“You owe your life,” he replied, “to a rumour, that a band of robbers had appeared in the vicinity—some of your old friends, it was thought—which caused all the troops to be sent out in pursuit. They have but now returned, and to-morrow you will be executed.”
A pang of withering disappointment ran through me, for I had confidently imagined that the delay had been the consequence of the arrival of a pardon, and Satan once more obtained dominion over me.
Ignacio read in my overcast countenance the change his information had wrought in my feelings. “Your repentance is not sincere, my son,” he observed. “Alas! when death is in sight, how fondly do we cling to this earth. And yet you have braved death in the field a thousand times!”
“Father,” I replied, “it is not death I fear—it is the disgrace of a public execution."
“What absurd sophistry is this?” said he. “Can one, who but yesterday denied the existence of a future state, care for one moment how he quits this world, or regard the opinion of those he leaves behind in it?—as well might he be fearful of losing the good opinion of a herd of swine. Away with such fine-spun subtilties—it is the prospect of meeting your Maker face to face that makes you quail. You are yet but ill prepared, I see. Oh! may He yet mercifully extend your life, if but a short span.”
The morrow came, but the pious Ignacio’s prayer remained apparently unheard. He repaired to my call soon after the arrival of the post, to exhort and prepare me. Alas! I was as much in want of his assistance as ever, for I had all along clung to the hope of obtaining a pardon through the influence of the ——, and was more inclined to rail than to pray.
A party of soldiers at length arrived, and I was led off in chains to the place of execution. A vast crowd was assembled from all the neighbouring towns to witness my punishment. Ignacio addressed the multitude on our way, saying, I was a repentant sinner, and implored the prayers of all good Christians. For myself I said not a word, and the crowd gave no signs of either gratification or commiseration. I mounted the scaffold, the fatal instrument was placed round my throat, a curse was yet on my lips, when a distant shout attracted the Father’s attention. Laying a hand upon the arm of the executioner to stay his proceedings, he watched with eager eyes the signs of some one who was approaching at a rapid pace, holding a paper high in the air. The paper was handed to Ignacio by the breathless messenger. “It is a pardon,” he exclaimed; “your life is miraculously spared—it has been sent express from the Escurial! Return your thanks, to Him, who has been pleased thus to extend his mercy towards you.”
I had already sunk on my knees—I prayed earnestly for the first time in my life.
Marvellously, indeed, had my life been preserved. But for the rumoured appearance of the band of robbers, I should have suffered death the day before; again, this day, but for Ignacio’s presence, the pardon would have arrived too late.
I was immediately released, but a fever, caused, probably, by my previously excited feelings, confined me to my bed for many weeks. I became delirious, and my life was despaired of. Ignacio tended me like a brother. A second time he saved my life; but, alas! he himself contracted the contagious disorder, and fell a victim to his warm and disinterested friendship.