Don Juan looked. A lurid crimson glow paled the stars in the southern
sky. With a shudder he bowed his head, and veiled his face from the
awful sight.
"That fire is _without the gate_," he said at last. "Pray for the souls
that are passing in anguish now."
Noble, heroic souls! Probably Juliano Hernandez, possibly Fray
Constantino, was amongst them. These were the only names that occurred
to Don Juan's mind, or were breathed in his fervent, agitated prayer.
"Yonder is the posada, senor," said the attendant presently.
"Nay, Jorge, we will ride on. There will be no sleepers in Seville
to-night."
"But, senor," remonstrated the servant, "the horses are weary. We have
travelled far to-day already."
"Let them rest afterwards," said Juan briefly. Motion, just then, was
an absolute necessity to him. He could not have rested anywhere, within
sight of that awful glare.
Two hours afterwards he drew the rein of his weary steed before the
house of his cousin Dona Inez. He had no scruple in asking for
admission in the middle of the night, as he knew that, under the
circumstances, the household would not fail to be astir. His summons
was speedily answered, and he was conducted to a hall opening on the
patio.
Thither, after a brief interval, came Juanita, bearing a lamp in her
hand, which she set down on the table. "My lady will see your
Excellency presently," said the girl, with a shy, frightened air, which
was very unlike her, but which Juan was too preoccupied to notice. "But
she is much indisposed. My lord was obliged to accompany her home from
the Act of Faith before it was half over."
Juan expressed the concern he felt, and desired that she would not
incommode herself upon his account. Perhaps Don Garcia, if he had not
yet retired to rest, would converse with him for a few moments.
"My lady said she must speak with you herself," answered Juanita, as she
left the room.
After a considerable time Dona Inez appeared. In that southern climate
youth and beauty fade quickly; and yet Juan was by no means prepared for
the changed, worn, haggard face that gazed on him now. There was no
pomp of apparel to carry off the impression. Dona Inez wore a loose
dark dressing-robe; and a hasty careless hand seemed to have untwined
the usual ornaments from her black hair. Her eyes were like those of
one who has wept for hours, and then only ceased for very weariness.
She stretched out both her hands to Juan--"O Don Juan, I never meant it!
I never meant it!"
"Senora and my cousin, I have but just arrived here. I do not
understand you," said Juan, rising to greet her.
"Santa Maria! Then you know not!--Horrible!"
She sank into a seat Juan stood gazing at her eagerly, almost wildly.
"Yes; I understand all now," he said at last. "I suspected it."
_He_ saw in imagination a black chest, with a little lifeless dust
within it; a rude shapeless figure, robed in the hideous zamarra, and
bearing in large letters the venerated name, "Alvarez de Santillanos y
Menaya." While she saw a living face, that would never cease to haunt
her memory until death shadowed all things.
"Let me speak," she gasped; "and I will try to be calm. I did not wish
to go. It was the day of the last Auto, you remember, that my poor
brother died, and altogether---- But Don Garcia insisted. He said
everybody would talk, and especially when the taint had touched our own
house. Besides, Dona Juana de Bohorques, who died in prison, was to be
publicly declared innocent, and her property restored to her heirs. Out
of regard to the family, it was thought we ought to be present. O Don
Juan, if I had but known! I would rather have put on a sanbenito myself
than have gone there. God grant it did not hurt him!"
"How could it possibly hurt him, my tender-hearted cousin?"
"Hush! Let me go on now, while I can speak of it; or I shall never,
never tell you. And I must. _He_ would have wished---- Well, we were
seated in what they called good places; very near the condemned; in
fact, the scaffold opposite was plain to us as you are to me now. But
that last time, and Dona Maria's look, and Dr. Cristobal's, haunted me,
so that I did not dare to raise my eyes to where _they_ sat;--not until
long after the mass had begun. And I knew besides there were so many
women there--eight on that dreadful top bench, doomed to die. But at
last a lady who sat near me bade me look at one of the relaxed, a little
man, who was pointing upwards and making signs to his companions to
encourage them. 'Do not look, senora,' said Don Garcia, quickly--but
too late. O Don Juan, I saw his face!"
"His LIVING face? Not his living face?" cried Juan, with a shudder that
convulsed his strong frame from head to foot And the Name--the one awful
Name that rises to all human lips in moments of supreme emotion--broke
from his in a wail of anguish.
Dona Inez tried to speak; but in vain. Thoroughly broken down, she wept
and sobbed aloud. But the sight of the rigid, tearless face before her
checked her tears at last. She gained power to go on. "I saw him.
Worn and pale, of course; yet not changed so greatly, after all. The
same dear, kind, familiar face I had seen last in this room, when he
caressed and played with my child. Not sad, not as though he suffered.
Rather as though he had suffered long ago; but was beyond it all, even
then. A still, patient, fearless look, eyes that saw everything; and
yet nothing seemed to trouble him. I bore it until they were reading
the sentences, and came to his. But when I saw the Alguazil strike
him--the blow that relaxed to the secular arm--I could endure no more.
I believe I cried aloud. But in fact I know not what I did. I know
nothing more till Don Garcia and my brother Don Manuel were carrying me
through the crowd."
"No word! Was there no word spoken?" asked Juan wildly.
"_No_; but I heard some one near me say that he talked with that
muleteer in the court of the Triana, and spoke words of comfort to a
poor woman amongst the penitents, whom they called Maria Gonsalez."
All was told now. Maddened with rage and anguish, Juan rushed from the
room, from the house; and, without being conscious of any settled
purpose, in five minutes found himself far on his way to the Dominican
convent adjoining the Triana.
His servant, who was still waiting at the gate, followed him to ask for
orders, and with difficulty overtook him, and arrested his steps.
Juan sternly silenced his faltering, agitated question as to what was
wrong with his lord. "Go to rest," he said, "and meet me in the morning
by the great gate of San Isodro." Nothing was clear to him; but that he
must shake off as soon as possible the dust of the wicked, cruel city
from his feet. And San Isodro was the only trysting-place without its
walls that happened at the moment to occur to his bewildered brain.