And now, where is the Rabbi?" He caught a sound and saw
a quiver in the tapestries that masked the door of the alcove.
"Ah! He is here, I suppose...."
He checked abruptly, and recoiled as from a blow, throwing up his
hands in a convulsive gesture. The tapestry had been swept aside,
and forth stepped not the Rabbi he expected, but a tall, gaunt
man, stooping slightly at the shoulders, dressed in the white
habit and black cloak of the order of St. Dominic, his face lost
in the shadows of a black cowl. Behind him stood two lay
brothers of the order, two armed familiars of the Holy Office,
displaying the white cross on their sable doublets.
Terrified by that apparition, evoked, as it seemed, by those
terribly damning words he had pronounced, Don Rodrigo stood
blankly at gaze a moment, not even seeking to understand how this
dread thing had come to pass.
The friar pushed back his cowl, as he advanced, and displayed the
tender, compassionate, infinitely wistful countenance of Frey
Tomas de Torquemada. And infinitely compassionate and wistful
came the voice of that deeply sincere and saintly man.
"My son, I was told this of you--that you were a Judaizer--yet
before I could bring myself to believe so incredible a thing in
one of your lineage, I required the evidence of my own senses.
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