Part 18 (1/2)

”I thought devotion to Our Lady was the surest mark of piety,” said Juan, in utter perplexity. ”Then, I am only a man of the world. But oh, my brother, this is frightful!” He paused a moment, then added more calmly, ”Still, I have learned that Huguenots are not beasts with horns and hoofs; but, possibly, brave and honourable men enough, as good, for this world, as their neighbours. And yet--the disgrace!” His dark cheek flushed, then grew pale, as there rose before his mind's eye an appalling vision--his brother robed in a hideous sanbenito, bearing a torch in the ghastly procession of an _auto-da-fe_! ”You have kept your secret as your life? My uncle and his family suspect nothing?” he asked anxiously.

”Nothing, thank G.o.d.”

”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--G.o.d 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 a.s.surance 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 G.o.d'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 s.h.i.+eld; 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 G.o.d's providence here. Praised be his holy name for that.”