“No, but he may be drowned, though, when the water flows in,” said Luis, despondingly.
“Not if he knows how to swim,” answered the Friar; “and then the water, which would destroy another, will be his preservation. Let that be your consolation.”
“Alas! I fear your observations are too correct, and I must submit to my fate,” said Luis. “Can you, however, contrive to let me see Gonçalo Christovaö?”
“There will be no great difficulty, for since the execution, in some parts of the prison, the captives are allowed to communicate with each other.”
“Of what do you speak?” inquired Luis; and the Friar recounted to him the dreadful tragedy which had taken place. “Alas!” he exclaimed, “and has that gay and bold youth been a victim?” and while he shuddered, as he recollected the risk he had run of sharing their fate, he thought how nobly young Jozé de Tavora had behaved in not betraying him; for, as he heard, torture had been administered to extract confession.
“Come now with me,” said the Friar, interrupting his thoughts. “The turnkey waits without, and will, under my responsibility, allow you to visit this old fidalgo, for his cell is close to this, I heard as I came hither.”
“Then no delay!” exclaimed Luis, starting up; “I will this instant accompany you.”
The turnkey, on the representations of the Friar, was easily persuaded to allow them to pass, and enter the fidalgo’s cell.
The old man started with terror, as he beheld them, fancying that they were officers come to lead him to trial, or to death.
“Lead on, ye myrmidons of tyranny! I am prepared!” he exclaimed, rising.