
potent spell.
"Hush, senora!" he repeated. "We must be strong and silent, if we are
to save Don Juan."