Lucius endeavoured so to time the hour of his return to Seville that he might re-enter the town when the result of the bull-fight might be known. He proposed calling at the mansion in the Calle de San José on his way back to his lodging, with the hope, if not of seeing Alcala, at least of hearing tidings of his safety.
The sun was still some height above the western horizon when Lucius entered the deserted street. The glare reflected back from the high dead wall was oppressive.
"I am too early; I have been too impatient," thought the young Englishman, as he laid his hand on the bell which hung in the shadow of the archway. He marked that the grating of the patio was ajar. Inez had forgotten to lock it after receiving from the muleteer the note from Alcala which crushed her last hope. The unprotected state of the house mattered, however, little; there was no great danger of thieves invading a place in which they would find no plunder.
Lucius rang softly, as one who would by no loud summons disturb a house of mourning; but the bell was instantly answered. The grating at the end of the vestibule was thrown hastily back, and the trembling Inez herself hurried through the opening, and along the arched passage. Her dark eyes were dilated with fear, her pale lips trembled. She knew not whom she was addressing, but her whole soul appeared to flow forth in the question, "Bring you tidings from the Plaza de Toros?"
"I come to ask for them, señorita," began Lucius. But the eyes of Inez rested on him no longer, they were turned wistfully in another direction. Her ear, quickened by fear, had caught a sound which Lucius had heard not, and breathless with expectation she gazed up the street. In another moment a crowd of persons appeared emerging from the entrance of a lane which crossed the Calle de San José. They came not with shout or mirth, as if escorting a victor home, but slowly, like a throng who follow a funeral procession. There was no noise, save the tramping of feet, and ever and anon the wail of a woman. Lucius glanced at Inez, and read despair in her face. An icy numbness was creeping over her frame; she had no power to go forward to meet the corpse of her brother. Soon the crowd reached the entrance of the dwelling of Aguilera; in the midst of the throng was seen a litter borne by men. On that litter lay stretched a motionless form. Pale and ghastly, with garments blood-stained and torn, Alcala de Aguilera was borne back to the home of his fathers.
Lucius intuitively took the place of a brother. "Back—back!" he exclaimed in a tone of authority to the crowd who pressed round the litter,—"none but the bearers shall enter. Who will go for a surgeon?"
"I—I," replied several voices, and the crowd dispersed in various directions, whilst the litter was borne through the arched passage.
"Show the way to his room," said Lucius to Teresa, whom he recognized, as she followed her master closely, crying and wringing her hands.
The litter was carried across the patio, and through a long spacious corridor, at the end of which lay the cavalier's apartment. Alcala's wound had already been roughly bound up at the circus, the flowing blood had been stanched. He was, with the help of Lucius and Inez, gently lifted from the litter and placed on his bed, to await the surgeon's arrival.