mitted into the sick room,
he found occasion to utter only a few words. Those words, few and simple
as they were, were some weeks after reported to the Holy Office, with,
as it seems, gross exaggeration, by the confessor, father Regla.

On the 20th of September, it was evident that the end was approaching.
The few friends of the emperor who lived in the neighborhood had
assembled at the convent. The count of Oropesa was there from
Xarandilla, with several of the family of Toledo, and Don Luis de Avila
had come from Plasencia. They, and the prior and some of the monks, were
frequently in the sick-room, in which Quixada kept constant watch. The
patient had hardly spoken during the whole day. In the afternoon, when
Oropesa introduced the archbishop, he merely told him to be seated, but
was unable to hold any conversation. Towards night he grew hourly worse.
The physicians, Mathesio and Cornelio, at last announced to the group
around the bed, that the resources of their art were exhausted, and that
all hope was over. Cornelio, the court doctor from Valladolid, then
retired; Mathesio remained, feeling the pulse of the dying man, and
saying at intervals, "His majesty has only two hours to live--only one
hour--only half an hour." Charles meanwhile lay in a stupor, seemingly
unconscious of what was going on around him, but now and then mumbling a
prayer, and turning his eyes to heaven. At last he roused himself, and
pronounced the name of William Van Male. On the man's coming to his
support, he leaned towards him, as if to obtain ease by a change of
posture; at the same time uttering a groan of agony. The physician now
looked towards the door, and said to the archbishop, who was standing
there in the shade, "_Domine! jam moritur_." The prelate approached, and
knelt down by the bed, holding a crucifix in his hand, and saying in a
loud tone, "Behold him who answers for sin; sin is no more; all is
forgiven!" Sad and swarthy of visage, Carranza had also a hoarse,
disagreeable voice. On hearing it, the emperor gave signs of impatience
so distinct, that the faithful Quixada thought it right to interfere and
say, "Hark, my lord, you are disturbing his majesty." The archbishop
took the hint, and retired.

It was near two o'clock on the morning of the 21st of September, St.
Matthew's day. Fray Francisco de Villalva, the favorite chaplain, now
presented himself at the bedside. Addressing the dying man, he told him
how blessed a privileg