His habit was of black velvet, slashed with satin and with buttons of jet: a small starched cambric ruff, edged with lace, was closed at the throat with white silken cords and tassels. A rapier at his side; a diamond of the purest water on his long, thin white hand.
"It must needs be so"—such was the tenor of his meditation. "The very image of God must be stamped on our souls like the cameo in soft wax, if we are to be His. Oh, my God, mould me with thine own impress! stamp me with thine own seal! keep my thoughts—I cannot keep them!—efface even the memories of sin. Make me a weapon for thine own armoury, whether to be used in actual service or to hang on the wall ready for use!"
He covered his face with his hand, and remained lost in thought, till some one tapped at the door. It was Fra Bernardino Ochino, the Capuchin.
I know not why Ochino should have had so white a beard; for his age, at most, was scarcely fifty: but so it was.
"Brother," said Valdés gladly, "you come at the right moment; for I am in a singular frame of mind."
"Strange!" cried Ochino; "I, too, found myself in a singular mood, and it was on that account that I sought you. There are times when I am oppressed by vain questionings; and nobody quiets them better than you do."
"I wonder whether your questionings relate to the same subject as my own," said Valdés, with his peculiarly sweet smile. "Come! let us talk it out. It wants half-an-hour yet to the time when Donna Isabella expects me."
"You know," said Ochino, "I am not book-learned—"
"My chief book is my mind," rejoined Valdés. "Therein I read a nature totally corrupt, and find an unutterable want of God. My other book is His word. Herein I find a solution to every question, a remedy for every want, in the blood of Christ. And that is my peace."