Having allowed time for the horses to rest, Julianillo started up, and beginning to sing a well-known comic air, sauntered out of the inn towards the stables. Don Francisco waited till he supposed his companion was on the road, and then, paying his reckoning to the landlord, begged that his horse might be brought round. Just as he was mounting, the landlord whispered in his ear--
"Stop not till you have gained the other side of the border, and then be not content till you are many leagues from it."
"I know not what you mean," answered Don Francisco, carelessly; "but supposing the advice to be of value, I should be truly grateful to you for it." Saying this he rode quietly through the street of the village.
He had not gone far when he heard the mounted guards who had entered the inn following close behind. Instead of attempting to escape them he drew in his rein to allow them to come up with him. It was a moment to try the nerves of most men. They, however, rode by, saluting him as they pa.s.sed, when they continued at a rapid rate. Fearing, should he show any inclination to push on, he might be stopped, he continued at a leisurely pace in the direction taken by Julianillo.
In a short time the sound of horses approaching him reached his ears, and he saw the very same party he had met before returning with someone among them. As he drew near, great was his grief to recognise Julianillo. Following the advice given him by that brave man, he approached the troop with as unconcerned a countenance as he could a.s.sume.
"Who have you got there?" he asked in a calm tone.
"A culprit who has long eluded us, but who has been caught at last, as many others who now think themselves safe will be ere long," was the answer.
Anxious as he felt to a.s.sist Julianillo, he was well aware of the uselessness of making the attempt; the words he had just heard making him more anxious than ever to escape from the country. He therefore rode forward with the same unconcerned air which he had a.s.sumed on approaching the emissaries of the Inquisition. Following the advice of the innkeeper, as soon as he was out of sight of the party he put spurs to his horse, and ere night closed in he was many leagues within the territory of France. His adventures were like those of others who made their escape from the Inquisition. Being well supplied with money, he had, however, less difficulty than many others. He ultimately succeeded in reaching Genoa. There, though he was at first looked upon with suspicion, he was soon able to prove the sincerity of his conversion, and was received as a faithful Protestant among the brethren a.s.sembled in that city.
Meantime Julianillo was led by his captors to Seville. He was there brought before the Inquisitors. With undaunted eye and firm countenance he confronted his judges, who were at the same time his accusers. He denied nothing. He was accused of having been one of the chief instruments in disseminating the Gospel throughout Spain. He smiled calmly at the words addressed to him.
"I should indeed be proud to have performed so excellent a work," he answered; "but those who have far more influence than I possess have had that honour. If I brought the Word of Life to those perishing for lack of it, I merely performed the part of the baker"s boy who brings the loaves to the door. It depended upon the people whether they would take the Bread of Life; and if they took it, whether they would feed on it.
Hear me, ye ministers of tyranny and falsehood: I glory in declaring that I believe the only knowledge we possess of the perfect and all-sufficient sacrifice which Christ offered up once for all on Calvary, is that revealed to us in the Bible, and applied to our hearts by the Holy Spirit. I believe that the Pope and priests of Rome are ignorant of this great and glorious truth, that "the just shall live by faith," and faith alone. In this belief I have now for many years lived, rejoicing also."
"Silence him! away with him!" cried the inquisitors, in deep and angry voices. "He is hopelessly contumacious. A speedy death by fire must be his doom."
Julianillo smiled calmly as he heard these words p.r.o.nounced.
"For many years I have been prepared for this," he answered. "When I undertook the work in which I have been engaged, I counted the cost. I knew that I should have a rich reward, and all you can do is to hasten the time when I am to wear that crown of glory prepared for me in the skies; and, humble though I am, I feel well a.s.sured that it is a brilliant and a glorious crown."
Before Julianillo could say more he was hurried away from the hall of the Inquisition, and thrown into a dark and noisome dungeon, there to remain till the day fixed for the next _auto-da-fe_, at which he was to suffer the extreme penalty inflicted by the Inquisition. He was among those who suffered on the day already described, when Don Carlo de Seso received the crown of martyrdom. Though he boasted of no exalted rank or lineage, yet, bold in the faith, he died as bravely as the most n.o.ble.
On the morning of the _auto_, addressing his fellow-prisoners, he exclaimed, "Courage, comrades! This is the hour in which we may show ourselves valiant soldiers of Jesus Christ. Let us now bear faithful testimony to His truth before men, and within a few hours we shall receive the testimony of His approbation before angels, and triumph with Him in heaven."
These words were repeated to the inquisitors, and they, knowing full well his courage and determination, ordered him to be gagged, lest, when marching forth among the other condemned criminals, he should address the mult.i.tude, and perhaps gain their sympathy, or induce them to accept the truth, for holding which he was condemned to suffer. In spite of the gag, he continued by his gestures to encourage his companions condemned to death with himself; and thus until the flames rose up fiercely around him, he bore witness to the truth, and endeavoured to support them to the last.
Meantime the unhappy Leonor de Cisneros lingered on in prison. Every effort was made by the inquisitors and their familiars of high and low degree to induce her to recant, but she continued contumacious. Once only a gleam of satisfaction was seen to pa.s.s over her countenance; it was when a few words, incautiously let drop by one of her visitors, informed her that Don Francisco de Vivers had escaped from Spain, and had arrived safely at Genoa.
Was it in mercy, because her bigoted persecutors yet hoped that she would recant, that her life was still spared? or was it because their vindictive feelings made them unwilling to liberate their captive, and terminate her sufferings by consigning her to that death for which she waited longingly? Often she exclaimed with the Apostle Paul, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection of the just to happiness unspeakable, "For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."
Year after year pa.s.sed by, and still she remained a prisoner in those dreadful dungeons. She had but numbered twenty-two summers when consigned to them, and eight long winters of existence pa.s.sed afterwards over her head. During those weary years that heroic woman, with the most perfect constancy, endured insults, torture, starvation, while compelled to listen to all the arguments which cunning priests could adduce to make her change her faith.
At length, once more she stood before the judgment-seat of the inquisitors, among whom the Archbishop Munebrega presided. Did no recollection of that young woman"s mother, whom he had once fondly loved, or thought he loved, cross his mind? Did he not remember Dona Leonor herself, when in her early youth, radiant in beauty, he first beheld her, and heard from her lips the startling acknowledgment that she believed the simple Word of G.o.d and trusted to it? Now she stood before him a pale wan woman, weighed down with grief and physical suffering.
Again she was asked if she would recant, and reminded that it was for the last time.
"Oh, no, no!" she answered, her heart bounding with joy at the announcement. The captive was to be set free.
Now, in solemn mockery, the inquisitors arose, and p.r.o.nounced Dona Leonor de Cisneros hopelessly contumacious, and condemned her to the flames.
A bright gleam rested on her countenance as she heard her sentence, but she uttered not a word, she made not a movement till summoned to return to her cell.
The 26th of September, 1568, at length arrived. Ere the dawn had broken in the outer world she rose from her hard pallet. Yet, hard as it was, her slumber had been calm and sweet. She knew not that it was her last day on earth. Kneeling, she lifted up her hands in prayer. She prayed for her persecutors. She prayed that the day-star might yet arise over Spain, and the Gospel be preached throughout the length and breadth of the land.
The door opened. A harsh voice ordered her to rise from her knees; prayer was not for one whom the Church had excommunicated. She obeyed.
A monk, with a savage gleam in his eyes, stood before her. At the door were several familiars.
The monk"s errand was soon told. He had come to conduct her to the courtyard where the victims destined to appear in the _auto-da-fe_ were collecting. The cruelties, the mockeries, the blasphemies of those hideous spectacles have often been described. All, all, Leonor endured, not only with patience and courage, but with a rejoicing heart. Calm and unmoved she listened to the long sermon poured forth by the Bishop of Zamora, who, from a lofty pulpit, addressed himself both to the victims and the populace.
When the blasphemous ceremonies were brought to a conclusion, joy lighted up her countenance. Firmly she walked to the place of execution, and submitted without a murmur to be bound to the stake. The moment she had longed for had arrived! The flames rose up around her, and her emanc.i.p.ated spirit flew to rejoin her beloved husband, and to be for ever with their Lord.
THE END.