Yet two at least of the truths he told, Rome has preserved well and carefully amidst all her errors. Nor were the two others, as he stated them, in any open contradiction to her teaching. But the utter absence of much that they were wont to hear—and, even more, the power and vital force that dwelt in what they heard—awed, impressed, amazed the intelligent amongst his audience. If the comparison be not derogatory to such high personages as the Archbishop and Chapter of Ciudad de los Reyes, it may be said that they felt as felt the witch of Endor, when at her call from the earth arose—no counterfeit, no pale shadowy image,—but dread reality, the very prophet of Israel, come from the world of spirits with a message of doom for those that awaked him. José’s simple heart, meanwhile, beat high with exultation. Those truths, whatever they might be to others, to him were life and joy and peace. Christ was risen indeed for him. The preacher also had a place in his thoughts. _Now_, at last, would all men see how great, how wise the patre was! And, casting a triumphant glance around, he read admiration in a thousand faces, whilst his own was saying, “Is not the patre great?” But amongst the faces upon which his eye rested, he marked _one_—unlike the others—that of the Dominican from Cuba. It did not speak admiration: it was doubtful, dark, anxious. And José felt as if from that moment the light grew dim; and a chill mist of fear rose up and overshadowed everything around. In his cell in the Franciscan monastery, he had a strange dream that night. He thought that it happened to him to go with the patre on board a ship which lay at anchor in the bay. Alone, they drifted somehow out to sea together. No mariners, no rudder, no compass there. Nothing but white sails set, wild waves around, fast fading land behind. And they looked each on the other in blank dismay. Then suddenly, as things happen in dreams, the storm arose, the wild wind shrieked and howled, the ship tossed helplessly. José stretched forth his hands and cried aloud, “Lord, save, or we perish!” When—behold! a Form appeared, treading the stormy deep. And a Hand touched his;—with the thrill of _that_ touch José awoke, and lo! it was a dream. But he could not forget that dream. XXXVI. José’s Mistake. “Dark lowers our fate, And terrible the storm that gathers o’er us; But nothing, till that latest agony Which severs thee from Nature, shall unloose This fixed and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house, In the terrific face of armed law, Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be, I never will forsake thee.” JOANNA BAILLIE.