A deep silence reigned. Felipe heard faint, indescribable
rustlings; it was the breeze in the tree-tops, he thought. But
when he had moistened the right arm, he felt himself caught by
the throat, a young strong hand held him in a tight grip--it was
his father's hand! He shrieked aloud; the flask dropped from his
hand and broke in pieces. The liquid evaporated; the whole
household hurried into the room, holding torches aloft. That
shriek had startled them, and filled them with as much terror as
if the Trumpet of the Angel sounding on the Last Day had rung
through earth and sky. The room was full of people, and a
horror-stricken crowd beheld the fainting Felipe upheld by the
strong arm of his father, who clutched him by the throat. They
saw another thing, an unearthly spectacle--Don Juan's face grown
young and beautiful as Antinous, with its dark hair and brilliant
eyes and red lips, a head that made horrible efforts, but could
not move the dead, wasted body.
An old servitor cried, "A miracle! a miracle!" and all the
Spaniards echoed, "A miracle! a miracle!"
Dona Elvira, too pious to attribute this to magic, sent for the
Abbot of San-Lucar; and the Prior beholding the miracle with his
own eyes, being a clever man, and withal an Abbot desirous of
augmenting his revenues, determined to turn the occasion to
profit.
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