The next step, is the apprehension of the person accused. This is given in charge to the high bailiff, who executes his commission by carrying with him a competent number of officers, taking the precaution to surprise the unhappy victim, which is generally done at night. Not the slightest hint of insecurity is given, not a suspicion is breathed, till about midnight, a band of monsters calmly approach the residence of the accused and demand an entrance.[13] To the question, "In whose name is this required?" the answer is, "The Holy Office." "The thunderbolt, launched from the black and angry cloud," says Puigblanch, "strikes not with such alarm, as the sound of 'Deliver yourself up a prisoner to the Inquisition.' Astonished and trembling, the unwary citizen hears the dismal voice; a thousand different affections at once seize upon his panic-struck frame—he remains perplexed and motionless. His life, in danger, his deserted wife and orphan children, eternal infamy, the only patrimony that now awaits his bereft family, are all ideas which rush upon his mind—he is at once agitated by an agony of dilemma and despair. The burning tear scarcely glistens on his livid cheek, the accents of woe die on his lips, and amidst the alarm and desolation of his family, and the confusion and pity of his neighbours, he is borne away to dungeons, whose damp and bare walls can alone witness the anguish of his mind. "Here," continues the same elegant writer, "was usually confined the father of a family, perhaps his amiable wife, or tender daughter, the exemplary priest, or peaceful scholar; and in the meantime his house was bathed in tears, and filled with desolation. Venerable matrons and timid damsels have been hurried from their homes, and, ignorant of the cause of their misfortune, have awakened from the frenzy of the brain, and found themselves here alone, and helpless in a solitary cell. Here the manly youth, torn from his bewailing kindred, and often wrested from ties still more endearing, pines amidst damp seclusion and chill despair, and vainly invokes the names of objects which so lately thrilled him with pleasure. The dripping vaults re-echo the sighs of the aged father, no longer encircled by the fond endearments of a numerous progeny; all, in short, are condemned to drag existence amidst a death-like silence, and, as it were, immured from the sight of their weeping relatives."