"Yes, yes!" was more loudly repeated. "The tyrant is before us, shall we not strike! Vengeance is within reach, shall we not grasp it!"
"Hold, men of Seville!" exclaimed Alcala; "hear me but for a moment. There are those amongst you who listened last night in a dungeon to an offer of mercy from Heaven. To whom was that offer made? To all, from the criminal in ermine to the thief on the cross. By whom was that offer made? By Him who had power to crush His enemies—to annihilate or hurl them down into fire that shall never be quenched. Transgressors were before Him; did He strike? Vengeance was within His reach; did He grasp it? Did not the Deity take man's nature, that as Man He might die, not for His friends alone, but for His foes? Did He not purchase, at the price of His own life's blood, the right to extend free forgiveness even to the guiltiest of all?"
Again words that glowed with the fervour that warmed the heart of the speaker fell with strange power on men to whom pure and simple gospel truth was as a new revelation. Alcala felt that he was making some impression on his wild audience, and thus went on with his appeal to their nobler feelings:—
"Let me not speak to you in my own words, but in the words of the Lord of Life, who for our sakes underwent agony, shame, and death! It is He who says, even to the most deeply injured, the most cruelly oppressed amongst us all, 'Forgive, as ye have been forgiven.' The lips of Him who on the cross breathed a prayer for His own murderers, is now saying to our souls, 'Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.' Is there one man here who needs not that mercy—is there one here who without that mercy dare stand before the tribunal of God?"
There was a deep silence amongst the throng. After a brief pause, Alcala resumed speaking, but in a different tone.
"Return, my brave friends, to your homes, thankful that you have hands unstained with blood, and consciences not burdened by murder. We Spaniards have a nobler and more arduous task before us than that of slaying a defenceless foe. Our glorious land has long groaned under that worst form of bondage—the bondage which fetters the soul. We have been robbed of our noblest heritage—the heritage of the Word of Truth. Let us throw off our chains, and show ourselves men! The Moor was driven from our Andalusia by the prowess of our brave sires; let ours be a greater victory, a more glorious conquest than theirs. Let Spain rise from the dust of ages to be the champion of freedom and faith. Let us not rest till one of the fairest lands upon which the light of heaven shines becomes an example to the nations around her, and a blessing to all the world!"
"Viva Aguilera! viva la Spagna!" exclaimed Lucius Lepine, with an enthusiasm which was contagious. The mob caught up the words, and re-echoed the shout; the patio resounded with "Viva la Spagna! viva Aguilera!"—Diego's voice heard above all. Alcala was too much exhausted to speak more to the crowd, but he smiled and bowed his thanks; and the people, obeying his gesture, slowly and without confusion defiled again through the arched passage, and made their way back into the street.
"I never saw anything to equal that!" exclaimed the astonished Passmore, when he saw the last individual of the rabble disappear from the court. "Iron at white heat to be cooled down by a few brave words!"
"To God be the glory!" said Alcala.