ble to confront his foes. With imbecile despair he called
on the name of Calderon; and, when no trace of that powerful ally could
be discovered, he forbore even to seek an interview with the king.
Suddenly the storm broke. One evening Lerma received the royal order to
surrender his posts, and to quit the court by daybreak. It was in this
very hour that the door of Lerma's chamber opened, and Roderigo Calderon
stood before him. But how changed--how blasted from his former self! His
eyes were sunk deep in their sockets, and their fire was quenched; his
cheeks were hollow, his frame bent, and when he spoke his voice was as
that of one calling from the tomb.

"Behold me, Duke de Lerma, I am returned at last!"

"Returned--blessings on thee! Where hast thou been? Why didst thou
desert me?--no matter, thou art returned! Fly to the king--tell him I am
not old! I do not want repose. Defeat the villany of my unnatural son!
They would banish me, Calderon; banish me in the very prime of my years!
My son says I am old--old! ha! ha! Fly to the prince; he too has immured
himself in his apartment. He would not see me; he will see thee!"

"Ay--the prince! we have cause to love each other!"

"Ye have indeed! Hasten, Calderon; not a moment is to be lost! Banished!
Calderon, shall I be banished?" And the old man, bursting into tears,
fell at the feet of Calderon, and clasped his knees.

"Go, go, I implore thee! Save me; I loved thee, Calderon, I always loved
thee. Shall our foes triumph? Shall the horn of the wicked be exalted?"

For a moment (so great is the mechanical power of habit) there returned
to Calderon something of his wonted energy and spirit; a light broke
from his sunken eyes; he drew himself up to the full of his stately
height: "I thought I had done with courts and with life," said he; "but
I will make one more effort; I will not forsake you in your hour of
need. Yes, Uzeda shall be baffled; I will seek the king. Fear not, my
lord, fear not; the charm of my power is not yet broken."

So saying, Calderon raised the cardinal from the ground, and extricating
himself from the old man's grasp strode, with his customary air of
majestic self-reliance, to the door. Just ere he reached it, three low,
but regular knocks sounded on the panel: the door opened, and the
space without was filled with the dark forms of the officers of the
Inquisition.

"Stand!" said a deep voice; "stand, Roderigo Calderon, Marquis de Siete
Iglesias;