timation that so soon as the present Cortes is
dissolved, Mendizabal means to abolish all the convents in Spain, to
seize their treasures and revenues, turn their occupants adrift, and
with the proceeds to pay enough foreign mercenaries to drive Don Carlos
beyond the Pyrenees and end the war!"

During this speech, which the Prior delivered calmly, tapping the lid of
his golden snuff-box and glancing occasionally at the Father Confessor
out of his unfathomable grey eyes, that gloomy son of the Church had
gradually risen to his full height. At each slow-dropping phrase the
expression of horror deepened on his countenance, and as the Abbot
ended, he lifted his right arm and pronounced a curse upon Mendizabal,
such as only the lips of an ex-inquisitor could have compassed, which
might have excited the envy of Torquemada the austere, and even caused
a smile of satisfaction to sit upon the grim lips of San Vicente Ferrer,
scourge of the Jews.

The Prior heard him to the end of the anathema.

"_And then_?" he said, quietly.

The dark monk stared down at his chief, as he set placidly fingering his
episcopal ring and smiling. Was it possible that in such an awful crisis
he remained unmoved?

"The day of anathemas is over," he said; "the power of words to loose or
to bind, so far as the world is concerned, is departed. But steel can
still strike and lead kill. We must use means, Father Anselmo, we must
use means."

"_I_ will be the means--_I_, Anselmo, unworthy son of Holy Church--with
this dagger I will strike the destroyer down! Body and soul I will send
him quick to the pit! I alone will go! Hereby I devote myself!
Afterwards let them rend and torture me as they will. I fear not; I
shall not blench. I, Anselmo, who have seen so many--shall know how
to comport myself!"

"Hush!" said the Abbot, for the first time seriously disturbed, and
looking over his shoulder at the curtained door, "moderate your voice
and command yourself, father. These things are not to be spoken of even
in secret. The Jew of Madrid shall die, because he hath risen up against
the Lord's anointed; but your hand shall not drive the steel!"

"And why, Baltasar Varela?" said the dark priest, "pray tell me why you
claim the right to keep me from performing my vow?"

"Let that tell you why!" said the Prior with severity. And without
rising, so circumscribed was his chamber, he reached down the small
wall-mirror, which he used when he shaved, and hande