Part 39 (2/2)

”Even so: and with those fiends mercy is the greatest of all crimes.

The child met me to-day (whether by accident or design, I know not), and told me, weeping bitterly.”

”G.o.d help her!”

”Some would gladly endure her punishment if they might commit her crime,” said Don Juan. There was a pause; then he resumed, ”I had been about to ask you to apply once more to the prior.”

Fray Sebastian shook his head. ”That were of no use,” he said; ”for it is certain that my lord the Vice-Inquisitor and the prior have had a misunderstanding about the matter. And the prior, so far from obtaining permission to deal with him as he desired, is not even allowed to see him now.”

”And yourself?--whither do you mean to go?” asked Juan, rather abruptly.

”In sooth, I know not, senor. I have had no time to think. But go I must.”

”I will tell you what to do. Go to Nuera. There for the present you will be safe. And if any man inquire your business, you have a fair and ready answer. _I_ send you to look after my affairs. Stay; I will write by you to Dolores. Poor, true-hearted Dolores!” Don Juan seemed to fall into a reverie, so long did he sit motionless, his face shaded by his hand.

His mournful air, his unwonted listlessness, his attenuated frame--all struck Fray Sebastian painfully. After musing a while in silence, he said at last, very suddenly, ”Senor Don Juan!”

Juan looked up.

”Have you ever thought since on the message _he_ sent you by me?”

Don Juan looked as though that question were worse than needless. Was not every word of his brother's message burned into his heart? This it was: ”My Ruy, thou hast done all for me that the best of brothers could.

Leave me now to G.o.d, unto whom I am going quickly, and in peace. Quit the country as soon as thou canst; and G.o.d's best blessings surround thy path and guard thee evermore.”

One fact Carlos had most earnestly entreated Fray Sebastian to withhold from his brother. Juan must never know that he had endured the horrors of the Question. The monk would have promised almost anything that could bring a glow of pleasure to that pale, patient face. And he had kept his promise, though at the expense of a few falsehoods, that did not greatly embarra.s.s his conscience. He had conveyed the impression to Don Juan that it was merely from the effects of his long and cruel imprisonment that his brother was sinking into the only refuge that remained to him--a quiet grave.

After a pause, he resumed, looking earnestly at Juan--”_He_ wished you to go.”

”Do you not know that next month they say there will be--_an Auto_?”

”Yes; but it is not likely--”

They gazed at each other in silence, neither saying what was not likely.

”Any horror is _possible_,” said Juan at last. ”But no more of this.

Until after the Auto, with its chances of _some_ termination to this dreadful suspense, I stir not from Seville. Now, we must think for you.

I know where to find a boat, the owner of which will take you some miles on your way up the river to-night. Then you can hire a horse.”

Fray Sebastian groaned. Neither the journey itself, its cause, nor its manner were anything but disagreeable to the poor friar. But there was no help for him. Juan gave him some further directions about his way; then set food and wine before him.

”Eat and drink,” he said. ”Meanwhile I will secure the boat. When I return, I can write to Dolores.”

All was done as he planned; and ere the morning broke, Fray Sebastian was far on his way to Nuera, with the letter to Dolores st.i.tched into the lining of his doublet.

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