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“Then you are indeed lost,” said the governor, in accents of compassion; “the tiger always caresses his prey before he devours it. What have you done to provoke his kindness?”

“Senor,” said Fonseca, suspiciously, “you speak with a strange want of caution to a stranger, and against a man whose power you confess.”

“Because I am safe from his revenge; because the Inquisition have already fixed their fatal eyes upon him; because by that Inquisition I am not unknown nor unprotected; because I see with joy and triumph the hour approaching that must render up to justice the pander of the prince, the betrayer of the king, the robber of the people; because I have an interest in thee, Don Martin, of which thou wilt be aware when thou hast learned my name. I am Juan de la Nuza, the father of the young officer whose life you saved in the assault of the Moriscos, in Valentia, and I owe you an everlasting gratitude.”

There was something in the frank and hearty tone of the governor which at once won Fonseca’s confidence. He became agitated and distracted with suspicions of his former tutor and present patron.

“What, I ask, hast thou done to attract his notice? Calderon is not capricious in cruelty. Art thou rich, and does he hope that thou wilt purchase freedom with five thousand pistoles? No! Hast thou crossed the path of his ambition? Hast thou been seen with Uzeda? or art thou in favour with the prince? No, again! Then hast thou some wife, some sister, some mistress, of rare accomplishments and beauty, with whom Calderon would gorge the fancy and retain the esteem of the profligate Infant? Ah, thou changest colour.”

“By Heaven! you madden me with these devilish surmises. Speak plainly.”

“I see thou knowest not Calderon,” said the governor, with a bitter smile. “I do–for my niece was beautiful, and the prince wooed her–. But enough of that: at his scaffold, or at the rack, I shall be avenged on Roderigo Calderon. You said the Cardinal was your kinsman; you are, then, equally related to his son, the Duke d’Uzeda. Apply not to Lerma; he is the tool of Calderon. Apply yourself to Uzeda; he is Calderon’s mortal foe. While Calderon gains ground with the prince, Uzeda advances with the king. Uzeda by a word can procure thy release. The duke knows and trusts me. Shall I be commissioned to acquaint him with thy arrest, and entreat his intercession with Philip?”

“You give me new life! But not an hour is to be lost; this night–this day-oh, Mother of Mercy! what image have you conjured up! fly to Uzeda, if you would save my very reason. I myself have scarcely seen him since my boyhood–Lerma forbade me seek his friendship. But I am of his race–his blood.”

“Be cheered, I shall see the duke to-day. I have business with him where you wot not. We are bringing strange events to a crisis. Hope the best.” With this the governor took his leave.

At the dusk of the evening, Don Juan de la Nuza, wrapped in a dark mantle, stood before a small door deep-set in a massive and gloomy wall, that stretched along one side of a shunned and deserted street. Without sign of living hand, the door opened at his knock, and the governor entered a long and narrow passage that conducted to chambers more associated with images of awe than any in his own prison. Here he suddenly encountered the Jesuit, Fray Louis de Aliaga, confessor to the king.

“How fares the Grand Inquisitor?” asked De la Nuza. “He has just breathed his last,” answered the Jesuit. “His illness–so sudden–defied all aid. Sandoval y Roxas is with the saints.”

The governor, who was, as the reader may suppose, one of the sacred body, crossed himself, and answered.–“With whom will rest the appointment of the successor? Who will be first to gain the ear of the king?”