"I can arrange it," he said. "Expect to see me in this house as soon as may be. This aunt of yours seems to have a fondness for me." He bent, and kissed her hands. "Now fare thee well, my heart, and fear naught." "Only for you," she said. "Fear for me when you hear of my death," he smiled. "Not till then." He held her close a moment. "Keep Diego at arm's length, my lass," he said, twinkling, "or I might be tempted to out sword and thrust him there." "Oh, you must be prudent!" she said urgently. "Promise me! He hates you already; he said to-night almost as much." "God save his puppyhood!" said Sir Nicholas lightly. "Am I to be in a sweat for fear of Master Puke-Stocking? We shall come to grips yet, he and I. I can snuff out a fight with the best. He's hot for it." He bent to kiss her lips. "A last good-night!" She gave it, clinging to him. "You must go--yes, you must go. Oh, my love, I love you!" CHAPTER XIII It was not perhaps surprising that in so short a time the gay Chevalier de Guise made some noise about the town. He had the trick of it. To be secret, to lie close, seemed to be no part of his design. His credentials were good, Losa's patronage carried him whithersoever he listed, and he used it to the full. There was scarcely anyone in Madrid who had not heard of the Chevalier, few who had not met him. From the Court came no sign. Philip must ponder his reply, annotate the despatch, sleep upon it, lay it aside to ponder it yet again. Those who sought to hurry the Catholic King did so to their own despair. He would do nothing without carefully weighing it; if his brain worked slowly he at least was not aware of it. He was methodical, plodding, infinitely conscientious, and he prided himself upon his cautious judgment. For Philip to be dilatory up to a point suited Sir Nicholas very well, since, as he saw it, nothing could be done in his affair while Dominica still lay at Madrid. If Philip delayed too long, however, he would have to employ another messenger to carry his answer back to the Guise. Sir Nicholas would be very well pleased to get that answer into his own hands, for it promised to be interesting to an English Protestant. Walsingham would be glad of it, but Sir Nicholas had no notion of serving Master Secretary to his own plan's undoing. There was food enough for Walsingham in the Guise's cyphered letter, a copy of which was safe in Beauvallet's possession. It concerned one Mary Stewart, unfortunate lady, at present a state prisoner in England, and certain illuminating schemes for her future as compiled by his Majesty King Philip, and the Duc de Guise. Fine doings there! Enough to make Master Secretary's hair stand on end.