meteoric career. At length Philip the Third died: the Infant ascended
the throne; that prince, for whom the ambitious courtier had perilled
alike life and soul! The people now believed that they should be
defrauded of their victim. They were mistaken. The new king, by this
time, had forgotten even the existence of the favourite of the prince.
But Guzman, who, while affecting to minister to the interests of Uzeda,
was secretly aiming at the monopoly of the royal favour, felt himself
insecure while Calderon yet lived. The operations of the Inquisition
were too slow for the impatience of his fears; and as that dread
tribunal affected never to inflict death until the accused had confessed
his guilt, the firmness of Calderon baffled the vengeance of the
ecclesiastical law. New inquiries were set on foot: a corpse was
discovered, buried in Calderon's garden--the corpse of a female. He
was accused of the murder. Upon that charge he was transferred from
the Inquisition to the regular courts of justice. No evidence could
be produced against him; but, to the astonishment of all, he made no
defence, and his silence was held the witness of his crime. He was
adjudged to the scaffold--he smiled when he heard the sentence.

An immense crowd, one bright day in summer, were assembled in the place
of execution. A shout of savage exultation rent the air as Roderigo
Calderon, Marquis de Siete Iglesias, appeared upon the scaffold But,
when the eyes of the multitude rested--not upon that lofty and stately
form, in all the pride of manhood, which they had been accustomed to
associate with their fears of the stern genius and iron power of the
favourite--but upon a bent and spectral figure, that seemed already on
the verge of a natural grave, with a face ploughed deep with traces
of unutterable woe, and hollow eyes that looked with dim and scarce
conscious light over the human sea that murmured and swayed below, the
tide of the popular emotion changed; to rage and triumph succeeded shame
and pity. Not a hand was lifted up in accusation--not a voice was raised
in rebuke or joy. Beside Calderon stood the appointed priest, whispering
cheer and consolation.

"Fear not, my son," said the holy man. "The pang of the body strikes
years of purgatory from thy doom. Think of this, and bless even the
agony of this hour."

"Yes," muttered Calderon; "I do bless this hour. Inez, thy daughter has
avenged thy murder! May Heaven accept the sacrifice! and may