"Juliano! The muleteer who brought the books, and gave you that Testament?"
"The man who put into my hands this precious Book, to which I owe my joy now and my hope for eternity," said Carlos, his lip trembling.
"Too true. A smith, to whom he showed a copy of the Book, betrayed him. God forgive him--if there be forgiveness for such. It may have been a month ago, but we only heard it now. And he lies there--_there_."
"All were talking of it at the meeting when I entered. It is the sorrow of all; but I doubt if any have such cause to sorrow as I. For he is my father in the faith, Juan. And now," he added, after a long, sad pause, "I shall _never_ tell him what he has done for me--at least on this side of the grave."
"There is no hope for him," said Juan mournfully, as one that mused.
"_Hope!_ Only in the great mercy of God. Even those dreadful dungeon walls cannot shut Him out."
"But the prolonged, the bitter, the horrible suffering! I have been trying to contemplate, to picture it--but I cannot, I dare not. And what I dare not think of, he must endure."
"He is a peasant, you are a noble--that makes some difference," said Don Juan, with whom the tie of brotherhood in Christ had not yet effaced all earthly distinctions. "But Carlos," he questioned suddenly, and with a look of alarm, "does not he know everything?"
"_Everything_," Carlos answered quietly. "One word from his lips, and the pile is kindled for us all. But that word will never be spoken. To-night not one heart amongst us trembled for ourselves, we only wept for him."
"You trust him, then, so completely? It is much to say. They in whose hands he is are cruel as fiends. No doubt they will--"
"Hush!" interrupted Carlos, with a look of such exceeding pain, that Juan was effectually silenced. "There are things we cannot speak of, save to God in prayer. Oh, my brother, pray for him, that He for whom he has risked so much may sustain him, and, if it may be, shorten his agony."
"Surely more than two or three will join in that prayer. But, my brother," he added, after a pause, "be not so downcast. Do you not know that every great cause must have its martyr? When was a victory won, and no brave man left dead on the field; a city stormed, and none fallen in the breach? Perhaps to that poor peasant may be given the glory--the great glory--of being honoured throughout all time as the sainted martyr whose death has consecrated our holy cause to victory. A grand lot truly! Worth suffering for!" And Juan's dark eye kindled, and his cheek glowed with enthusiasm.