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<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> <h3>VENGEANCE.</h3> <div class="drop"> <ANTIMG src="images/a.jpg" width-obs="100" height-obs="101" alt="A" class="cap" /> 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. </div> A little group stood together in the patio, whose[Pg 263] 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?"[Pg 264] "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[Pg 265] 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!"[Pg 266] 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[Pg 267] 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[Pg 268] 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.[Pg 269] "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. <hr style="width: 65%;" />[Pg 270] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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