Part 24 (1/2)
Carlos found that a few strong, plain words were absolutely necessary in order to make Beatrix understand his brother's peril. She had listened hitherto to Don Juan's extracts from Scripture, and the arguments and exhortations founded thereon, conscious, indeed, that these were secrets which should be jealously guarded, yet unconscious that they were what the Church and the world branded as heresy. Consequently, although she heard of the arrest of Losada and his friends with vague regret and apprehension, she was far from distinctly a.s.sociating the crime for which they suffered with the name dearest to her heart. She was still very young; and she had not thought much--she had only loved. And she blindly followed him she loved, without caring to ask whither he was going himself, or whither he was leading her. When at last Carlos made her comprehend that it was for reading the Scriptures, and talking of justification by faith alone, that Losada was thrown into the dungeons of the Triana, a thrilling cry of anguish broke from her lips.
”Hush, senora!” said Carlos; and for once his voice was stern. ”If even your little black foot-page heard that cry, it might ruin all.”
But Beatrix was unused to self-control. Another cry followed, and there were symptoms of hysterical tears and laughter. Carlos tried a more potent spell.
”Hush, senora!” he repeated. ”We must be strong and silent, if we are to save Don Juan.”
She looked piteously up at him, repeating, ”Save Don Juan?”
”Yes, senora. Listen to me. _You_, at least, are a good Catholic. You have not compromised yourself in any way: you say your angelus; you make your vows; you bring flowers to Our Lady's shrine. _You_ are safe.”
She turned round and faced him--her cheek dyed crimson, and her eyes flas.h.i.+ng,--
”I am safe! Is that all you have to say? Who cares for that? What is _my_ life worth?”
”Patience, dear senora! Your safety aids in securing his. Listen.--You are writing to him. Tell him of the arrests; for hear of them he must.
Use the language about heresy which will occur to you, but which--G.o.d help me!--I could not use. Then pa.s.s from the subject. Write aught else that comes to your mind; but before closing your letter, say that I am well in mind and body, and would be heartily recommended to him. Add that I most earnestly request of him, for our common good and the better arrangement of our affairs, not to return to Seville, but to remain at Nuera. He will understand that. Lay your own commands upon him--your _commands_, remember, senora--to the same effect.”
”I will do all that.--But here come my aunt and cousins.”
It was true. Already the porter had opened for them the gloomy outer gate; and now the gilt and filagreed inner door was thrown open also, and the returning family party filled the court. They were talking together; not quite so gaily as usual, but still eagerly enough. Dona Sancha soon drew near to Beatrix, and began to rally her upon her occupation, threatening playfully to carry away and read the unfinished letter. No one addressed a word to Carlos; but that might have been mere accident.
It was, however, scarcely accidental that his aunt, as she pa.s.sed him on her way to an inner room, drew her mantilla closer round her, lest its deep lace fringe might touch his clothing. Shortly afterwards Dona Sancha dropped her fan. According to custom, Carlos stooped for it, and handed it to her with a bow. The young lady took it mechanically, but almost immediately dropped it again with a look of scorn, as if polluted by its touch. Its delicate carved ivory, the work of Moorish hands, lay in fragments on the marble floor; and from that moment Carlos knew that he was under the ban, that he stood alone amidst his uncle's household--a suspected and degraded man.
It was not wonderful. His intimacy with the monks of San Isodro, his friends.h.i.+p with Don Juan Ponce de Leon, and with the physician Losada, were all well-known facts. Moreover, had he not taught at the College of Doctrine, under the direct patronage of Fernando de San Juan, another of the victims. And there were other indications of his tendencies which could scarcely escape notice, once the suspicions of those who lived under the same roof with him were awakened.
For a time he stood silent, watching his uncle's countenance, and marking the frown that contracted his brow whenever his eye turned towards him. But when Don Manuel pa.s.sed into a smaller saloon that opened upon the court, Carlos followed him boldly.
They stood face to face, but could hardly see each other. The room was darkness, save for a few struggling moonbeams.
”Senor my uncle,” said Carlos, ”I fear my presence here is displeasing to you.”
Don Manuel paused before replying.
”Nephew,” he said at length, ”you have been lamentably imprudent. The saints grant you have been no worse.”
A moment of strong emotion will sometimes bring out in a man's face characteristic lineaments of his family, in calmer seasons not traceable there. Thus it is with features of the soul. It was not the gentle timid Don Carlos who spoke now, it was Alvarez de Santillanos y Menaya.
There was both pride and courage in his tone.
”If it has been my misfortune to offend my honoured uncle, to whom I owe so many benefits, I am sorry, though I cannot charge myself with any fault. But I should be faulty indeed were I to prolong my stay in a house where I am no longer what, thanks to your kindness, senor my uncle, I have ever been hitherto, a welcome guest.” Having spoken thus, he turned to go.
”Stay, young fool!” cried Don Manuel, who thought the better of him for his proud words. They raised him, in his estimation, from a mark for his scorn to a legitimate object for his indignation. ”There spoke your father's voice. But I tell you, for all that, you shall not quit the shelter of my roof.”
”I thank you.”
”You may spare the pains. I ask you not, for I prefer to remain in ignorance, to what perilous and fool-hardy lengths your intimacy with heretics may have gone. Without being a Qualificator of heresy myself, I can tell that you smell of the fire. And indeed, young man, were you anything less than Alvarez de Menaya, I would hardly scorch my own fingers to hold you out of it. The Devil--to whom, in spite of all your fair appearances, I fear you belong--might take care of his own. But since truth is the daughter of G.o.d, you shall have it from my lips. And the plain truth is, that I have no desire to hear every cur dog in Seville barking at me and mine; nor to see our ancient and honourable name dragged through the mire and filth of the streets.”