CHAPTER XXVII.
A WATCH IN THE NIGHT.
The Superior of the House of the Jesuits sat in his sanctum lost in thought. The beautiful faces from the walls smiled a gracious welcome, and the grand tones of the cathedral organ still floated in the air, but he heeded them not. Looking impatiently at the clock, he muttered, “It is time he were here!”
As if in answer to his summons, the figure of a man appeared at the open door. He stood with cringing servility before the Jesuit. It was the soldier to whom Monseigneur Ryder had given a commission on the night of Princess Elizabeth Stuyvesant’s death.
“Ah, Caspar Swarte! I should think it about time that you appeared to give an account of yourself. Why have you dallied so long? Know you not that the business of the Church requires haste?”
“Pardon, your reverence! Believe me, I have not wasted the time. For months I have followed Francis Junius about, but each time, when I thought his capture certain, he slipped from my grasp. He must be in league with the devil, for he has the faculty of making himself invisible at any time.”
“Enough of this!” said the Jesuit impatiently. “Make no more excuses, but come to the point in hand. Why are you here to-night?”
“To tell you that the Huguenot preacher is arrested, and to-morrow he dies.”
The stern look on the priest’s face changed to one of satisfaction.
“This is good news indeed, Swarte! You are pardoned for your long silence and your delay in executing my command. Receive your reward,” he continued, handing the man a bag of florins. “Continue your faithful services to the Church and you shall receive ample compensation in this world’s goods. Go, my son, and my blessing attend your steps.”
The soldier departed with a smiling face.
Hugo Berlaymont was sitting in his uncle’s library, his head bowed with grief, and the tears coursing down his cheeks at the news which Fritz had brought him of the capture of Junius and his execution on the morrow.
“It cannot be, it must nat be!” said Hugo between his sobs. "My dear pastor shall not die like a felon. I will plead with my uncle for his life.” Although carefully nurtured in the lap of luxury, Hugo Berlaymont had his trials. Many of the members of the reformed faith frowned upon him because he had not come out boldly and espoused their cause.
“A man cannot be called a Christian who fears to acknowledge himself as one: who places the opinions of his fellows, or his own human interests and affections, before the glory of God,” they said.
Hugo was a sensitive lad, and he felt these words of reproof keenly. He was strong to suffer himself, but he could not bear to inflict suffering upon others. He loved his uncle truly, and he knew that to avow himself a Protestant would be to fill his uncle’s heart with the bitterest anguish. He had talked the matter over with Junius.
“I have often felt, my good pastor, that this deception was not becoming in a follower of Christ; but by making a confession of my faith I shall not only redouble my uncle’s persecutions, but I shall also be deprived of the power of assisting the brethren when they come to me secretly, as they have felt free to do. I want to do right. Decide the question for me, dear pastor Junius.”
The preacher looked into the guileless face of the boy who had grown very dear to his heart, and placed his arm about his shoulder.
“My dear lad, I feel that you are not doing wrong, considering the peculiar circumstances in which you are placed. You are still under age, and subject to the authority of your uncle. Your conduct must be governed largely by his commands. If your conscience does not condemn you, continue for the present in the same course. But remember this, my boy: when God’s call comes to you to confess Him before men, you cannot mistake His voice. Then see to it that you heed that voice and obey that summons, even though it costs you your life.”
A footstep sounded in the hall, and presently Baron Berlaymont entered the library.
“How is this, Hugo? Moping in the dark, as usual?”
The servants brought in candles and stirred the dying embers of a wood fire into a cheery blaze.
“Tears, nephew! Tears, I verily believe. How can you weep when the Church is on the eve of a splendid victory? Do you not know, my boy, that Francis Junius has at last been betrayed into our hands, and to-morrow he dies? Yes, thank God, that dangerous heretic dies. Would that I could be there to witness the execution, but an order from Alva demands my presence elsewhere.”
“Uncle, I have a favor to ask of you,” said Hugo, rising and standing with shining eyes before the Baron.
"Name it. I am in a mood to grant almost any reasonable request,” was the reply.
“Spare the life of Francis Junius, and I will bless you and serve you all my days.”
“The life of Francis Junius!” echoed his uncle in amazement. “Boy, are you mad? What is that Huguenot preacher to you, that you should dare to plead for his worthless life?”
“Uncle, he once saved me from a horrible death," was the reply, and then Hugo related the mishap which he had met with his horse, which came so near ending his career. “I cannot see my benefactor die and not lift a finger to save him, I love him for this act of kindness. It was at the peril of his own life that he rescued me. O, spare him, uncle, for my sake!”
“Peace, foolish boy!” said the Baron. “I should be glad to grant you any ordinary request, but you have asked an impossibility; Alva signed the death-warrant with his own hand. Besides, I am convinced that the heretic deserves death, and no word of mine shall stay the hand of the executioner. I am glad if the miscreant performed one good act in his life. It will be so much to his credit in the other world. Come, cheer up, my lad, and cease shedding tears like a woman.”
With a heavy heart Hugo retired early to his room. He drew a copy of the New Testament, which Junius had given him, from its hiding-place, and began to read. He turned the pages over and over, and these words seemed written in letters of fire on every page: “Stand Forth!”
Whichever way he turned, those words were before his eyes. Had God’s call come to him at last? Did God bid him to stand forth on the morrow, and testify for Him in the market-place? He fell upon his knees and offered up this prayer: “O Lord, help me to save pastor Junius. Permit me, weak and unworthy though I be, to suffer in the place of that noble minister, and forgive my sincere but misguided uncle.”
Hugo rose from his knees with his burden lightened. In some way he felt that his prayer would be answered and that the arm of Omnipotence would enable him to save his friend. How he was to accomplish this he did not know. He believed that God would show him the path of duty so clearly that he would make no mistake. With this thought he laid himself down to rest, and slept the tranquil sleep of a child.