Part 29 (1/2)

All was quiet, regular, and most orderly. Don Manuel, roused from his slumbers, appeared with the Alguazils, and respectfully requested a sight of the warrant upon which they proceeded.

It was produced; and all could see that it was duly signed, and sealed with the famous seal--the sword and olive branch, the dog with the flaming brand, the sorely outraged, ”Just.i.tia et misericordia.”

Had Don Manuel Alvarez been king of all the Spains, and Carlos his heir-apparent, he dared not have offered the least resistance then. He had no wish to resist, however; he bowed obsequiously, and protested his own and his family's devotion to the Faith and the Holy Office. But he added (perhaps merely as a matter of form), that he could bring many witnesses of unimpeachable character to testify to his nephew's orthodoxy, and hoped to succeed in clearing him from whatever odious imputation had induced their Reverences to order his arrest.

Meanwhile Gonsalvo gnashed his teeth in impotent rage and despair. He would have bartered his life for two minutes of health and strength in which to rush suddenly on the Alguazils, and give Carlos time to escape, let the consequences of such frantic audacity be what they might. But the bands of disease, stronger than iron, made the body a prison for the indignant, tortured spirit.

Carlos spoke for the first time. ”I am ready to go with you,” he said to the chief of the Alguazils. ”Do you wish to examine my apartment?

You are welcome. It is the chamber over this.”

Having gone over every detail of such a scene a thousand times in imagination, he knew that the examination of papers and personal effects usually formed a part of it. And he had no fears for the result, as, in preparation for his flight, he had carefully destroyed everything that he thought could implicate himself or any one else.

”Don Carlos--cousin!” cried Gonsalvo suddenly, as surrounded by the officers he was about to leave the room. ”Vaya con Dios! A braver man than you have I never seen.”

Carlos turned on him one long, sorrowful gaze. ”_Tell Ruy_,” he said.

That was all.

Then there was trampling of footsteps overhead, and the sound of voices, not excited or angry, but cool, business-like, even courteous.

Then the footsteps descended, pa.s.sed the door of Gonsalvo's room, sounded along the corridor, grew fainter on the great staircase, died away in the court.

Less than an hour afterwards, the great gate of the Triana opened to receive a new victim. The grave familiar held it, bowing low, until the prisoner and his guard had pa.s.sed through. Then it was swung to again, and barred and bolted, shutting out from Don Carlos Alvarez all help and hope, all charity and all mercy--save only the mercy of G.o.d.

XXVII.

My Brother's Keeper

”Since she loved him, he went carefully, Bearing a thing so precious in his hand.”--George Eliot

About a week afterwards, Don Juan Alvarez dismounted at the door of his uncle's mansion. His shout soon brought the porter, a ”pure and ancient Christian,” who had spent nearly all his life in the service of the family.

”G.o.d save you, father,” said Juan. ”Is my brother in the house!”

”No, senor and your wors.h.i.+p,”--the old man hesitated, and looked confused.

”Where shall I find him, then?” cried Juan; ”speak at once, if you know.”

”May it please your n.o.ble Excellency, I--I know nothing. At least--the Saints have mercy on us!” and he trembled from head to foot.

Juan thrust him aside, nearly knocking him down in his haste, and dashed breathless into his uncle's private room, on the right hand side of the patio.

Don Manuel was there, seated at a table, looking over some papers.

”Where is my brother?” asked Juan sternly and abruptly, searching his face with his keen dark eyes.