“Months passed; and Melchior’s despair gave way to a fierce and frantic hope—a hope first whispered cautiously to Don Alfonso, but so eagerly shared by him that the flame was fanned to sevenfold strength. The suburb of the city where Melchior lived was close to the prison of the Inquisition, and took its name from it—the Triana. Though the Holy Office, for wise purposes, keeps its proceedings secret as possible, things must needs ooze out sometimes, and men will talk about them. At the particular time of which I speak, there was much indignation, especially in the neighbourhood of the Triana, called forth by the robberies and cruelties of the head-jailer, Gaspar Benevidio—a wretch abhorred of God and man, and afterwards righteously punished by his superiors. The Triana suburb abounded in lawless characters, many of whom, being of Moorish blood, were not particularly zealous for the Catholic Faith or the Holy Inquisition. Whenever Gaspar Benevidio went abroad, men scowled and laid their hands on their daggers, and women cursed him as he passed. Some of Melchior’s friends of the bull-ring were often heard to murmur, ‘’Twere a better deed to send a lance through a hard heart than through a tough hide.’ ‘But what use in that?’ Melchior would say. ‘That would save no one. If now we were to attack the Triana, God only knows what we might accomplish!’ “This was the project hinted to Don Alfonso. And he answered promptly, ‘Do all that is in thine heart. I am with thee, according to all that is in thine heart.’ Then they laid their scheme. In the midst of their madness they were prudent in details. They organized the conspirators, armed them, concerted signals, even corrupted some of the lower officials within the castle. At last came the night agreed upon.[28] Melchior and Don Alfonso headed the rioters—the latter disguised in his foster-brother’s clothes, to save the honour of his noble house. There was an hour of fierce excitement, of wild fighting, of frenzied hope—then confusion, terror, despair. It was madness all—from first to last! As soon, José, might your people stand victorious against the might of Spain, as force or fraud prevail to rescue one captive from the dungeons of the Triana.” It was well, perhaps, that the monk could not see the “dark lightning” that flashed from José’s eyes as he said, “Madness is strong, patre. _Did_ they not rescue any?”