A. L. O. E.

In an apartment of a dwelling far less spacious and picturesque in appearance than the home of the Aguileras, but much better furnished with modern comforts, sits Donna Maria de Rivas. She is engaged in serious and interesting conversation with a priest, who, as Father Bonifacio, is already known to the reader.

"I can hardly yet believe it, father!" exclaimed the lady, vibrating her large black fan as she spoke. "Don Alcala de Aguilera, one of so ancient and honourable a house, to be arrested, and on so pitiful a charge! If the caballero had been tempted by need to rob the mail (he is so desperately poor), or in a fit of passion had stabbed an enemy to the heart, it would have been quite a different thing,—one could have understood such acts; but to get himself locked up for holding a meeting for reading the Bible, such a piece of folly cannot be accounted for,—such madness exceeds all belief!"

"It is a madness, my daughter, I grieve to say it, that is by no means confined to this unhappy apostate," observed the priest. "The disease is infectious, the corruption is spreading. Unless strong and sharp measures are speedily taken, this cancer of heresy will eat deep into the very heart of society even in Seville."

"Impossible!" exclaimed Donna Maria. "I have heard, indeed, of Matamoros, and other misguided fanatics, who have happily been arrested by justice in their most wicked course; but surely the number of these wretches is few, and their example is little likely to be followed by those who see the punishment which it brings."

"Daughter, you little know the strength of this fanaticism, or the subtilty with which the poison of heresy is diffused throughout the length and breadth of our Catholic Spain!" exclaimed the ecclesiastic, warming with his subject. "So long as the vile English heretics hold Gibraltar,—would that its rock would fall and crush them!—so long will there be an open door through which all that is evil can enter our land! Secret agents of I know not how many societies distribute blasphemous tracts against the worship of the blessed Virgin, Purgatory, Intercession of Saints, and the reverence due by all the world to our holy Father the Pope!"

Donna Maria crossed herself in pious horror; and Bonifacio, with increasing vehemence, went on with his oration.

"Colporteurs hawk Bibles in the by-roads and lanes of Andalusia; copies are smuggled into rural parishes; English travellers instil the venom of their heretical doctrines even into the minds of unsuspecting curÉs! The wild mountaineers of the Sierra Nevada and Morena are, in their rude huts, poring over portions of the prohibited Book, and drinking in heresy from every line in its pages!"[20]

"But Claret will not suffer such things to go on. Are not the authorities on the watch?" asked Donna Maria.

"They are on the watch," said the vehement priest. "Have you not seen the charge of the Lord Bishop of Cadiz? Does he not piously command and exhort his clergy to exert vigilance, warning them that 'the authors and propagators of evil doctrines aim at attacking religion and society at one and the same time, making use of books as their artillery for battering down, if it were possible, both of these solid edifices'? Has he not commanded the faithful to 'detest these bad books, and collect them that they may be burned'? And does not the Government of Her Catholic Majesty nobly second the efforts of bishops and priests? Vessels are watched in our ports, lest Bibles should lie smuggled in their cargoes; boxes and packages are searched on our frontiers: but all in vain. If a Spaniard, merely bent on amusement, visit Paris (the last place in the world, one would think, for Protestant propagandism), he cannot so much as look round at the wonders of art in the Great Exhibition, without seeing before him copies of the Scriptures, in every language spoken under the sun, and having a portion thrust into his hand, to carry back with him into this country. The very air that we breathe is tainted with heresy. I sometimes think," added the priest with a sigh, for he was not of a cruel nature, "that nothing will clear it unless we could light again those fires with which Torquemada, the stanch champion of our faith, burnt out the evil for awhile, consuming bodies in the pious attempt to rescue perishing souls."

"I should be sorry for such dreadful punishment to overtake poor Aguilera," said Donna Maria. "He is young, and noble, and brave."

"And therefore the more dangerous, seÑora," observed the stern ecclesiastic. "I pity the misguided young man from the bottom of my heart. I pity both him and his sister. I have known Aguilera from his youth: I knew his father before him. But were the cavalier my own brother, I would give him up without a scruple, though not without a sigh, to the utmost rigour of justice."

A servant now entered the apartment, and announced to his mistress that Donna Inez de Aguilera was waiting without, and desired to see the seÑora.

Donna Maria glanced at her confessor before making any reply. The priest frowned significantly, and shook slightly his shaven head.

"Tell Donna Inez that I am sorry that I cannot see her to-day; say that I am particularly engaged," said the lady.

The servant appeared unwilling to bear the ungracious message. "The seÑorita seems in trouble," said the kind-hearted Spaniard; "she has come on foot; she has no attendant with her," he added, in a hesitating tone.

"On foot—without an attendant! to think of a daughter of the house of Aguilera sinking so low!" exclaimed Donna Maria, much shocked; and again she glanced almost appealingly at her confessor.

The sterner frown and more decidedly negative gesture of the head were the priest's only reply. Donna Maria reluctantly repeated her orders to the servant, who left the room to obey them.

"May I not even see the poor child?" said the lady, as soon as the man had departed.

"Better not, far better not, my daughter. You know not into what difficulties, what errors, nay, into what dangers you might be drawn by intercourse with any member of the family of the apostate De Aguilera."

The servant soon returned, his looks expressing compassion.

"The seÑorita entreats to be admitted to enter; she says that her business is most urgent, and cannot be delayed."

Donna Maria coloured, bit her lip, and looked down at her open fan, as if she were counting the spangles upon it.

"I cannot see Donna Inez de Aguilera," she replied, with a decision of manner which cost her an effort. The seÑora was a selfish, worldly woman; but she must have been utterly destitute of natural feeling if she could have unconcernedly driven from her door the friendless, destitute orphan girl, who, as the seÑora well knew, had come to plead the cause of a brother, and seek a friend's counsel and help in the hour of her deepest distress.