and deep ditches. There was no possibility of going round
it, yet the drawbridges were already raised and the gates locked, so he
boldly called the warder and showed his passport.

An officer asked to see the artist. Ulrich said that he would follow him;
but the soldier was not satisfied, and ordered him to alight and
accompany him to the commandant.

Ulrich struck his spurs into the Andalusian's flanks and tried to go back
over the road by which he had come; but the horse had scarcely begun to
gallop, when a shot was fired, that stretched it on the ground. The rider
was dragged into the guard-house as a prisoner, and subjected to a severe
examination.

He was suspected of having murdered Moor and of having stolen his money,
for a purse filled with ducats was found on his person. While he was
being fettered, the pursuers reached Avila.

A new examination began, and now trial followed trial, torture, torture.

Even at Avila a sack was thrown over his head, and only opened, when to
keep him alive, he was fed with bread and water. Firmly bound in a
two-wheeled cart, drawn by mules, he was dragged over stock and stones to
Madrid.

Often, in the darkness, oppressed for breath, jolted, bruised, unable to
control his thoughts, or even his voice, he expected to perish; yet no
fainting-fit, no moment of utter unconsciousness pityingly came to his
relief, far less did any human heart have compassion on his suffering.

At last, at last he was unbound, and led, still with his head covered,
into a small, dark room.

Here he was released from the sack, but again loaded with chains.

When he was left alone and had regained the capacity to think, he felt
convinced that he was in one of the dungeons of the Inquisition. Here
were the damp walls, the wooden bench, the window in the ceiling, of
which he had heard. He was soon to learn that he had judged correctly.

His body was granted a week's rest, but during this horrible week he did
not cease to upbraid himself as a traitor, and execrate the fate which
had used him a second time to hurl a friend and benefactor into ruin. He
cursed himself, and when he thought of the "word" "fortune, fortune!" he
gnashed his teeth scornfully and clenched his fist.

His young soul was darkened, embittered, thrown off its balance. He saw
no deliverance, no hope, no consolation. He tried to pray, to God, to
Jesus Christ, to the Virgin, to the Saints; but they all stood before
him, in a vision,