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CHAPTER XXXI.
VENGEANCE

Antonia might well be excused for the excess of her terror. If in one European country more than another an infuriated mob is to be dreaded, that country, perhaps, is Spain. A people accustomed to find delight in seeing bulls tortured, horses gored to death, and men imperilled and often wounded or slain, are not likely, when their passions are roused, to be moved to pity, or to feel horror at deeds of blood. Religion, degraded into superstition or utterly cast aside, has little power to control. The commandment, "Thou shalt not kill," has been broken so often, that its breach has almost ceased to be regarded as a crime. The stoutest heart might have quailed at the sound of the savage roar of voices, and that of thundering blows on the ornamental grating which alone divided the mob from their prey.

A little group stood together in the patio, whose marble pavement was likely so soon to be stained with the blood of at least one victim. Lucius Lepine, with the generous spirit which makes the Englishman "strike as soon for a trampled foe as he would for a soul-dear friend," stood by the side of Aguilera, to protect his endangered guest. The Briton grasped his loaded pistol, the Spaniard was quite unarmed. A little behind them appeared Lopez de Rivadeo, a haggard, desperate man, clutching his dagger and clinching his teeth, as he watched the grating, which he every moment expected to give way under the clanging blows which were showered upon it. Near the governor stood Peter Passmore, flushed and snorting with excitement, and heartily wishing himself out of a country where an honest man could not take a morning drive without the risk of being baited like a wild beast. Diego completed the group; the chulo had attached himself to Alcala, and was resolved to stand by the cavalier to the last. Once the pale face of Inez had appeared at a door which led to the interior part of the dwelling, but she had retired at the urgent desire of her brother. "This is no place for ladies!" cried he.

"That bit of wrought iron will not hold out long under such battering," cried Passmore, addressing himself to Lopez; "why do you not hide yourself in some inner apartment?"

"Because I would rather make my last stand here, under the open sky, than be killed like a rat in a hole," hoarsely muttered the desperate man.

Cr – cr – cr – ash! down goes the grating, and over it rush the human wolves towards their victim.

"Back, back, ye men of Seville!" exclaimed Alcala, coming forward to meet the mob with that calm dignity which marked one born to command. "How dare ye thus force your way into the dwelling of a cavalier of Andalusia?" Alcala's stern eyes were fixed on the leader of the rioters, in whom he recognized one of the robbers with whom he had passed the previous night in prison. The bandit was taken aback by the unexpected meeting with that strange fellow-prisoner whom he had almost deemed a prophet inspired by Heaven.

"We seek not to harm you or yours, señor, but that wretch – "

"Is my guest, and as such shall be protected with my life!" cried Alcala. "What, my brave countrymen! will ye celebrate the birthday of your liberty with deeds of violence which would disgrace the heathen? When the eyes of Europe are upon them, will Spaniards show themselves unworthy of their freedom? I have heard in your streets the shout of 'Viva la Constitucion!' I hailed it as a sign that my countrymen could distinguish liberty from license, and that in Spain at least revolution meant not robbery and murder!"

Alcala had appealed to the self-respect of his hearers – that quality which appears to be inherent in Spaniards, and which, as history proves, can act as a curb even on the rage of their mobs. No one of the intruders rushed violently forward, although the only barrier between them and their prey was the firm will and dauntless courage of one unarmed individual. But a haggard, wild-looking man came a little in front of the rest, to act as the spokesman of all. Fierceness, almost resembling that of insanity, flashed from his sunken eyes, as, glaring on Rivadeo, the Spaniard brandished aloft his huge knife, and then addressed himself to Alcala.

"We must have justice, we must have revenge on a villain who for years has trampled the people under foot as the mire in the streets! Did ye know half his crimes, ye would not protect him. Look at me, señor!" A terrible tale of suffering was written on the speaker's haggard face and almost skeleton frame. "You have been for one night in that den of misery into which robbery, under the mask of justice, thrusts its victims; I have been there for seven years! And my crime was that I could not bribe yonder tyrant to give me back my birthright of freedom! Seven years!" repeated the man with energy, "rotting in a dungeon worse than the lair of a beast, whilst my wife and children were starving outside!"

A deep murmur of indignation rose from the listening crowd. The man went on with increasing fierceness of tone and gesture.

"Seven years! and every day of those years I breathed a deeper vow of vengeance. I am but one of many who have made that vow – "

"Yes, yes!" howled forth many threatening voices.

"And shall we not keep it?" exclaimed the deeply-wronged man.

"Yes, yes!" was more loudly repeated. "The tyrant is before us, shall we not strike! Vengeance is within reach, shall we not grasp it!"

"Hold, men of Seville!" exclaimed Alcala; "hear me but for a moment. There are those amongst you who listened last night in a dungeon to an offer of mercy from Heaven. To whom was that offer made? To all, from the criminal in ermine to the thief on the cross. By whom was that offer made? By Him who had power to crush His enemies – to annihilate or hurl them down into fire that shall never be quenched. Transgressors were before Him; did He strike? Vengeance was within His reach; did He grasp it? Did not the Deity take man's nature, that as Man He might die, not for His friends alone, but for His foes? Did He not purchase, at the price of His own life's blood, the right to extend free forgiveness even to the guiltiest of all?"

Again words that glowed with the fervour that warmed the heart of the speaker fell with strange power on men to whom pure and simple gospel truth was as a new revelation. Alcala felt that he was making some impression on his wild audience, and thus went on with his appeal to their nobler feelings: —

"Let me not speak to you in my own words, but in the words of the Lord of Life, who for our sakes underwent agony, shame, and death! It is He who says, even to the most deeply injured, the most cruelly oppressed amongst us all, 'Forgive, as ye have been forgiven.' The lips of Him who on the cross breathed a prayer for His own murderers, is now saying to our souls, 'Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.' Is there one man here who needs not that mercy – is there one here who without that mercy dare stand before the tribunal of God?"

There was a deep silence amongst the throng. After a brief pause, Alcala resumed speaking, but in a different tone.

"Return, my brave friends, to your homes, thankful that you have hands unstained with blood, and consciences not burdened by murder. We Spaniards have a nobler and more arduous task before us than that of slaying a defenceless foe. Our glorious land has long groaned under that worst form of bondage – the bondage which fetters the soul. We have been robbed of our noblest heritage – the heritage of the Word of Truth. Let us throw off our chains, and show ourselves men! The Moor was driven from our Andalusia by the prowess of our brave sires; let ours be a greater victory, a more glorious conquest than theirs. Let Spain rise from the dust of ages to be the champion of freedom and faith. Let us not rest till one of the fairest lands upon which the light of heaven shines becomes an example to the nations around her, and a blessing to all the world!"

"Viva Aguilera! viva la Spagna!" exclaimed Lucius Lepine, with an enthusiasm which was contagious. The mob caught up the words, and re-echoed the shout; the patio resounded with "Viva la Spagna! viva Aguilera!" – Diego's voice heard above all. Alcala was too much exhausted to speak more to the crowd, but he smiled and bowed his thanks; and the people, obeying his gesture, slowly and without confusion defiled again through the arched passage, and made their way back into the street.

"I never saw anything to equal that!" exclaimed the astonished Passmore, when he saw the last individual of the rabble disappear from the court. "Iron at white heat to be cooled down by a few brave words!"

"To God be the glory!" said Alcala.

CHAPTER XXXII.
A LAST FAREWELL

The agony of suspense which had been suffered by the wretched Don Lopez whilst his life hung trembling in the balance was now shown by his vehement impatience to get out of Seville. The governor could hardly thank his preserver; he would taste no refreshment; he would not so much as sit down, so restless was he in his eager desire to escape. De Rivadeo was furious even at the brief delay which took place ere his daughter obeyed his reiterated call. Lopez would on no account stop to encounter the chance of a repetition of such an attack by the mob as that from which he had so narrowly escaped with life. Mr. Passmore's carriage was still at the entrance, and the manufacturer consented, though with no good grace, to take the fugitives to the nearest town, where they would be likely to get another conveyance to carry them to some port. Lopez de Rivadeo must follow Queen Isabella into exile, as others, worthless as himself, already had done.

Diego, who liked adventure, and whose intelligence might further the governor's escape, volunteered to take his seat beside Mr. Passmore's coachman, who had been so much frightened by the events of the morning that he could hardly manage the reins.

Just as these little arrangements had been concluded, Donna Antonia re-entered the patio, leaning on the arm of Inez, and followed by Teresa. The governor's daughter now wore a veil and mantilla; these, to a Spanish lady, needful articles of dress, had been given to Antonia by Inez, notwithstanding the angry expostulations of the old duenna. Teresa was indignant to see her mistress robbed, as she called it, of what she so ill could spare.

"My only comfort," muttered Teresa, as she hobbled after the ladies, "is that the mantilla has been worn till the silk will hardly hold together, and that the veil has more of neat darning on it than of the original lace."

Alcala came forward to hand Donna Antonia to the carriage; oppressed as he was with weakness and languor, the cavalier of Andalusia would not suffer another to take his place in doing the honours of his house to his unfortunate guests. This was the first day on which the proud beauty of Seville had met Don Alcala de Aguilera since that on which he had rashly risked his life for her sake. If any touch of womanly feeling was in Antonia's selfish bosom, that feeling must have been stirred now into remorse as she beheld her father's preserver. Alcala's pale features showed the sufferings which he had lately undergone: he looked like one newly risen from a sick-bed, with sunken cheek, colourless lip, and languid eye. As with graceful courtesy the cavalier proffered his wasted hand to the lady, on the minds of both Alcala and Antonia flashed back memory of the hour when that hand had been deemed unworthy to touch the white kid glove of the heiress – that hour when, like an empress, she had stepped into her galley on the glittering Guadalquivir.

Silently Alcala conducted Antonia through the arched way to the carriage which was to bear her from Seville. Not till she had placed her foot on the carriage-step did the cavalier utter a word.

"Farewell, señorita!" said Alcala. Antonia turned towards him, but in silence; the eyes of the two met – it was the last look that was ever to pass between them. Soon the motion of the rolling wheels separated Alcala and Antonia de Rivadeo for ever.

But for the support of Lucius's arm, Alcala could hardly have walked back to the patio. He sank down wearily on the first seat that he reached, too much exhausted to do more than extend his hand, with a faint smile on his lips, to Inez, who knelt by his side.

"Bring wine, Teresa!" cried Inez, looking anxiously at the face of her brother.

"Wine!" exclaimed the old woman, stung into momentary forgetfulness of the presence of the English stranger – "wine!" she repeated bitterly, "when the last drop left in this ruined house was poured out for that proud woman; and there's not a cuarto in the coffer to buy more for the caballero if his life depended upon it! Woe, woe to the Aguileras!"

"Never say so!" cried Lucius Lepine, and the joy of being the bearer of good news seemed to the young man at that moment to outweigh all that he had gone through to procure it. "The Aguileras have a casket of golden plate and rich jewels safely buried near a palm-tree beside a wood, not two miles from Seville; they have only to dig it out and possess it. Donna Inez, the Englishman has kept his word."

"A casket of gold plate and jewels!" almost screamed out Teresa, who scarcely dared to believe her own ears; "you don't say it – you can't mean it! – what! the box with clamps of steel, the old señora's jewel-case, which I've handled many a day!" The wrinkled hand laid on the arm of Lucius was shaking with violent excitement.

"I do say it – I do mean it," replied Lucius, whose countenance was beaming with pleasure.

"But, my friend, how is this possible?" asked Alcala; "the miserable Chico – "

"Lies murdered by his own accomplices," said Lucius more gravely; "fearful retribution has overtaken the servant who robbed his master."

Lucius then recounted to his deeply interested hearers the tale of his night's adventures, dwelling as lightly as he could on what only related to himself. No one interrupted the narration, save Teresa, who could not refrain ever and anon from uttering some ejaculation, now of indignation, now of delight. When Lucius came to the account of burying the box near the palm-tree, the old duenna could restrain her feelings no longer. To the astonishment of the Englishman she suddenly flung herself at his feet, and clasped his knees in an ecstasy of gratitude, admiration, and joy!

"The blessing of all the saints be upon you, brave, noble Señor Inglesito!" exclaimed old Teresa, while tears streamed down her wrinkled face; "if you were as deep-dyed a heretic as Luther himself, I would bless you a thousand times over! You have saved a noble family from ruin!"

CHAPTER XXXIII.
A TREASURE

Perhaps the proudest and happiest hour of Teresa's life was that in which she saw the treasure, the family heirlooms, in the hands of Alcala de Aguilera, as they were on the following day. Teresa clasped the steel-clamped box as if it had been a living child. Would she not burnish up the rusted metal till every hinge should shine as brightly as Aguilera's honour! The duenna handled the contents of the case with as much reverence as she might have shown to the hair of Santa Veronica! Every article in that jewel-box had its history for Teresa. That bracelet was a wedding-gift from a duchess to the mother of Alcala and Inez; that ring had been worn by a cavalier who had slain three Moors with his own right hand; that gold snuff-box was a gift from the Empress Catherine to an Aguilera then ambassador at the Russian Court; those medals were, every one of them, tokens of some gallant deed performed by one of the ancestors of Alcala. Teresa counted each pearl in the chaplet, and every link in the massive gold chain.

Alcala and Inez watched with amusement the old duenna's delight.

"Nay, Teresa, lay not down that chain," said De Aguilera; "you have well earned some little acknowledgment of your long and faithful service. The very first use which we make of our newly-recovered property is to show our gratitude to her who in weal or woe has never forsaken our house."

"The chain – for me!" exclaimed the astonished duenna; "what could the like of me do with so costly an ornament as this?"

"Turn it into dollars," said Alcala quietly; but the Spanish cavalier could not help a flush rising to his cheek as he added, "as I am going to turn the goblet of gold."

Teresa looked aghast at such an unexpected announcement. She could scarcely believe that anything could induce Alcala to part with that splendid relic of family grandeur, embossed with the Aguilera arms – a goblet which had been touched by the lips of princes – a goblet which had been the most costly ornament of a table at which a hundred guests had sat down.

"Better part with anything than with that!" exclaimed the old servant, making a passionate protest against what seemed to her little short of sacrilege.

"I have talked the subject over with my sister," replied Aguilera; "neither of us would touch our grandmother's property during her lifetime, and the greater part of the gems are hers. Nor is this a time for disposing of jewels; for that we must wait for more quiet days. Gold always commands its value."

"But that goblet," expostulated Teresa – "that which was the pride of your house!"

"Teresa, I must have nothing more to do with pride," said Alcala gravely but kindly. "I have renounced the pride of life as one of those things which are inconsistent with the character of a Christian."

Inez saw that this was an argument incomprehensible to Teresa, and in her own gentle way the Spanish maiden brought forward others which had a far greater effect upon the old servant's mind. Donna Benita should now have the little pleasures which she could yet enjoy, and the comforts which she required; so many things had long been needed by the family which could now be procured by the sacrifice of one costly cup. Surely, suggested Inez, it was better to have food in an earthenware dish, than to sit hungry at a board laden with empty plate, albeit of gold.

Teresa drew a deep sigh; she could not gainsay her young lady's words, but she looked at the doomed goblet with tearful eyes, as a parent might look at a child from whom she was forced to part.

"Oh, señor," cried Teresa with emotion, "grant to me but one boon; it is but a small one – it will cost you no effort or loss – it is the first favour which your old servant ever has asked of her master."

"It will scarcely be denied," said Alcala.

"Before you sell that precious heirloom, bid to a banquet those two English señors who have seen you in your – your difficulties; the brave caballero who recovered your treasure, and the elder one whose" – Teresa could not bring herself to say, "whose salary you have stooped to earn," so she described Mr. Passmore as he whose head was bald with age.

Alcala could not altogether disappoint the earnestly expressed wish of his old retainer, or deny her the gratification of letting his late employer see some proof of the wealth once enjoyed by the family of his clerk. Teresa's "banquet" was, however, reduced to a simple evening collation, to which not a single guest but the two Englishmen was to be invited. Teresa would fain have had all the great and wealthy inhabitants of Seville bidden to a grand entertainment, and have had the goblet of gold pass down the length of a table thronged with as many guests as had found place at the wedding-feast of Don Pedro de Aguilera.

"Our poor Teresa thinks our newly-found treasure inexhaustible," said Inez with a happy smile to her brother, when the duenna had hurried off to make purchases of some of the innumerable articles which she had now discovered to be indispensable. "Of what are you thinking, my Alcala?" continued Inez, laying her hand caressingly on that of her brother, and looking up lovingly into his face, which wore an expression of deeper thought than usual.

"I was thinking, dearest, of another to us long-buried and newly-recovered treasure, even the written Word of God," replied Alcala. "This in itself is truly inexhaustible wealth. Our country, our beautiful Spain, basely robbed of that treasure, has for ages been poor indeed! But Heaven is restoring to us now that which is beyond all price, even the knowledge of gospel truth. May we Spaniards be given grace to hold fast to the end that doctrine for which so many martyrs have perished in the flames, – the doctrine of justification by faith!"

The attention of both Alcala and of his friend Lucius being now earnestly directed to the subject of the evangelization of Spain, they found, with both pleasure and surprise, how many faithful labourers had been in the field before them. As in our own city, strangers might pass through hundreds of streets, marvel at the traffic of London, and wonder at its wealth, and yet be unaware all the time that, underground and out of sight, trains are rapidly bearing its merchant princes from place to place, – so those who had believed themselves well acquainted with Spain had lived in almost total ignorance of a great hidden work going on beneath the surface of society. Alcala and Lucius now heard for the first time of the band of Spanish reformers who had been receiving instruction from a Scotch minister²² on the rock of Gibraltar. They now first heard of the gifted convert from Romanism, Jean Baptista Cabrera, gathering around him these his brethren, the hope of the infant Church, and organizing them to form a band of faithful confessors, who, in the name of the only Saviour, should bear the banner of the truth into Spain. Alcala found that arrangements for the revision of the Scriptures, the compilation of an evangelical creed, and the division of Spain into districts, for the better diffusion of religious knowledge, had actually been made under the shadow of the tyranny which had so long darkened the land of his birth. Cabrera's conference with other Spanish reformers had taken place in the spring of the same year of which the autumn saw the flight of Queen Isabella. I will quote from an account of this conference given in the work²³ to which I have so often referred in this little volume: —

"In this transaction we see the foundations laid of the Reformed Church of Spain. That glorious event took place under the flag of Great Britain. The day is well worthy of being noted; it was the 25th of April 1868. This was the birthday of that Church, and this day will long be a memorable one in the annals of Spain and in the annals of Christianity."

"Yes, the Lord Bishop of Cadiz had some cause to sound his cry of alarm!" exclaimed Lucius, after he and Alcala had been reading together a copy of the soul-stirring address of Cabrera. "The grand struggle between light and darkness has begun already, thank God! my own dear old country has furnished weapons for the warfare;" and the Englishman laid his hand on a complete Spanish Bible, which had been Aguilera's first purchase with the treasure so lately restored.

But though the hopeful Briton looked forward to a speedy and glorious termination to that warfare, Alcala revolved with some anxiety the difficulties which were likely to obstruct the progress of the evangelization of Spain. Isabella, that bigoted votary of Rome, no longer, indeed, bore sway; a priest-ridden government had fallen, and the Spanish people had shown little desire to uphold the Papal power; but all the political horizon was overspread with a dense mist of uncertainty regarding the future. Who would take the reins of government that had dropped from the hands of the Queen? Who would manage obstinate Juntas, control violent mobs, and guide the chariot of the State into anything resembling an orderly course? The eyes of Spain were turned towards her banished General Prim, that man who was, though but for a brief period, to play so important a part in her history. Prim would return to his country, would rise to be a ruler in the land from whence he had once been driven. His coming triumph was the perpetual theme of the exultant Diego, who now filled the place in Alcala's household which had been occupied by Chico. Alcala, too, foresaw that General Prim was likely to be the leader of the Spanish people: but was his accession to power an event to be desired or dreaded by those whose dearest object in life was the evangelization of Spain? Would Prim come to sustain the power of the Romish priesthood with the support of the secular arm? Would he, like his predecessors, regard Protestantism as a punishable crime? Was the circulation of the Scriptures to be prohibited, and a dungeon to be deemed the fittest place for the bold evangelist who should proclaim its life-giving truths? What was a subject of anxiety to De Aguilera was also a subject for fervent prayer. Earnestly he besought the Ruler of all the events of this changing scene to raise up a powerful protector for the infant Reformed Church of Spain.