“You hold very strange doctrines, child,” said the Bishop, sharply. “Has your mother embraced them?”
“I know nothing about doctrines, my lord,” answered Doña Leonor. “I think that my mother must hope to meet our dear father in heaven, or she would be very miserable; and I am sure she cannot hope to get there except through her trust in the blood of Jesus. I hope, my lord Bishop, that you expect to go there by that sure and only way.”
“I cannot expect to go there except by the way the Church points out, and I cannot even know that there is a heaven except through what the Church teaches,” answered the Bishop, in a voice that sounded somewhat husky. “That is the true Catholic doctrine, maiden, which it behoves all Spaniards to believe, and which they must be compelled to
believe. You understand, maiden. Tell your mother what I say. But here she comes.”
Doña Mercia, wishing to escape from the remarks of her former admirer, had joined the rest of her guests, and afterwards retired to give some direction for their entertainment, little dreaming of the dangerous turn the conversation between her daughter and the Bishop would take.
“Ah, Doña Mercia, I find that your daughter is a little heretic, and holds in but slight respect the doctrines of the Church. As she tells me she was instructed in them by her late father, and as he must have imbibed such abominable principles during his visits to Germany from that arch-heretic Luther, I trust that they have proceeded no farther. But let me advise you to be cautious, Doña Mercia, and to inculcate Catholic principles into the mind of your daughter. Remember that from henceforth the eyes of the Inquisition will be upon you.”
“My lord Bishop, I have ever endeavoured to do my duty to my God, to my child, and to all around me,” answered Doña Mercia, meekly, unconsciously placing her hands across her bosom. “I trust that I have no cause to tremble, should the eyes of the whole world be upon me.”
“The eyes of the Inquisition are more piercing than those of the whole world combined,” answered Don Gonzales, in a low voice, which came hissing forth from between his almost clenched lips, in a tone which was calculated to produce more effect on the mind of the hearer than the loudest outburst of passion.
When the Bishop rose from his seat, he approached the rest of the company with a smiling aspect, and addressed them with that dignified courtesy for which Spaniards have ever been celebrated. Few would have guessed the feelings which were even then agitating his bosom; still, the party felt relieved when he and his softly-spoken, keen-eyed attendants took their departure.