Then the footsteps descended, passed the door of Gonsalvo's room, sounded along the corridor, grew fainter on the great staircase, died away in the court.
Less than an hour afterwards, the great gate of the Triana opened to receive a new victim. The grave familiar held it, bowing low, until the prisoner and his guard had passed through. Then it was swung to again, and barred and bolted, shutting out from Don Carlos Alvarez all help and hope, all charity and all mercy--save only the mercy of God.
XXVII.
My Brother's Keeper
"Since she loved him, he went carefully,
Bearing a thing so precious in his hand."--George Eliot
About a week afterwards, Don Juan Alvarez dismounted at the door of his uncle's mansion. His shout soon brought the porter, a "pure and ancient Christian," who had spent nearly all his life in the service of the family.
"God save you, father," said Juan. "Is my brother in the house!"
"No, señor and your worship,"--the old man hesitated, and looked confused.
"Where shall I find him, then?" cried Juan; "speak at once, if you know."
"May it please your noble Excellency, I--I know nothing. At least--the Saints have mercy on us!" and he trembled from head to foot.