It was not for several days after that night of terror that Calderon was
heard of at the court. His absence was unaccountable; for, though the
flight of the novice was of course known, her fate was not suspected; and
her rank had been too insignificant to create much interest in her escape
or much vigilance in pursuit. But of that absence the courtier's enemies
well availed themselves. The plans of the cabal were ripe; and the aid
of the Inquisition by the appointment of Aliaga was added to the
machinations of Uzeda's partisans. The king was deeply incensed at the
mysterious absence of Calderon, for which a thousand ingenious
conjectures were invented. The Duke of Lerma, infirm and enfeebled by
years, was unable to confront his foes. With imbecile despair he called
on the name of Calderon; and, when no trace of that powerful ally could
be discovered, he forbore even to seek an interview with the king.
Suddenly the storm broke. One evening Lerma received the royal order to
surrender his posts, and to quit the court by daybreak. It was in this
very hour that the door of Lerma's chamber opened, and Roderigo Calderon
stood before him. But how changed--how blasted from his former self!
His eyes were sunk deep in their sockets, and their fire was quenched;
his cheeks were hollow, his frame bent, and when he spoke his voice was
as that of one calling from the tomb.

"Behold me, Duke de Lerma, I am returned at last!"

"Returned--blessings on thee! Where hast thou been? Why didst thou
desert me?--no matter, thou art returned! Fly to the king--tell him I am
not old! I do not want repose. Defeat the villany of my unnatural son!
They would banish me, Calderon; banish me in the very prime of my years!
My son says I am old--old! ha! ha! Fly to the prince; he too has immured
himself in his apartment. He would not see me; he will see thee!"