and she was sisterly-minded toward the greater part of the
world. Now she said with serenity, "There is no fault,
Don Enrique. Stay with us now that you are here."

Bowing deeply, he joined a brother-in-arms, Don Miguel
de Silva. His squire stood in the shadow behind him, but
found a chance-left lane of vision down which much might
be seen.

The Queen composed herself , in her chair. "This is the
position, Master Manuel?" The fair man, so fine and quick
that I loved to look at him, bowed and stepped back to his
canvas, where he took up his brush and fell to work. The
Queen and the Archbishop began to speak earnestly together.
Words and sentences floated to Juan Lepe standing by the
arras. The Queen made thoughtful pauses, looking before
her with steady blue eyes and a somewhat lifted face. I
noted that when she did this Manuel Rodriguez painted
fast.

There fell a pause in their talk. Something differing from
the subject of discourse, whatever in its fullness that might
be, seemed to come into her mind. She sent her glance across
the room.

"Don Enrique de Cerda--"

The tone summoned. When he was before her, "It was
in my mind," said the Queen, "to send for you within a
day or two. But now you are here, and this moment while