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<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> <h3>NEW LIFE.</h3> <div class="drop"> <ANTIMG src="images/h.jpg" width-obs="100" height-obs="103" alt="H" class="cap" /> Has the English señor never called to see me?" was Alcala's abrupt question to Teresa as she came into his room. </div> The duenna was taken by surprise, and Alcala read assent in her look of confusion. "Why was my friend not admitted at once?" cried the cavalier, in tones so angry and loud that his astonished hearers could scarcely believe that they came from lips which, but a day before, had seemed scarcely able to speak above a whisper. "The Inglesito was not wanted here," muttered Teresa, who scarcely knew whether to be pleased at the improvement in her patient, or vexed at the way in which that improvement was manifested. "It was for me to judge whether my visitor's presence was wanted or not," said Alcala de Aguilera. "I will write to him,—no, I have not strength to write"—(not even the feverish energy which possessed[Pg 109] his spirit could give steadiness to his hand)—"send Chico directly, without one minute's delay, to pray the señor to come hither. Is it not Sunday?" added Alcala more gently, turning his head towards Inez; "Lepine has no business to do upon Sundays, so his time will be free." Teresa dared not disobey the hest of her master; she saw the fever-flush rising on his cheek, and could not risk the consequences of thwarting his will. Wishing in her heart that the vile foreign heretic were at the bottom of his own British Channel, Teresa went in search of Chico. There was, however, no need to find him, for the duenna had scarcely passed through the corridor before she heard the sound of Lepine's ring at the bell. As for six successive evenings Lucius had been turned away from the house of the Aguileras, he had almost resolved to give up for a time all attempts to visit Alcala. On that very morning the young man had said to himself, "I will try my chance but once more;" and it was with very faint expectation of gaining admission that he came up to the grating which he had never but once been suffered to pass. It was a pleasant surprise to Lucius when Teresa, slowly and sullenly, drew back the bolt, and let him enter the patio. The old woman did not choose to usher the heretic herself into the[Pg 110] presence of her master, but with her wrinkled finger pointed towards the corridor which led to Alcala's apartment. Lucius needed no more distinct invitation. He crossed the court, and entered the corridor with a heart that throbbed with expectation. Here was the opportunity which he had desired, sought, and prayed for, of conversing with his wounded friend on the most important of subjects. Lucius felt that he must not again let such an opportunity slip. But what should he say,—how should he enter on a topic which might be unwelcome? Lucius felt that extreme difficulty of entering on spiritual themes which so often fetters the lips even of experienced Christians. But how often man's whole difficulty lies in forming a firm resolution to do what conscience commands. No sooner does he begin to put that resolution into practice than the apprehended difficulty vanishes away! Such was to be the young Englishman's experience on the present occasion. Lucius found Alcala alone, for Inez had glided out of the room by another door when she heard the visitor's approach. The wounded cavalier welcomed his friend with eyes that sparkled with animation, and an eagerness of manner for which Lucius was by no means prepared. He had expected to find[Pg 111] Alcala in a state of suffering, languor, and depression, and never before had he seen the Spaniard's usually melancholy face wear an expression so bright. "You are welcome; you are the one whom I most desired to see!" cried Alcala, holding out a thin hand which trembled with excitement as well as with weakness. "I pray you to take a seat by my side." Lucius did so, and watched as De Aguilera feebly searched for something under his pillow, and then drew out carefully from its hiding-place a little fragment of paper. "Tell me," said Alcala earnestly, as he held out the leaf to his companion—"tell me, Lepine, what is this?" With emotions which cannot be described, Lucius first examined the little torn scrap, and then met the gaze of the eager dark eyes that seemed to be reading him through and through. "This is a leaf that has been torn from a Bible," said Lucius. "And do you believe its contents—are they truth?" asked Alcala, his eyes riveted still on the face of his friend. "This is the Word of the Eternal God of Truth," replied the young man with reverence. "But," he added in a different tone, "it is to me a strange, an[Pg 112] unaccountable thing, how this paper should ever have come into your possession, if—as I cannot but think—it belongs to a book which I have on my person at this moment." The Englishman drew his New Testament out of his breast-pocket, and opened it at the Epistle to the Romans, Alcala watching his movements with lively curiosity. Several leaves from that part of the volume had evidently been torn out, and afterwards neatly replaced with paper and gum; but of one leaf there remained but a portion. Lucius fitted the fragment given to him by Alcala to the torn edge of this leaf, and smiled to observe that the two portions fitted each other exactly. The surprise of Alcala was quite as great as his own. "How can this be?" exclaimed the Spaniard; "when was that fragment torn from that book?" "Last Sunday morning," replied Lepine. "It was torn by the first of your countrymen to whom I ever offered a religious book. He was a peasant, following a herd." "A herd of fighting bulls—on the way to the Plaza de Toros?" asked Alcala with interest. "Yes," replied Lucius Lepine. "The drover was angry; he mutilated and flung back my book. You must have picked up the leaf by chance." "Not by chance; no, not by chance!" exclaimed[Pg 113] De Aguilera, his lip quivering as he spoke. "Mark you, Lepine, the pencilling on the margin?—Perhaps not, the faint lines are almost effaced by the tears of her who read them. Let them be effaced!" continued the cavalier with passionate fervour; "let all be effaced that is a record of the guilt and misery of man,—God's Word is legible still,—and it is the Word of Life." I shall not attempt to give in full length the conversation that followed. Many were the questions on doctrinal points eagerly asked by Alcala, questions which showed that the speaker was one thirsting indeed for the waters of life. The Testament was searched and studied, Lucius preferring to answer the queries of his friend in God's words instead of his own. The Englishman turned from gospel to epistle, comparing this chapter with that, explaining scripture by scripture, and proving with an ease and clearness which surprised himself the truth of that grand central doctrine on which the Christian's hope is rooted, the doctrine of justification by faith in a crucified Saviour. Lucius remained by the bedside of Alcala during the whole of that day; he was scarcely suffered to quit it even when night was far advanced. The friends partook together of a simple repast; their spirits were enjoying together the richest spiritual[Pg 114] feast. Lucius, who had been brought up by pious and enlightened parents, could not remember a time when he had doubted God's pardoning grace, or been ignorant of the first principles of evangelical religion. It had not been so with the Spaniard, and his friend was much struck by the rapturous surprise, the intense thankfulness with which the glad tidings of great joy were received by one from whose eyes truth had hitherto been hidden beneath a mass of vain superstitions. Alcala welcomed that truth as one who has suddenly found a priceless treasure, and gratefully received the gift of the New Testament from his friend. "This shall be my study, my guide, my joy!" said the cavalier, pressing the book to his lips. "I will never part with it but with life; it has given me more than life!" Lucius left Alcala physically much exhausted, but full of joy and peace in believing. A night of deep sweet sleep followed the day of excitement. Alcala's soul was at rest; he had found what he long had sought. God was to him no longer the terrible Judge, but the reconciled Father; death was regarded no more as the dark angel who would summon the soul to trial and condemnation, but as the seraph that would call that soul to the presence of a glorified Saviour.[Pg 115] Has he whose eye now glances over these pages known experimentally anything of the fears of one conscious of sin,—or the intense joy of him who has heard in his heart, "Go in peace, thy sins are forgiven thee." <hr style="width: 65%;" />[Pg 116] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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