By the Guadalquivir.

Next Sunday evening the brothers attended the quiet service in DoÑa Isabella's upper room. It was more solemn than usual, because of the deep shadow that rested on the hearts of all the band assembled there. But Losada's calm voice spoke wise and loving words about life and death, and about Him who, being the Lord of life, has conquered death for all who trust him. Then came prayer—true incense offered on the golden altar standing "before the mercy-seat," which only "the veil," still dropped between, hides from the eyes of the worshippers.[12] But in such hours many a ray from the glory within shines through that veil.

"Do not let us return home yet, brother," said Carlos, when they had parted with their friends. "The night is fine."

"Whither shall we bend our steps?"

Carlos named a favourite walk through some olive-yards on the banks of the river, and Juan set his face towards one of the city gates.

"Why take such a circuit?" said Carlos, showing a disposition to turn in an opposite direction. "This is far the shorter way."

"True; but it is less pleasant."

Carlos looked at him gratefully. "My brother would spare my weakness," he said. "But it needs not. Twice of late, when you were engaged with DoÑa Beatriz, I went alone thither, and—to the Prado San Sebastian."

So they passed through the Puerta de Triana, and having crossed the bridge of boats, leisurely took their way beneath the walls of the grim old castle. As they did so, both prayed in silence for one who was pining in its dungeons. Don Juan, whose interest in the fate of Juliano was naturally far less intense than his brother's, was the first to break that silence. He remarked that the Dominican convent adjoining the Triana looked nearly as gloomy as the inquisitorial prison itself.

"I think it looks like all other convents," returned Carlos, with indifference.

They were soon in the shadow of the dark, ghostlike olive trees. The moon was young, and gave but little light; but the large clear stars looked down through the southern air like lamps of fire, hanging not so much in the sky as from it. Were those bright watchers charged with a message from the land very far off, which seemed so near to them in the high places whence they ruled the night? Carlos drank in the spirit of the scene in silence. But this did not please his less meditative brother. "What art thou pondering?" he asked.

"'They that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.'"

"Art thinking still of the prisoner in the Triana?"

"Of him, and also of another very dear to both of us, of whom I have for some time been purposing to speak to thee. What if thou and I have been, like children, seeking for a star on earth while all the time it was shining above us in God's glorious heaven?"

"Knowest thou not of old, little brother, that when thy parables begin I am left behind at once? I pray thee, let the stars alone, and speak the language of earth."

"What was the task to which thou and I vowed ourselves in childhood, brother?"

Juan looked at him keenly through the dim light. "I sometimes feared thou hadst forgotten," he said.

"No danger of that. But I had a reason—I think a good and sufficient one—for not speaking to thee until well and fully assured of thy sympathy."

"My sympathy? In aught that concerned the dream, the passion of my life!—of both our young lives! Carlos, how couldst thou even doubt of this?"

"I had reason to doubt at first whether a gleam of light which has been shed upon our father's fate would be regarded by his son as a blessing or a curse."

"Do not keep a man in suspense, brother. Speak at once, in Heaven's name."

"I doubt no longer now. It will be to thee, Juan, as to me, a joy exceeding great to think that our venerated father read God's Word for himself, and knew his truth and honoured it, as we have learned to do."

"Now, God be thanked!" cried Juan, pausing in his walk and clasping his hands together. "This indeed is joyful news. But speak, brother; how do you know it? Are you certain, or is it only dream, hope, conjecture?"

Carlos told him in detail, first the hint dropped by Losada to De Seso; then the story of Dolores; lastly, what he had heard at San Isodro about Don Rodrigo de Valer. And as he proceeded with his narrative, he welded the scattered links into a connected chain of evidence.

Juan, all eagerness, could hardly wait till he came to the end. "Why did you not speak to Losada?" he interrupted at last.

"Stay, brother, and hear me out; the best is to come. I have done so lately. But until assured how thou wouldst regard the matter, I cared not to ask questions, the answers to which might wound thy heart."

"You are in no doubt now. What heard you from SeÑor Cristobal?"

"I heard that Dr. Egidius named the Conde de Nuera as one of those who befriended Don Rodrigo. And that he had been present when that brave and faithful teacher privately expounded the Epistle to the Romans."

"There!" Juan exclaimed with a start. "There is the origin of my second and favourite name, Rodrigo. Brother, brother, these are the best tidings I have heard for years." And uncovering his head, he uttered fervent and solemn words of thanksgiving.

To which Carlos added a heartfelt "Amen," and resumed,—

"Then, brother, you think we are justified in taking this joy to our hearts?"

"Without doubt," cried the sanguine Don Juan.

"And it follows that his crime—"

"Was what in our eyes constitutes the truest glory, the profession of a pure faith," said Juan with decision, leaping at once to the conclusion Carlos had reached by a far slower path.

"And those mystic words inscribed upon the window, the delight and wonder of our childhood—"

"Ah!" repeated Juan—

But what they have to do with the matter I see not yet."

"You see not? Surely the knowledge of God in Christ, the kingdom of heaven opened up to us, is the true El Dorado, the golden country, which enriches those who find it for evermore."

"That is all very good," said Juan, with the air of a man not quite satisfied.

"I doubt not that was our father's meaning," Carlos continued.

"I doubt it, though. Up to that point I follow you, Carlos; but there we part. Something in the New World, I think, my father must have found."

A lengthened debate followed, in which Carlos discovered, rather to his surprise, that Juan still clung to his early faith in a literal land of gold. The more thoughtful and speculative brother sought in vain to reason him out of that belief. Nor was he much more successful when he came to state his own settled conviction that they should never see their father's face on earth. Not the slightest doubt remained on his own mind that, on account of his attachment to the Reformed faith, the Conde de Nuera had been, in the phraseology of the time, quietly "put out of the way." But whether this had been done during the voyage, or on the wild unknown shores of the New World, he believed his children would never know.

On this point, however, no argument availed with Juan. He seemed determined not to believe in his father's death. He confessed, indeed, that his heart bounded at the thought that he had been a sufferer "in the cause of truth and freedom." "He has suffered exile," he said, "and the loss of all things. But I see not wherefore he may not after all be living still, somewhere in that vast wonderful New World."

"I am content to think," Carlos replied, "that all these years he has been at rest with the dead in Christ. And that we shall see his face first with Christ when he appears in glory."

"But I am not content. We must learn something more."

"We shall never learn more. How can we?" asked Carlos.

"That is so like thee, little brother. Ever desponding, ever turned easily from thy purpose."

"Well; be it so," said Carlos meekly.

"But what I determine, that I do," said Juan. "At least I will make my uncle speak out," he continued. "I have ever suspected that he knows something."

"But how is that to be done?" asked Carlos. "Nevertheless, do all thou canst, and God prosper thee. Only," he added with great earnestness, "remember the necessities of our present position; and for the sake of our friends, as well as of our own lives, use due prudence and caution."

"Fear not, my too prudent brother.—The best and dearest brother in the world," he added kindly, "if he had but a little more courage."

Thus conversing they hastily retraced their steps to the city, the hour being already late.

Quiet weeks passed on after this unmarked by any event of importance. Winter had now given place to spring; the time of the singing of birds was come. In spite of numerous and heavy anxieties, and of one sorrow that pressed more or less upon all, it was still spring-time in many a brave and hopeful heart amongst the adherents of the new faith in Seville. Certainly it was spring-time with Don Juan Alvarez.

One Sunday a letter arrived by special messenger from Nuera, containing the unwelcome tidings that the old and faithful servant of the house, Diego Montes, was dying. It was his last wish to resign his stewardship into the hands of his young master, SeÑor Don Juan. Juan could not hesitate. "I will go to-morrow morning," he said to Carlos; "but rest assured I will return hither as soon as possible; the days are too precious to be lost."

Together they repaired once more to DoÑa Isabella's house. Don Juan told the friends they met there of his intended departure, and ere they separated many a hand warmly grasped his, and many a voice spoke kindly the "Vaya con Dios" for his journey.

"It needs not formal leave-takings, seÑores and my brethren," said Juan; "my absence will be very short; not next Sunday indeed, but possibly in a fortnight, and certainly this day month I shall meet you all here again."

"God willing," said Losada gravely. And so they parted.