"No—but—it appears to me I have somewhere seen—"
"I am Father Antonio, of Cuba," cried the monk, fixing his eyes, sparkling with savage fury, upon Perez.
"And you are a member of the Holy Inquisition?" Perez faltered out in trembling accents.
"I am. Again I say, follow me on the instant."
Poor Captain Perez, or rather rich Captain Perez, at the early day in which he lived had, perhaps, never heard the avowal made by a man who, in speaking of honesty and dishonesty, declared honesty to be the best policy, for, said he, I have tried both.
That the captain was not born to be hanged is certain; and although from childhood a sojourner upon the ocean, it was not his destiny to be drowned. There is a tradition handed down, that had it not been for very considerable donations, under his hand and seal, to a religious community in Spain, a method of bidding adieu to this life more in accordance with the pious notions prevalent three hundred years ago, would certainly have been chosen for our hero. Indeed, there were not wanting many heretic-hating persons who affirmed that an auto-da-fe was got up expressly for the occasion. But we have ascertained beyond a doubt that he reformed in his manner of living, that he secured to the Holy Order the donations already mentioned, that the reverend fathers kindly took from his legal heirs all trouble in the division of his riches, and that he died in his bed at last, as a pious Catholic should die, and was buried in consecrated ground, with every rite and ceremony belonging to the community he had so munificently contributed to enrich.