impulse was to grope
for his arms; but his sword and pistols had been removed. A rough
voice bade him arise and follow, and he had no choice but to obey the
mandate. Preceded and followed by the familiars, who were all armed,
as he judged by the clash of steel that attended each footstep, though
no weapons were apparent, he descended the staircase, came out upon
the street, and was conducted through many a winding lane and passage
to a low-browed arch, which opened into the basement story of a huge
embattled building, that rose like a fortress before him. The
conductor of the band halted here, and knocking thrice upon an oaken
door, studded with huge iron nails, it was opened silently, and the
party entered a dark, subterranean passage of stone, lighted only by
a smoky cresset lamp swinging in a recess.

After passing through this corridor, Landon was conducted into a huge
vaulted hall, dimly illuminated by the branches of an iron chandelier,
by whose light he discovered in front of him a raised platform, on
which were seated three men, robed in black, while before them, at a
table, sat two others, similarly attired, with writing implements
before them. On the platform was planted a huge banner, the blazon on
the folds of which was a wooden cross, flanked by a branch of olive
and a naked sword, the motto being, "_Exurge, Domine, et judica causam
tuam._" _Rise, Lord, and judge thy cause._ It wanted neither this
formidable standard, nor the implements of torture scattered around,
to convince the young Englishman that he stood in the halls of the
Inquisition.

After being permitted to stand some time before the judges, that his
mind might be impressed with the terrors of the place, the principal
Inquisitor addressed him, demanding his name.

"Clarence Landon," was the reply.

"Your birthplace?"

"London, England."

"Your age?"

"Twenty-five years."

"Occupation?"

"I am a gentleman of fortune, with no pursuit but that of knowledge
and pleasure."

"You are accused," said the judge, "of having aided and abetted a
countryman of yours, named Walter Hamilton, in seducing and carrying
off Estella Martinez, a lady of a noble house, and a sister of St.
Ursula. How say you, guilty or not guilty?"

"I am not guilty--I am not capable of the infamy with which you charge
me."

"He refuses to confess," said the judge, turning to a familiar, the
sworn tormentor. "We must try the question. Sanchez, is the rack
prepared?