Part 20 (1/2)

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 antic.i.p.ated 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 Munebrga, 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 Dona 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 Dona 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 Dona 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 Dona 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.

G.o.d 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 G.o.d. Even those dreadful dungeon walls cannot shut Him out.”

”No; thank G.o.d.”

”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 n.o.ble--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--”

”Hus.h.!.+” interrupted Carlos, with a look of such exceeding pain, that Juan was effectually silenced. ”There are things we cannot speak of, save to G.o.d 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.”