Don Juan can recall no death at court or among the nobles, and this is plainly a funeral of quality. Nor can he explain a midnight burial, a thing unknown except in time of war or plague; so, advancing from the dark gateway where he stood to let the procession pass, he addresses himself to one of the muffled figures and asks: “Whose body are they bearing to the Osario at this strange time?” “Don Juan de Mañara” is the reply. “Will you follow, and say a prayer for his sinful soul?” As these words are spoken, the procession seems to pause, and one advances who flings back the wreaths of flowers which lie around the face, and lo! Don Juan beholds his own visage in the coffin! Spellbound he seems to join the ghastly throng which wends its way to the Church of Santa Iñes. Here other spectral priests appear to meet it and carry the bier into the nave, where next morning he is found by the nuns, coming into matins, insensible on the floor! _This is the second warning._ After this the name of Don Juan was heard no more at court. Whither he went, no one knew, not even Gesuelo. At length he was discovered in a monastic dress, living in a hospital he had founded for the old and bedridden, on the banks of the Guadalquivir, opposite the Golden Tower where Don Pedro kept his treasure,--a quaint old building which still remains close to the custom-house. You cannot pass a day in Seville without remarking it as you follow along the wharf crowded with merchant ships and steamers, placed a little back but conspicuous by its whiteness. * * * * * On an ancient portal, much ornamented in that _barocco_ style into which Seville fell when ceasing to be Moorish, are graven these words: Sancta Caridad Domus Pauperum Scala Cœli. On one side are the high windows of a Gothic hall, where aged men sit, so shrunk and old one seems to think death has forgotten them. A low iron-bound door leads you farther into the nave of a noble church, supported by twisted pillars such as Raphael loved to paint as the background of his frescoes. It is very still and rather dark, for red blinds are drawn over the windows, but you plainly perceive the high altar, gay with coloured marbles, and on the highest step where you plant your foot there is a monumental slab let into the pavement, engraven with these words: Cenizas del peor Nombre que ha habido en el Mundo, Don Juan de Mañara.[B] The disappearance of Don Juan from the stormy scene was little heeded by Don Pedro in all the confusion of civil war. He was but a bolder sinner than the rest, and that he had turned from the devil to the priest was a contemptible proof of weakness. No gallant rode down the bank of the Guadalquivir without launching a sneer at the old Gothic pile where, habited in sackcloth, he tended the sick and the dying to the last day of his life.