was not
indignation, it was not horror; but agony of spirit that a religion
which he loved better than himself, whose purity and honor he would
have so jealously guarded, that he would have sacrificed life itself
for its service, should have been made the cover for such unutterable
villany. Few imagined the deeds of painful mortification and bodily
penance which, in his solitude, the Sub-Prior afterwards inflicted on
himself; as if his individual sufferings should atone for the guilt of
his brethren, and turn from them the wrath of an avenging God.

Horrible as were the details imparted, incomprehensible as it seemed
that so extended and well-organized a power, should exist so secretly
throughout Spain, as to hide itself even from the sovereigns and
ministers of justice themselves, yet none doubted what they heard.
Sovereigns and nobles well knew that the Inquisition had been
established both in Castile and Arragon centuries before, and that
the annals of those kingdoms, though mentioning the resistance of the
people against this awful power, had been silent as to its entire
extirpation.

In the first part of his narrative the man had spoken shrinkingly and
fearfully, as if still in dread of vengeance on his betrayal; but
his voice became bolder when he confessed his own share in the late
atrocious crime. Accustomed by the strictest and most rigid training,
to obey as familiars, the will of their superiors without question--to
be mere mindless and feelingless tools, to whom death itself was
awarded, if by word or hint, or even sign, they dared evince
themselves to be as other men--he had, at the command of the Grand
Inquisitor, deeply drugged Senor Stanley's evening draught, and, while
under its potent influence, had purloined his sword; waylaid Don
Ferdinand in the Calle Soledad, effectually done the deed, and--aware
that it would be many hours ere the English Senor could arouse himself
from the stupifying effects of the draught--had intended returning to
his chamber still more effectually to throw on him the suspicion of
the murder. It happened, however, that it was the first time he had
ever been chosen by his superiors as their tool for actual murder, and
the magnitude of the crime, from the greatness of, and universal love
borne towards the victim, had so appalled him, that, combined with the
raging storm and pitchy darkness, he had felt utterly bewildered. Not
well acquainted with Segovia, he had found himself,