THE SPANISH BROTHERS (continued 3)

There were two noblemen of the first order--Don Domingo de Guzman, son of the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and Don Juan Ponce de Leon, son of the Count of Baylen. Carlos had often heard of the munificent charities of the latter, who had actually embarrassed his estates by his unbounded liberality to the poor. But while Ponce de Leon was thus labouring to relieve the sorrows of others, a deep sadness brooded over his own spirit. He was wont to go forth by night, and pace up and down the great stone platform in the Prado San Sebastian, that bore the ghastly name of the Quemadero, or Burning-place, while in his heart the shadow of death--the darkest shadow of the dreadest death--was struggling with the light of immortality.

Did the rest of that devoted band share the agony of apprehension that filled those lonely midnight hours with passionate prayer? Some amongst them did, no doubt. But with most, the circumstances and occupations of daily life wove, with their multitudinous slender threads, a veil dense enough to hide, or at least to soften, the perils of their situation. The Protestants of Seville contrived to pass their lives and to do their work side by side with other men; they moved amongst their fellow-citizens and were not recognized; they even married and were given in marriage; though all the time there fell upon their daily paths the shadow of the grim old fortress where the Holy Inquisition held its awful secret court.

But then, at this period the Holy Inquisition was by no means exhibiting its usual terrible activity. The Inquisitor-General, Fernando de Valdez, Archbishop of Seville, was an old man of seventy-four, relentless when roused, but not particularly enterprising. Moreover, he was chiefly occupied in amassing enormous wealth from his rich and numerous Church preferments. Hitherto, the fires of St. Dominic had been kindled for Jews and Moors; only one Protestant had suffered death in Spain, and Valladolid, not Seville, had been the scene of his martyrdom. Seville, indeed, had witnessed two notable prosecutions for Lutheranism--that of Rodrigo de Valer and that of Juan Gil, commonly called Dr. Egidius. But Valer had been only sent to a monastery to die, while, by a disgraceful artifice, retractation had been obtained from Egidius.

During the years that had passed since then, the Holy Office had appeared to slumber. Victims who refused to eat pork, or kept Sabbath on Saturday, were growing scarce for obvious reasons. And not yet had the wild beast "exceeding dreadful, whose teeth were of iron and his nails of brass," begun to devour a nobler prey. Did the monster, gorged with human blood, really slumber in his den; or did he only assume the attitude and appearance of slumber, as some wild beasts are said to do, to lure his unwary victims within the reach of his terrible crouch and spring?

No one can certainly tell; but however it may have been, we doubt not the Master used the breathing-time thus afforded his Church to prepare and polish many a precious gem, destined to shine through all ages in his crown of glory.

XIV.

The Monks of San Isodro

"The earnest of eternal joy

In every prayer I trace;

I see the likeness of the Lord

In every patient face.

How oft, in still communion known,

Those spirits have been sent

To share the travail of my soul,

Or show me what it meant."--A. L. Waring

It is amongst the perplexing conditions of our earthly life, that we cannot first reflect, then act; first form our opinions, then, and not till then, begin to carry them out into practice. Thought and action have usually to run beside each other in parallel lines; a terrible necessity, and never more terrible than during the progress of momentous inward changes.

A man becomes convinced that the star by which he has hitherto been steering is not the true pole-star, and that if he perseveres in his present course his barque will inevitably be lost. At his peril, he must find out the one unerring guide; yet, while he seeks it, his hand must not for an instant quit his hold on the helm, for the winds of circumstance fill his sails, and he cannot choose whether he will go, he can only choose where. This lies at the root of much of the apparent inconsistency which has often been made a reproach to reformers.

Though Carlos did not feel this difficulty as keenly as some of his brethren in the faith, he yet felt it. His uncle was continually pressing him to take Orders, and to seek for this or that tempting preferment; whilst every day he had stronger doubts as to the possibility of his accepting any preferment in the Church, and was even beginning to entertain scruples about taking Orders at all.

During this period of deliberation and uncertainty, one of his new friends, Fray Cassiodoro, an eloquent Jeromite friar, who assisted Losada in his ministrations, said to him, "If you intend embracing a religious life, Señor Don Carlos, you will find the white tunic and brown mantle of St. Jerome more to your taste than any other habit."

Carlos pondered the hint; and shortly afterwards announced to his relatives that he intended to "go into retreat" for a season, at the Jeromite Convent of San Isodro del Campo, which was about two miles from Seville.

His uncle approved this resolution; and none the less, because he thought it was probably intended as a preparation for taking the cowl. "After all, nephew, it may turn out that you have the longest head amongst us," he said. "In the race for wealth and honours, no man can doubt that the Regulars beat the Seculars now-a-days. And there is not a saint in all the Spains so popular as St. Jerome. You know the proverb,--

"'He who is a count, and to be a duke aspires.

Let him straight to Guadaloupe, and sing among the friars.'"

Gonsalvo, who was present, here looked up from his book and observed sharply,--

"No man will ever be a duke who changes his mind three times within three months."

"But I only changed my mind once," returned Carlos.

"You have never changed it at all, that I wot of," said Don Manuel. "And I would that thine were turned in the same profitable direction, son Gonsalvo."

"Oh yes! By all means. Offer the blind and the lame in sacrifice. Put Heaven off with the wreck of a man that the world will not condescend to take into her service."

"Hold thy peace, son born to cross me!" said the father, losing his temper at by no means the worst of the many provocations he had recently received. "Is it not enough to look at thee lying there a useless log, and to suffer thy vile temper; but thou must set thyself against me, when I point out to thee the only path in which a cripple such as thou could earn green figs to eat with his bread, not to speak of supporting the rank of Alvarez de Meñaya as he ought."

Here Carlos, out of consideration for the feelings of Gonsalvo, left the room; but the angry altercation between the father and son lasted long after his departure.

The next day Don Carlos rode out, by a lonely path amidst the gray ruins of old Italica, to the stately castellated convent of San Isodro. Amidst all his new interests, the young Castilian noble still remembered with due enthusiasm how the building had been reared, more than two hundred years ago, by the devotion of the heroic Alonzo Guzman the Good, who gave up his own son to death, under the walls of Tarifa, rather than surrender the city to the Moors.

Before he left Seville, he placed a copy of Fray Constantino's "Sum of Christian Doctrine" between two volumes of Gonsalvo's favourite "Lope de Vega." He had previously introduced to the notice of the ladies several of the Fray's little treatises, which contained a large amount of Scripture truth, so cautiously expressed as to have not only escaped the censure, but actually obtained the express approbation of the Holy Office. He had also induced them occasionally to accompany him to the preachings at the Cathedral. Further than this he dared not go; nor did he on other accounts think it advisable, as yet, to permit himself much communication with Doña Beatriz.

The monks of San Isodro welcomed him with that strong, peculiar love which springs up between the disciples of the same Lord, more especially when they are a little flock surrounded by enemies. They knew that he was already one of the initiated, a regular member of Losada's congregation. Both this fact, and the warm recommendations of Fray Cassiodoro, led them to trust him implicitly; and very quickly they made him a sharer in their secrets, their difficulties, and their perplexities.

To his astonishment, he found himself in the midst of a community, Protestant in heart almost to a man, and as far as possible acting out their convictions; while at the same time they retained (how could they discard them?) the outward ceremonies of their Church and their Order.

He soon fraternized with a gentle, pious young monk named Fray Fernando, and asked him to explain this extraordinary state of things.

"I am but just out of my novitiate, having been here little more than a year," said the young man, who was about his own age; "and already, when I came, the fathers carefully instructed the novices out of the Scriptures, exhorting us to lay no stress upon outward ceremonies, penances, crosses, holy water, and the like. But I have often heard them speak of the manner in which they were led to adopt these views."

"Who was their teacher? Fray Cassiodoro?"

"Latterly; not at first. It was Dr. Blanco who sowed the first seed of truth here."

"Whom do you mean? We in the city give the name of Dr. Blanco (the white doctor), from his silver hairs, to a man of your holy order, certainly, but one most zealous for the old faith. He is a friend and confidant of the Inquisitors, if indeed he is not himself a Qualificator of Heresy:[#] I speak of Dr. Garçias Ariâs."

[#] One of the learned men who were appointed to assist the Inquisition, and whose duty it was to decide whether doubtful propositions were, or were not, heretical.

"The same man. You are astonished, señor; nevertheless it is true. The elder brethren say that when he came to the convent all were sunk in ignorance and superstition. The monks cared for nothing but vain repetitions of unfelt prayers, and showy mummeries of idle ceremonial But the white doctor told them all these would avail them nothing, unless their hearts were given to God, and they worshipped him in spirit and in truth. They listened, were convinced, began to study the Holy Scriptures as he recommended them, and truly to seek Him who is revealed therein."

"'Out of the eater came forth meat,'" said Carlos. "I am truly amazed to hear of such teaching from the lips of Garçias Ariâs."

"Not more amazed than the brethren were by his after conduct," returned Fray Fernando. "Just when they had received the truth with joy, and were beginning heartily to follow it, their teacher suddenly changed his tone, and addressed himself diligently to the task of building up the things that he once destroyed. When Lent came round, the burden of his preaching was nothing but penance and mortification of the flesh. No less would content him than that the poor brethren should sleep on the bare ground, or standing; and wear sackcloth and iron girdles. They could not tell what to make of these bewildering instructions. Some followed them, others clung to the simpler faith they had learned to love, many tried to unite both. In fact, the convent was filled with confusion, and several of the brethren were driven half distracted. But at last God put it into their hearts to consult Dr. Egidius. Your Excellency is well acquainted with his history, doubtless!"

"Not so well as I should like to be. Still, for the present, let us keep to the brethren. Did Dr. Egidius confirm their faith?"

"That he did, señor; and in many ways he led them into a further acquaintance with the truth."

"And that enigma, Dr. Blanco?"

Fray Fernando shook his head. "Whether his mind was really changed, or whether he concealed his true opinions through fear, or through love of the present world, I know not I should not judge him."

"No," said Carlos, softly. "It is not for us, who have never been tried, to judge those who have failed in the day of trial. But it must be a terrible thing to fail, Fray Fernando."

"As good Dr. Egidius did himself. Ah, señor, if you had but seen him when he came forth from his prison! His head was bowed, his hair was white; they who spoke with him say his heart was well-nigh broken. Still he was comforted, and thanked God, when he saw the progress the truth had made during his imprisonment, both in Valladolid and in Seville, especially amongst the brethren here. His visit was of great use to us. But the most precious boon we ever received was a supply of God's Word in our own tongue, which was brought to us some months ago."

Carlos looked at him eagerly. "I think I know whose hand brought it," he said.

"You cannot fail to know, señor. You have doubtless heard of Juliano El Chico?"

The colour rose to the cheek of Carlos as he answered, "I shall thank God all my life, and beyond it, that I have not heard of him alone, but met him. He it was who put this book into my hand," and he drew out his own Testament.

"We also have good cause to thank him. And we mean that others shall have it through us. For the books he brought we not only use ourselves, but diligently circulate far and wide, according to our ability."

"It is strange to know so little of a man, and yet to owe him so much. Can you tell me anything more than the name, Juliano Hernandez, which I repeat every day when I ask God in my prayers to bless and reward him?"

"I only know he is a poor, unlearned man, a native of Villaverda, in Campos. He went to Germany, and entered the service of Juan Peres, who, as you are aware, translated the Testament, and printed it, Juliano aiding in the work as compositor. He then undertook, of his own free will, the task of bringing a supply into this country; you well know how perilous a task, both the sea-ports and the passes of the Pyrenees being so closely watched by the emissaries of the Holy Office. Juliano chose the overland journey, since, knowing the mountains well, he thought he could manage to make his way unchallenged by some of their hazardous, unfrequented paths. God be thanked, he arrived in safety with his precious freight early last summer."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"No. Doubtless he is wandering somewhere, perhaps not far distant, carrying on, in darkness and silence, his noble missionary work."

"What would I give--rather, what would I not give--to see him once more, to take his hand in mine, and to thank him for what he has done for me!"

"Ah, there is the vesper bell. You know, señor, that Fray Cristobal is to lecture this evening on the Epistle to the Hebrews. That is why I love Tuesday best of all days in the week."

Fray Cristobal D'Arellano was a monk of San Isodro, remarkable for his great learning, which was consecrated to the task of explaining and spreading the Reformed doctrines. Carlos put himself under the tuition of this man, to perfect his knowledge of Greek, a language of which he had learned very little, and that little very imperfectly, at Alcala. He profited exceedingly by the teaching he received, and partially repaid the obligation by instructing the novices in Latin, a task which was very congenial to him, and which he performed with much success.

XV.

The Great Sanbenito.

"The thousands that, uncheered by praise,

Have made one offering of their days;

For Truth's, for Heaven's, for Freedom's sake.

Resigned the bitter cup to take."--Hemans

Young as was the Protestant Church in Seville, she already had her history. There was one name that Carlos had heard mentioned in connection with her first origin, round which there gathered in his thoughts a peculiar interest, or rather fascination. He knew now that the monks of San Isodro had been largely indebted to the instructions of Doctor Juan Gil, or Egidius. And he had been told previously that Egidius himself had learned the truth from an earlier and bolder witness, Rodrigo de Valer. This was the name that Losada once coupled in his hearing with that of his own father.

Why then had he not sought information, which might have proved so deeply interesting to him, directly from Losada himself, his friend and teacher? Several causes contributed to his reluctance to broach the subject. But by far the greatest was a kind of chivalrous, half romantic tenderness for that absent brother, whom he could now truly say that he loved best on earth. It is very difficult for us to put ourselves in the position of Spaniards of the sixteenth century, so far as at all to understand the way in which they were accustomed to look upon heresy. In their eyes it was not only a crime, infinitely more dreadful than that of murder; it was also a horrible disgrace, branding a man's whole lineage up and down for generations, and extending its baleful influence to his remotest kindred. Carlos asked himself, day by day, how would the high-hearted Don Juan Alvarez, whose idol was glory, and his dearest pride a noble and venerated name, endure to hear that his beloved and only brother was stained with that surpassing infamy? But at least it would be anguish enough to stab Juan once, as it were, with his own hand, without arming the dead hand of the father whose memory they both revered, and then driving home the weapon into his brother's heart. Rather would he let the matter remain in obscurity, even if (which was extremely doubtful) he could by any effort of his own shed a ray of light upon it.

Still he took occasion one day to inquire of his friend Fray Fernando, who had received full information on these subjects from the older monks, "Was not that Rodrigo de Valer, whose sanbenito hangs in the Cathedral, the first teacher of the pure faith in Seville?"

"True, señor, he taught many. While he himself, as I have heard, received the faith from none save God only."

"He must have been a remarkable man. Tell me all you know of him."

"Our Fray Cassiodoro has often heard Dr. Egidius speak of him; so that, though his lips were silenced long before your time or mine, señor, he seems still one of our company."

"Yes, already some of our number have joined the Church triumphant, but they are still one with us in Christ."

"Don Rodrigo de Valer," continued the young monk, "was of a noble family, and very wealthy. He was born at Lebrixa, but came to reside in Seville, a gay, light-hearted, brilliant young caballero, who was soon a leader in all the folly and fashion of the great city. But suddenly these things lost their charm for him. Much to the astonishment of the gay world, to which he had been such an ornament, he disappeared from the scenes of amusement and festivity he had been wont to love. His companions could not understand the change that came over him--but we can understand it well. God's arrows of conviction were sharp in his heart. And he led him to turn for comfort, not to penance and self-mortification, but to his own Word. Only in one form was that Word accessible to him. He gathered up the fragments of his old school studies--little cared for at the time, and well-nigh forgotten afterwards--to enable him to read the Vulgate. There he found justification by faith, and, through it, peace to his troubled conscience. But he did not find, as I need scarcely say to you, Don Carlos, purgatory, the worship of Our Lady and the saints, and certain other things our fathers taught us."

"How long since was all this?" asked Carlos, who was listening with much interest, and at the same time comparing the narrative with that other story he had heard from Dolores.

"Long enough, señor. Twenty years ago or more. When God had thus enlightened him, he returned to the world. But he returned to it a new man, determined henceforth to know nothing save Christ and him crucified. He addressed himself in the first instance to the priests and monks, whom, with a boldness truly amazing, he accosted wherever he met them, were it even in the most public places of the city, proving to them from Scripture that their doctrines were not the truth of God."

"It was no hopeful soil in which to sow the Word."

"No, truly; but it seemed laid upon him as a burden from God to speak what he felt and knew, whether men would hear or whether they would forbear. He very soon aroused the bitter enmity of those who hate the light because their deeds are evil. Had he been a poor man, he would have been burned at the stake, as that brave, honest-hearted young convert, Francisco de San Romano, was burned at Valladolid not so long ago, saying to those who offered him mercy at the last, 'Did you envy me my happiness?' But Don Rodrigo's rank and connections saved him from that fate. I have heard, too, that there were those in high places who shared, or at least favoured his opinions in secret. Such interceded for him."

"Then his words were received by some?" Carlos asked anxiously. "Have you ever heard the names of any of those who were his friends or patrons?"

Fray Fernando shook his head. "Even amongst ourselves, señor," he said, "names are not mentioned oftener than is needful. For 'a bird of the air will carry the matter;' and when life depends on our silence, it is no wonder if at last we become a trifle over-silent. In the lapse of years, some names that ought to be remembered amongst us may well chance to be forgotten, from this dread of breathing them, even in a whisper. Always excepting Dr. Egidius, Don Rodrigo's friends or converts are unknown to me. But I was about to say, the Inquisitors were prevailed upon, by those who interceded for him, to regard him as insane. They dismissed him, therefore, with no more severe penalty than the loss of his property, and with many cautions as to his future behaviour."

"I hold it scarce likely that he observed them."

"Very far otherwise, señor. For a short time, indeed, his friends prevailed on him to express his sentiments more privately; and Fray Cassiodoro says that during this interval he confirmed them in the faith by expounding the Epistle to the Romans. But he could not long hide the light he held. To all remonstrances he answered, that he was a soldier sent on a forlorn hope, and must needs press forward to the breach. If he fell, it mattered not; in his place God would raise up others, whose would be the glory and the joy of victory. So, once again, the Holy Office laid its grasp upon him. It was resolved that his voice should be heard no more on earth; and he was therefore consigned to the living death of perpetual imprisonment. And yet, in spite of all their care and all their malice, one more testimony for God and his truth was heard from his lips."

"How was that?"

"They led him, robed in that great sanbenito you have often seen, to the Church of San Salvador, to sit and listen, with the other weeping penitents, while some ignorant priest denounced their heresies and blasphemies. But he was not afraid after the sermon to stand up in his place, and warn the people against the preacher's erroneous doctrine, showing them where and how it differed from the Word of God. It is marvellous they did not burn him; but God restrained the remainder of their wrath. They sent him at last to the monastery of San Lucar, where he remained in solitary confinement until his death."

Carlos mused a little. Then he said, "What a blessed change, from solitary confinement to the company of just men made perfect; from the gloom of a convent prison to the glory of God's house, eternal in the heavens!"

"Some of the elder brethren say we may be called upon to pass through trials even more severe," remarked Fray Fernando. "I know not. Being amongst the youngest here, I should speak my mind with humility; still I cannot help looking around me, and seeing that everywhere men are receiving the Word of God with joy. Think of the learned and noble men and women in the city who have joined our band already, and are eager to gain others! New converts are won for us every day; not to speak of that great multitude among Fray Constantino's hearers who are really on our side, without dreaming it themselves. Moreover, your noble friend, Don Carlos de Seso, told us last summer that the signs in the north are equally encouraging. He thinks the Lutherans of Valladolid are more numerous than those of Seville. In Toro and Logrono also the light is spreading rapidly. And throughout the districts near the Pyrenees the Word has free course, thanks to the Huguenot traders from Béarn."

"I have heard these things in Seville, and truly my heart rejoices at them. But yet--" here Carlos broke off suddenly, and remained silent, gazing mournfully into the fire, near which, as it was now winter, they had seated themselves.

At last Fray Fernando asked, "What do you think, señor?"

Carlos raised his dark blue eyes and fixed them on the questioner's face.

"Of the future," he said slowly, "I think---nothing. I dare not think of it. It is in God's hand, and he thinks for us. Still, one thing I cannot choose but see. Where we are we cannot remain. We are bound to a great wheel that is turning--turning--and turn with it, even in spite of ourselves, we must and do. But it is the wheel, not of chance, but of God's mighty purposes; that is all our comfort."

"And those purposes, are they not mercy and truth unto our beloved land?"

"They may be; but I know not. They are not revealed. 'Mercy and truth unto such as keep his covenant,' that indeed is written."

"We are they that keep his covenant."

Carlos sighed, and resumed the thread of his own thought,--

"The wheel turns round, and we with it. Even since I came here it has turned perceptibly. And how it is to turn one step further without bringing us into contact with the solid frame of things as they are, and so crushing us, truly I see not. I see not; but I trust God."

"You allude to these discussions about the sacrifice of the mass now going on so continually amongst us?"

"I do. Hitherto we have been able to work underground; but if doubt must be thrown upon that, the thin shell of earth that has concealed and protected us, will break and fall in upon our heads. And then?"

"Already we are all asking, 'And then?'" said Fray Fernando. "There will be nothing before us but flight to some foreign land."

"And how, in God's name, is that to be accomplished? But God forgive me these words; and God keep me, and all of us, from the subtle snare of mixing with the question, 'What is his will?' that other question, 'What will be our fate if we try to do it?' As the noble De Seso said to me, all that matters to us is to be found amongst those who 'follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth.' But he went to Calvary."

The last words were spoken in so low a tone that Fray Fernando heard them not.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"No matter. Time enough to hear if God himself speaks it in our ears."

Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a lay brother, who informed Carlos that a visitor awaited him in the convent parlour. As it was one of the hours during which the rules of the house (which were quite liberal enough, without being lax) permitted the entertainment of visitors, Carlos went to receive his without much delay.

He knew that if the guest had been one of "their own," their loved brethren in the faith, even the attendant would have been well acquainted with his person, and would naturally have named him. He entered the room, therefore, with no very lively anticipations; expecting, at most, to see one of his cousins, who might have paid him the compliment of riding out from the city to visit him.

A tall, handsome, sunburnt man, who had his left arm in a sling, was standing with his back to the window. But in one moment more the other arm was flung round the neck of Carlos, and heart pressed to heart, and lip to lip--the brothers stood together.

XVI.

Welcome Home.

"We are so unlike each other,

Thou and I, that none would guess

We were children of one mother,

But for mutual tenderness."--E. B. Browning

After the first tumult of greeting, in which affection was expressed rather by look and gesture than by word, the brothers sat down and talked. Eager questions rose to the lips of both, but especially to those of Carlos, whose surprise at Juan's unexpected appearance only equalled his delight.

"But you are wounded, my brother," he said. "Not seriously, I hope?"

"Oh no! Only a bullet through my arm. A piece of my usual good luck. I got it in The Battle."

No adjective was needed to specify the glorious day of St. Quentin, when Flemish Egmont's chivalrous courage, seconded by Castilian bravery, gained for King Philip such a brilliant victory over the arms of France. Carlos knew the story already from public sources. And it did not occur to Juan, nor indeed to Carlos either, that there had ever been, or would ever be again, a battle so worthy of being held in everlasting remembrance.

"But do you count the wound part of your good luck!" asked Carlos.

"Ay, truly, and well I may. It has brought me home; as you ought to have known ere this."

"I received but two letters from you--that written on your first arrival, and dated from Cambray; and that which told of your notable prize, the French prisoner."

"But I wrote two others: one, I entrusted to a soldier who was coming home invalided--I suppose the fellow lost it; the other (written just after the great St. Laurence's day) arrived in Seville the night before I made my own appearance there. His Majesty will need to look to his posts; certes, they are the slowest carriers to be found in any Christian country." And Juan's merry laugh rang through the convent parlour, little enough used to echo such sounds.

"So I have heard almost nothing of you, brother; save what could be gathered from the public accounts," Carlos continued.

"All the better now. I have only such news as is pleasant for me to tell; and will not be ill, I think, for thee to hear. First, then, and in due order--I am promised my company!"

"Good news, indeed! My brother must have honoured our name by some special deed of valour. Was it at St. Quentin?" asked Carlos, looking at him with honest, brotherly pride. He was not much changed by his campaign, except that his dark cheek wore a deeper bronze, and his face was adorned with a formidable pair of bigotes.

"That story must wait," returned Juan. "I have so much else to tell thee. Dost thou remember how I said, as a boy, that I should take a noble prisoner, like Alphonso Vives, and enrich myself by his ransom? And thou seest I have done it."

"In a good day! Still, he was not the Duke of Saxony."

"Like him, at least, in being a heretic, or Huguenot, if that be a less unsavoury word to utter in these holy precincts. Moreover, he is a tried and trusted officer of Admiral Coligny's suite. It was that day when the admiral so gallantly threw himself into the besieged town. And, for my part, I am heartily obliged to him. But for his presence, there would have been no defence of St. Quentin, to speak of, at all; but for the defence, no battle; but for the battle, no grand victory for the Spains and King Philip. We cut off half of the admiral's troops, however, and it fell to my lot to save the life of a brave French officer whom I saw fighting alone amongst a crowd. He gave me his sword; and I led him to my tent, and provided him with all the solace and succour I could, for he was sorely wounded. He was the Sieur de Ramenais; a gentleman of Provence, and an honest, merry-hearted, valiant man, as it was ever my lot to meet withal. He shared my bed and board, a pleasant guest rather than a prisoner, until we took the town, making the admiral himself our captive, as you know already. By that time, his brother had raised the sum for his ransom, and sent it honourably to me. But, in any case, I should have dismissed him on parole, as soon as his wounds were healed. He was pleased to give me, beside the good gold pistoles, this diamond ring you see on my finger, in token of friendship."

Carlos took the costly trinket in his hand, and duly admired it. He did not fail to gather from Juan's simple narrative many things that he told not, and was little likely to tell. In the time of action, chivalrous daring; when the conflict was over, gentleness and generosity no less chivalrous, endearing him to all--even to the vanquished enemy. No wonder Carlos was proud of his brother! But beneath all the pride and joy there was, even already, a secret whisper of fear. How could he bear to see that noble brow clouded with anger--those bright confiding eyes averted from him in disdain? Turning from his own thoughts as if they had been guilty things, he asked quickly,--

"But how did you obtain leave of absence?"

"Through the kindness of his Highness."

"The Duke of Savoy?"

"Of course. And a braver general I would never ask to serve."

"I thought it might have been from the King himself, when he came to the camp after the battle."

Don Juan's cheek glowed with modest triumph. "His Highness was good enough to point me out to His Catholic Majesty," he said. "And the King spoke to me himself!"

It is difficult for us to understand how a few formal words of praise from the lips of one of the meanest and vilest of men could be looked upon by the really noble-hearted Don Juan Alvarez as almost the crowning joy of his life. With the enthusiastic loyalty of his age and country he honoured Philip the king; Philip the man being all the time a personage as utterly unknown to him as the Sultan of Turkey. But not choosing to expatiate upon a theme so flattering to himself, he continued,--

"The Duke contrived to send me home with despatches, saying kindly that he thought my wound required a little rest and care. Though I had affairs of importance" (and here the colour mounted to his brow) "to settle in Seville, I would not have quitted the camp, with my good-will, had we been about any enterprise likely to give us fair fighting. But in truth, Carlos, things have been abundantly dull since the fall of St. Quentin. Though we have our King with us, and Henry of France and the Duke of Guise have both joined the enemy, all are standing at gaze as if they were frozen, and doomed to stay there motionless till the day of judgment. I have no mind for that kind of sport, not I! I became a soldier to fight His Catholic Majesty's battles, not to stare at his enemies as if they were puppets paid to make a show for my amusement. So I was not sorry to take leave of absence."

"And your important business in Seville. May a brother ask what that means?"

"A brother may ask what he pleases, and be answered. Wish me joy, Carlos; I have arranged that little matter with Doña Beatriz." And his light words half hid, half revealed the great deep joy of his own strong heart. "My uncle," he continued, "is favourable to my views; indeed, I have never known him so friendly. We are to have our betrothal feast at Christmas, when your time of retreat here is over."

Carlos "wished him joy" most sincerely. Fervently did he thank God that it was in his power to do it; that the snare that had once wound itself so subtly around his footsteps was broken, and his soul escaped. He could now meet his brother's eye without self-reproach. Still, this seemed sudden. He said, "Certainly you did not lose time."

"Why should I?" asked Juan with simplicity. "'By-and-by is always too late,' as thou wert wont to say; and I would they learned that proverb at the camp. In truth," he added more gravely, "I often feared, during my stay there, that I might have lost all through my tardiness. But thou wert a good brother to me, Carlos."

"Mayest thou ever think so, brother mine," said Carlos, not without a pang, as his conscience told him how little he deserved the praise.

"But what in the world," asked Juan hastily, "has induced thee to bury thyself here, amongst these drowsy monks?"

"The brethren are excellent men, learned and pious. And I am not buried," Carlos returned with a smile.

"And if thou wert buried ten fathoms deep, thou shouldst come up out of the grave when I need thee to stand beside me."

"Do not fear for that. Now thou art come, I will not prolong my stay here, as otherwise I might have done. But I have been very happy here, Juan."

"I am glad to hear it," said the merry-hearted, unsuspecting Juan. "I am glad also that you are not in too great haste to tie yourself down to the Church's service; though our honoured uncle seems to wish you had a keener eye to your own interest, and a better look-out for fat benefices. But I believe his own sons have appropriated all the stock of worldly prudence meant for the whole family, leaving none over for thee and me, Carlos."

"That is true of Don Manuel and Don Balthazar, not of Gonsalvo."

"Gonsalvo! he is far the worst of the three," Juan exclaimed, with something like anger in his open, sunny face.

Carlos laughed. "I suppose he has been favouring you with his opinion of me," he said.

"If he were not a poor miserable weakling and cripple, I should answer him with the point of my good sword. However, this is idle talk. Little brother" (Carlos being nearly as tall as himself, the diminutive was only a term of affection, recalling the days of their childhood, and more suited to masculine lips than its equivalent, dear)--"little brother, you look grave and pale, and ten years older than when we parted at Alcala."

"Do I? Much has happened with me since. I have been very sorrowful and very happy."

Don Juan laid his available hand on his brother's shoulder, and looked him earnestly in the face. "No secrets from me, little brother," he said. "If thou dost not like the service of Holy Church after all, speak out, and thou shall go back with me to France, or to anywhere else in the known world that thou wilt. There may be some fair lady in the case," he added, with a keen and searching glance.

"No, brother--not that I have indeed much to tell thee, but not now--not to-day."

"Choose thine own time; only remember, no secrets. That were the one unbrotherly act I could never forgive."

"But I am not yet satisfied about your wound," said Carlos, with perhaps a little moral cowardice, turning the conversation. "Was the bone broken?"

"No, fortunately; only grazed. It would not have signified, but for the treatment of the blundering barber-surgeon. I was advised to show it to some man of skill; and already my cousins have recommended to me one who is both physician and surgeon, and very able, they say."

"Dr. Cristobal Losada?"

"The same. Your favourite, Don Gonsalvo, has just been prevailed upon to make trial of his skill."

"I am heartily glad of it," returned Carlos. "There is a change of mind on his part, equal to any wherewith he can reproach me; and a change for the better, I have little doubt."

Thus the conversation wandered on; touching many subjects, exhausting none; and never again drawing dangerously near those deep places which one of the brothers knew must be thoroughly explored, and that at no distant day. For Juan's sake, for the sake of One whom he loved even more than Juan, he dared not--nay, he would not--avoid the task. But he needed, or thought he needed, consideration and prayer, that he might speak the truth wisely, as well as bravely, to that beloved brother.

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 Doña 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 Doña 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-fé! "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."

XVIII.

The Aged Monk.

"I will not boast a martyr's might

To leave my home without a sigh--

The dwelling of my past delight,

The shelter where I hoped to die."--Anon.

Much was Carlos strengthened by the result of his interview with Don Juan. The thing that he greatly feared, his beloved brother's wrath and scorn, had not come upon him. Juan had shown, instead, a moderation, a candour, and a willingness to listen, which, while it really amazed him, inspired him with the happiest hopes. With a glad heart he repeated the Psalmist's exulting words: "The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart hath trusted in him and I am helped; therefore my heart danceth for joy, and in my song will I praise him."

He soon perceived that the Chapter was over; for figures, robed in white and brown, were moving here and there amongst the trees. He entered the house, and without happening to meet any one, made his way to the deserted Chapter-room. Its sole remaining occupant was a very aged monk, the oldest member of the community. He was seated at the table, his face buried in his hands, and his frail, worn frame quivering as if with sobs.

Carlos went up to him and asked gently, "Father, what ails you?"

The old man slowly raised his head, and gazed at him with sad, tired eyes, which had watched the course of more than eighty years. "My son," he said, "if I weep, it is for joy."

Carlos wondered; for he saw no joy on the wrinkled brow or in the tearful face. But he merely asked, "What have the brethren resolved?"

"To await God's providence here. Praised be his holy name for that." And the old man bowed his silver head, and wept once more.

To Carlos also the determination was a cause for deep gratitude. He had all along regarded the proposed flight of the brethren with extreme dread, as an almost certain means of awakening the suspicions of the Holy Office, and thus exposing all who shared their faith to destruction. It was no light matter that the danger was now at least postponed, always provided that the respite was purchased by no sacrifice of principle.

"Thank God!" reiterated the old monk. "For here I have lived; and here I will die and be buried, beside the holy brethren of other days, in the chapel of Don Alonzo the Good. My son, I came hither a stripling as thou art--no, younger, younger--I know not how many years ago; one year is so like another, there is no telling. I could tell by looking at the great book, only my eyes are too dim to read it. They have grown dim very fast of late; when Doctor Egidius used to visit us, I could read my Breviary with the youngest of them all. But no matter how many years. They were many enough to change a blooming, black-haired boy into an old man tottering on the grave's brink. And I to go forth now into that great, wicked world beyond the gate! I to look upon strange faces, and to live amongst strange men! Or to die amongst them, for to that it would come full soon! No, no, Señor Don Carlos. Here I took the cowl; here I lived; and here I will die and be buried, God and the saints helping me!"

"Yet for the Truth's sake, my father, would you not be willing to make even this sacrifice, and to go forth in your old age into exile?"

"If the brethren must needs go, so, I suppose, must I. But they are not going, St. Jerome be praised," the old man repeated.

"Going or staying, the presence of Him whom they serve and for whom they witness will be with them."

"It may be, it may be, for aught I know. But in my young days so many fine words were not in use. We sang our matins, our complines, our vespers; we said the holy mass and all our offices, and God and St. Jerome took care of the rest."

"But you would not have those days back again, would you, my father? You did not then know the glorious gospel of the grace of God."

"Gospel, gospel? We always read the gospel for the day. I know my Breviary, young sir, just as well as another. And on festival days, some one always preached from the gospel. When Fray Domingo preached, plenty of great folks used to come out from the city to hear him. For he was very eloquent, and as much thought of, in his time, as Fray Cristobal is now. But they are forgotten in a little while, all of them. So will we, in a few years to come."

Carlos reproached himself for having named the gospel, instead of Him whose words and works are the burden of the gospel story. For even to that dull ear, heavy with age, the name of Jesus was sweet. And that dull mind, drowsy with the slumber of a long lifetime, had half awaked at least to the consciousness of his love.

"Dear father," he said gently, "I know you are well acquainted with the gospels. You remember what our blessed Lord saith of those who confess him before men, how he will not be ashamed to confess them before his Father in heaven? And, moreover, is it not a joy for us to show, in any way he points out to us, our love to him who loved us and gave himself for us?"

"Yes, yes, we love him. And he knows I only wish to do what is right, and what is pleasing in his sight."

Afterwards, Carlos talked over the events of the day with the younger and more intelligent brethren; especially with his teacher, Fray Cristobal, and his particular friend, Fray Fernando. He could but admire the spirit that had guided their deliberations, and feel increased thankfulness for the decision at which they had arrived. The peace which the whole community of Spanish Protestants then enjoyed, perilous and unstable as it was, stood at the mercy of every individual belonging to that community. The unexplained flight of any obscure member of Losada's congregation would have been sufficient to give the alarm, and let loose the bloodhounds of persecution upon the Church; how much more the abandonment of a wealthy and honourable religious house by the greater part of its inmates?

The sword hung over their heads, suspended by a single hair, which a hasty or incautious movement, a word, a breath even, might suffice to break.

XIX.

Truth and Freedom

"Man is greater than you thought him;

The bondage of long slumber he will break.

His just and ancient rights he will reclaim,

With Nero and Busiris he will rank

The name of Philip."--Schiller

Never before had it fallen to the lot of Don Juan Alvarez to experience such bewilderment as that which his brother's disclosure occasioned him. That brother, whom he had always regarded as the embodiment of goodness and piety, who was rendered illustrious in his eyes by all sorts of academic honours, and sanctified by the shadow of the coming priesthood, had actually confessed himself to be--what he had been taught to hold in deepest, deadliest abomination--a Lutheran heretic. But, on the other hand, from the wise, pious, and in every way unexceptionable manner in which Carlos had spoken, Juan could not help hoping that what, probably through some unaccountable aberration of mind, he himself persisted in styling Lutheranism, might prove in the end some very harmless and orthodox kind of devotion. Perhaps, eventually, his brother might found some new and holy order of monks and friars. Or even (he was so clever) he might take the lead in a Reformation of the Church, which, there was no use in an honest man's denying, was sorely needed. Still, he could not help admitting that the Sieur de Ramenais had sometimes expressed himself with nearly as much apparent orthodoxy; and he was undoubtedly a confirmed heretic--a Huguenot.

But if the recollection of this man, who for months had been his guest rather than his prisoner, served, from one point of view, to increase his difficulties, from another, it helped to clear away the most formidable of them. Don Juan had never been religious; but he had always been hotly orthodox, as became a Castilian gentleman of purest blood, and heir to all the traditions of an ancient house, foremost for generations in the great conflict with the infidel. He had been wont to look upon the Catholic faith as a thing bound up irrevocably with the knightly honour, the stainless fame, the noble pride of his race, and, consequently, with all that was dearest to his heart. Heresy he regarded as something unspeakably mean and degrading. It was associated in his mind with Jews and Moors, "caitiffs," "beggarly fellows;" all of them vulgar and unclean, some of them the hereditary enemies of his race. Heretics were Moslems, infidels, such as "my Cid" delighted in hewing down with his good sword Tizona, "for God and Our Lady's honour." Heretics kept the passover with mysterious, unhallowed rites, into which it would be best not to inquire; heretics killed (and perhaps ate) Christian children; they spat upon the cross; they had to wear ugly yellow sanbenitos at autos-da-fé; and, to sum up all in one word, they "smelled of the fire." To give full weight to the last allusion, it must be remembered that in the eyes of Don Juan and his cotemporaries, death by fire had no hallowed or ennobling associations to veil its horrors. The burning pile was to him what the cross was to our forefathers, and what the gibbet is to us, only far more disgraceful. Thus it was not so much his conscience as his honour and his pride that were arrayed against the new faith.

But, unconsciously to himself, opposition had been silently undermined by his intercourse with the Sieur de Ramenais. It would probably have been fatal to Protestantism with Don Juan, had his first specimen of a Protestant been an humble muleteer. Fortunately, the new opinions had come to him represented by a noble and gallant knight, who

"In open battle or in tilting field

Forbore his own advantage;"

who was as careful of his "pundonor"[#] as any Castilian gentleman, and scarcely yielded even to himself in all those marks of good breeding, which, to say the truth, Don Juan Alvarez de Santillanos y Meñaya valued far more than any abstract dogmas of faith.

[#] Point of honour.

This circumstance produced a willingness on his part to give fair play to his brother's convictions. When Carlos returned to Seville, which he did about a week after the meeting of the Chapter, he was overjoyed to find Juan ready to hear all he had to say with patience and candour. Moreover, the young soldier was greatly attracted by the preaching of Fray Constantino, whom he pronounced, in language borrowed from the camp, "a right good camerado." Using these favourable dispositions to the best advantage, Carlos repeated to him passages from the New Testament; and with deep and prayerful earnestness explained and enforced the truths they taught, taking care, of course, not unnecessarily to shock his prejudices.

And, as time passed on, it became every day more and more apparent that Don Juan was receiving "the new ideas;" and that with far less difficulty and conflict than Carlos himself had done. For with him the Reformed faith had only prejudices, not convictions, to contend against. These once broken down, the rest was easy. And then it came to him so naturally to follow the guidance of Carlos in all that pertained to thinking.

Unmeasured was the joy of the affectionate brother when at last he found that he might safely venture to introduce him privately to Losada as a promising inquirer.

In the meantime their outward life passed on smoothly and happily. With much feasting and rejoicing, Juan was betrothed to Doña Beatriz. He had loved her devotedly since boyhood; he loved her now more than ever. But his love was a deep, life-long passion--no sudden delirium of the fancy--so that it did not render him oblivious of every other tie, and callous to every other impression; it rather stimulated, and at the same time softened his whole nature. It made him not less, but more, sensitive to all the exciting and ennobling influences which were being brought to bear upon him.

In Doña Beatriz Carlos perceived a change that surprised him, while, at the same time, it made more evident than ever how great would have been his own mistake, had he accepted the passive gratitude of a child towards one who noticed and flattered her for the true deep love of a woman's heart. Doña Beatriz was a passive child no longer now. On the betrothal day, a proud and beautiful woman leaned on the arm of his handsome brother, and looked around her upon the assembled family, queen-like in air and mien, her cheek rivalling the crimson of the damask rose, her large dark eye beaming with passionate, exulting joy. Carlos compared her in thought to the fair, carved alabaster lamp that stood on the inlaid centre table of his aunt's state receiving-room. Love had wrought in her the change which light within always did in that, revealing its hidden transparency, and glorifying its pale, cold whiteness with tints so warmly beautiful, that the clouds of evening might have envied them.

The betrothal of Doña Sancha to Don Beltran Vivarez quickly followed. Don Balthazar also succeeded in obtaining the desired Government appointment, and henceforth enjoyed, much to his satisfaction, the honours and emoluments of an "empleado." To crown the family good fortune, Doña Inez rejoiced in the birth of a son and heir; while even Don Gonsalvo, not to be left out, acknowledged some improvement in his health, which he attributed to the judicious treatment of Losada. The mind of an intelligent man can scarcely be deeply exercised upon one great subject, without the result making itself felt throughout the whole range of his occupations. Losada's patients could not fail to benefit by his habits of independent thought and searching investigation, and his freedom from vulgar prejudices. This freedom, so rare in his nation, led him occasionally, though very cautiously, even to hazard the adoption of a few remedies which were not altogether "cosas de Espana."[#]

[#] Things of Spain.

The physician deserved less credit for his treatment of Juan's wounded arm, which nature healed, almost as soon as her beneficent operations ceased to be retarded by ignorant and blundering leech-craft.

Don Juan was occasionally heard to utter aspirations for the full restoration of his cousin Gonsalvo's health, more hearty in their expression than charitable in their motive. "I would give one of my fingers he could ride a horse and handle a sword, or at least a good foil with the button off, and I would soon make him repent his bearing and language to thee, Carlos. But what can a man do with a thing like that, save let him alone for very shame? Yet he is dastard enough to presume on such toleration, and to strike those whom his own infirmities hinder from returning the blow."

"If he could ride a horse or handle a sword, brother, I think you would find a marvellous change for the better in his bearing and language. That bitterness, what is it, after all, but the fruit of pain? Or of what is even worse than pain, repressed force and energy. He would be in the great world doing and daring; and behold, he is chained to a narrow room, or at best toils with difficulty a few hundred paces. No wonder that the strong winds, bound in their caverns, moan and shriek piteously at times. When I hear them I feel far too much compassion to think of anger. And I would give one of my fingers--nay, I would give my right hand," he added with a smile, "that he shared our blessed hope, Juan, my brother."

"The most unlikely person of all our acquaintance to become a convert."

"So say not I. Do you know that he has given money--he that has so little--more than once to Señor Cristobal for the poor?"

"That is nothing," said Juan. "He was ever free-handed. Do you not remember, in our childhood, how he would strike us upon the least provocation, yet insist on our sharing his sweetmeats and his toys, and even sometimes fight us for refusing them? While the others knew the value of a ducat before they knew their Angelus, and would sell and barter their small possessions like Dutch merchants."

"Which you spared not to call them, bearing yourself in the quarrels that naturally ensued with undaunted prowess; while I too often disgraced you by tearful entreaties for peace at all costs," returned Carlos, laughing. "But, my brother," he resumed more gravely, "I often ask myself, are we doing all that is possible in our present circumstances to share with others the treasure we have found?"

"I trust it will soon be open to them all," said Juan, who had now come just far enough to grasp strongly his right to think and judge for himself, and with it the idea of emancipation from the control of a proud and domineering priesthood. "Great is truth, and shall prevail."

"Certainly, in the end. But much that to mortal eyes looks like defeat may come first."

"I think my learned brother, so much wiser than I upon many subjects, fails to read well the signs of the times. Whose Word saith, 'When ye see the fig-tree put forth her buds, know ye that summer is nigh, even at the door'? Everywhere the fig-trees are budding now."

"Still the frosts may return."

"Hold thy peace, too desponding brother. Thou shouldst have learned another lesson yesterday, when thou and I watched the eager thousands as they hung breathless on the lips of our Fray Constantino. Are not those thousands really for us, and for truth and freedom?"

"No doubt Christ has his own amongst them."

"You always think of individuals, Carlos, rather than of our country. You forget we are sons of Spain, Castilian nobles. Of course we rejoice when even one man here and there is won for the truth. But our Spain! our glorious land, first and fairest of all the earth! our land of conquerors, whose arms reach to the ends of the world--one hand taming the infidel in his African stronghold, while the other crowns her with the gold and jewels of the far West! She who has led the nations in the path of discovery--whose fleets gem the ocean--whose armies rule the land,--shall she not also lead the way to the great city of God, and bring in the good coming time when all shall know him from the least to the greatest--when they shall know the truth, and the truth shall make them free? Carlos, my brother, I do not dare to doubt it."

It was not often that Don Juan expressed himself in such a lengthened and energetic, not to say grandiloquent manner. But his love for Spain was a passion, and to extol her or to plead her cause words were never lacking with him. In reply to this outburst of enthusiasm, Carlos only said gently, "Amen, and the Lord establish it in his time."

Don Juan looked keenly at him. "I thought you had faith, Carlos?" he said.

"Faith?" Carlos repeated inquiringly.

"Such faith," said Juan, "as I have. Faith in truth and freedom?" And he rang out the sonorous words, "Verdad y libertad," as if he thought, as indeed he did, that they had but to go forth through a submissive, rejoicing world, "conquering and to conquer."

"I have faith in Christ," Carlos answered quietly.

And in those two brief phrases each unconsciously revealed to the other the very depths of his soul, and told the secret of his history.

XX

The First Drop of a Thunder Shower.

"Closed doorways that are folded

And prayed against in vain"--E. B. Browning

Meanwhile the happy weeks glided on noiselessly and rapidly. They brought full occupation for head and heart, as well as varied and intense enjoyment. Don Juan's constant intercourse with Doña Beatriz was not the less delightful because already he sought to imbue her mind with the truths which he himself was learning every day to love better. He thought her an apt and hopeful pupil, but, under the circumstances, he was scarcely the best possible judge.

Carlos was not so well satisfied with her attainments; he advised reserve and caution in imparting their secrets to her, lest through inadvertence she might betray them to her aunt and cousins. Juan considered this a mark of his constitutional timidity; yet he so far attended to his warnings, that Doña Beatriz was strongly impressed with the necessity of keeping their religious conversations a profound secret, whilst her sensibilities were not shocked by any mention of words so odious as heresy or Lutheranism.

Put there could be no doubt as to Juan's own progress under the instructions of his brother, and of Losada and Fray Cassiodoro. He began, ere long, to accompany Carlos to the meetings of the Protestants, who welcomed the new acquisition to their ranks with affectionate enthusiasm. All were attracted by Don Juan's warmth and candour of disposition, and by his free, joyous, hopeful temperament; though he was not beloved by any as intensely as Carlos was by the few who really knew him, such as Losada, Don Juan Ponce de Leon, and the young monk, Fray Fernando.

Partly through the influence of his religious friends, and partly through the brilliant reputation he had brought from Alcala, Carlos now obtained a lectureship at the College of Doctrine, of which the provost, Fernando de San Juan, was a decided and zealous Lutheran. This appointment was an honourable one, considered in no way derogatory to his social position, and useful as tending to convince his uncle that he was "doing something," not idly dreaming his time away.

Occupations of another kind opened out before him also. Amongst the many sincere and anxious inquirers who were troubled with perplexities concerning the relations of the old faith and the new, were some who turned to him, with an instinctive feeling that he could help them. This was just the work that best suited his abilities and his temperament. To sympathize, to counsel, to aid in conflict as only that man can do who has known conflict himself, was God's special gift to him. And he who goes through the world speaking, whenever he can, a word in season to the weary, will seldom be without some weary one ready to listen to him.

Upon one subject, and only one, the brothers still differed. Juan saw the future robed in the glowing hues borrowed from his own ardent, hopeful spirit. In his eyes the Spains were already won "for truth and freedom," as he loved to say. He anticipated nothing less than a glorious regeneration of Christendom, in which his beloved country would lead the van. And there were many amongst Losada's congregation who shared these bright and beautiful, if delusive dreams, and the enthusiasm which had given them birth, and in its turn was nourished by them.

Again, there were others who rejoiced with much trembling over the good tidings that often reached them of the spread of the faith in distant parts of the country, and who welcomed each neophyte to their ranks as if they were adorning a victim for the sacrifice. They could not forget that name of terror, the Holy Inquisition. And from certain ominous indications they thought the sleeping monster was beginning to stir in his den. Else why had new and severe decrees against heresy been recently obtained from Rome? And above all, why had the Bishop of Terragona, Gonzales de Munebrãga, already known as a relentless persecutor of Jews and Moors, been appointed Vice-Inquisitor General at Seville?

Still, on the whole, hope and confidence predominated; and strange, nay, incredible as it may appear to us, beneath the very shadow of the Triana the Lutherans continued to hold their meetings "almost with open doors."

One evening Don Juan escorted Doña Beatriz to some festivity from which he could not very well excuse himself, whilst Carlos attended a re-union for prayer and mutual edification at the usual place--the house of Doña Isabella de Baena.

Don Juan returned at a late hour, but in high spirits. Going at once to the room where his brother sat awaiting him, he threw off his cloak, and stood before him, a gay, handsome figure, in his doublet of crimson satin, his gold chain, and well-used sword, now worn for ornament, with its embossed scabbard and embroidered belt.

"I never saw Doña Beatriz look so charming," he began eagerly. "Don Miguel de Santa Cruz was there, but he could not get no much as a single dance with her, and looked ready to die for envy. But save me from the impertinence of Luis Rotelo! I shall have to cane him one of these days, if no milder measures will teach him his place and station. He, the son of a simple hidalgo, to dare lift his eyes to Doña Beatriz de Lavella? The caitiff's presumption!--But thou art not listening, brother. What is wrong with thee?"

No wonder he asked. The face of Carlos was pale; and the deep mournful eyes looked as if tears had been lately there. "A great sorrow, brother mine," he answered in a low voice.

"My sorrow too, then. Tell me, what is it?" asked Juan, his tone and manner changed in a moment.

"Juliano is taken."

"Juliano! The muleteer who brought the books, and gave you that Testament?"

"The man who put into my hands this precious Book, to which I owe my joy now and my hope for eternity," said Carlos, his lip trembling.

"Ay de mi!--But perhaps it is not true."

"Too true. A smith, to whom he showed a copy of the Book, betrayed him. God forgive him--if there be forgiveness for such. It may have been a month ago, but we only heard it now. And he lies there--there."

"Who told you?"

"All were talking of it at the meeting when I entered. It is the sorrow of all; but I doubt if any have such cause to sorrow as I. For he is my father in the faith, Juan. And now," he added, after a long, sad pause, "I shall never tell him what he has done for me--at least on this side of the grave."

"There is no hope for him," said Juan mournfully, as one that mused.

"Hope! Only in the great mercy of God. Even those dreadful dungeon walls cannot shut Him out."

"No; thank God."

"But the prolonged, the bitter, the horrible suffering! I have been trying to contemplate, to picture it--but I cannot, I dare not. And what I dare not think of, he must endure."

"He is a peasant, you are a noble--that makes some difference," said Don Juan, with whom the tie of brotherhood in Christ had not yet effaced all earthly distinctions. "But Carlos," he questioned suddenly, and with a look of alarm, "does not he know everything?"

"Everything," Carlos answered quietly. "One word from his lips, and the pile is kindled for us all. But that word will never be spoken. To-night not one heart amongst us trembled for ourselves, we only wept for him."

"You trust him, then, so completely? It is much to say. They in whose hands he is are cruel as fiends. No doubt they will--"

"Hush!" interrupted Carlos, with a look of such exceeding pain, that Juan was effectually silenced. "There are things we cannot speak of, save to God in prayer. Oh, my brother, pray for him, that He for whom he has risked so much may sustain him, and, if it may be, shorten his agony."

"Surely more than two or three will join in that prayer. But, my brother," he added, after a pause, "be not so downcast. Do you not know that every great cause must have its martyr? When was a victory won, and no brave man left dead on the field; a city stormed, and none fallen in the breach? Perhaps to that poor peasant may be given the glory--the great glory--of being honoured throughout all time as the sainted martyr whose death has consecrated our holy cause to victory. A grand lot truly? Worth suffering for!" And Juan's dark eye kindled, and his cheek glowed with enthusiasm.

Carlos was silent.

"Dost thou not think so, my brother?"

"I think that Christ is worth suffering; for," said Carlos at last. "And that nothing short of his personal presence, realized by faith, can avail to bring any man victorious through such fearful trials. May that--may he be with his faithful servant now, when all human help and comfort are far away."

XXI.

By the Guadalquivir

"There dwells my father, sinless and at rest,

Where the fierce murderer can no more pursue."--Schiller

Next Sunday evening the brothers attended the quiet service in Doña Isabella's upper room. It was more solemn than usual, because of the deep shadow that rested on the hearts of all the band assembled there. But Losada's calm voice spoke wise and loving words about life and death, and about Him who, being the Lord of life, has conquered death for all who trust him. Then came prayer--true incense offered on the golden altar standing "before the mercy-seat," which only "the veil," still dropped between, hides from the eyes of the worshippers.[#] But in such hours many a ray from the glory within shines through that veil.

[#] See Exodus xxx 6.

"Do not let us return home yet, brother," said Carlos, when they had parted with their friends. "The night is fine."

"Whither shall we bend our steps?"

Carlos named a favourite walk through some olive-yards on the banks of the river, and Juan set his face towards one of the city gates.

"Why take such a circuit?" said Carlos, showing a disposition to turn in an opposite direction. "This is far the shorter way."

"True; but it is less pleasant."

Carlos looked at him gratefully. "My brother would spare my weakness," he said. "But it needs not. Twice of late, when you were engaged with Doña Beatriz, I went alone thither, and--to the Prado San Sebastian."

So they passed through the Puerta de Triana, and having crossed the bridge of boats, leisurely took their way beneath the walls of the grim old castle. As they did so, both prayed in silence for one who was pining in its dungeons. Don Juan, whose interest in the fate of Juliano was naturally far less intense than his brother's, was the first to break that silence. He remarked that the Dominican convent adjoining the Triana looked nearly as gloomy as the inquisitorial prison itself.

"I think it looks like all other convents," returned Carlos, with indifference.

They were soon in the shadow of the dark, ghost-like olive-trees. The moon was young, and gave but little light; but the large clear stars looked down through the southern air like lamps of fire, hanging not so much in the sky as from it. Were those bright watchers charged with a message from the land very far off, which seemed so near to them in the high places whence they ruled the night? Carlos drank in the spirit of the scene in silence. But this did not please his less meditative brother. "What art thou pondering?" he asked.

"'They that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.'"

"Art thinking still of the prisoner in the Triana?"

"Of him, and also of another very dear to both of us, of whom I have for some time been purposing to speak to thee. What if thou and I have been, like children, seeking for a star on earth while all the time it was shining above us in God's glorious heaven?"

"Knowest thou not of old, little brother, that when thy parables begin I am left behind at once? I pray thee, let the stars alone, and speak the language of earth."

"What was the task to which thou and I vowed ourselves in childhood, brother?"

Juan looked at him keenly through the dim light. "I sometimes feared thou hadst forgotten," he said.

"No danger of that. But I had a reason--I think a good and sufficient one--for not speaking to thee until well and fully assured of thy sympathy."

"My sympathy? In aught that concerned the dream, the passion of my life!--of both our young lives! Carlos, how couldst thou even doubt of this?"

"I had reason to doubt at first whether a gleam of light which has been shed upon our father's fate would be regarded by his son as a blessing or a curse."

"Do not keep a man in suspense, brother. Speak at once, in Heaven's name."

"I doubt no longer now. It will be to thee, Juan, as to me, a joy exceeding great to think that our venerated father read God's Word for himself, and knew his truth and honoured it, as we have learned to do."

"Now, God be thanked!" cried Juan, pausing in his walk and clasping his hands together. "This indeed is joyful news. But speak, brother; how do you know it? Are you certain, or is it only dream, hope, conjecture?"

Carlos told him in detail, first the hint dropped by Losada to De Seso; then the story of Dolores; lastly, what he had heard at San Isodro about Don Rodrigo de Valer. And as he proceeded with his narrative, he welded the scattered links into a connected chain of evidence.

Juan, all eagerness, could hardly wait till he came to the end. "Why did you not speak to Losada?" he interrupted at last.

"Stay, brother, and hear me out; the best is to come. I have done so lately. But until assured how thou wouldst regard the matter, I cared not to ask questions, the answers to which might wound thy heart."

"You are in no doubt now. What heard you from Señor Cristobal?"

"I heard that Dr. Egidius named the Conde de Nuera as one of those who befriended Don Rodrigo. And that he had been present when that brave and faithful teacher privately expounded the Epistle to the Romans."