“Not conduct of the sword, sir, conduct of the heart. My father’s precept was this: ‘In choosing him you shall serve, rather let it be some high lord or gentleman of birth, diminished in his fortune, or in some sort isolated from his right estate, for it is the cause of the weak that feeds the valiant.’” It was pleasing to witness Sir Richard Pendragon nod his head in approval. “That was well observed of your father, Master Miguel. I am rejoiced to notice that he knew a little more of mankind than he did of martial weapons. But, by my sooth, you will not need to look above a thousand leagues for this high lord or gentleman of birth, diminished in his fortune, or in some sort isolated from his right estate.” “I am well pleased,” said I eagerly, “that he is so near at hand. Where may he be, good Englishman?” “He sits before you, gentle Spaniard, sipping a quartern of sack out of a silver goblet on a three-legged stool.” “I would ask no better master, had the king’s blood in his veins been a true Spanish colour.” “Well, every man to his taste,” said he, looking into his wine, “but you Spaniards are very mad fellows. The blood of Uthyr Pendragon, sire of Arthur, king and sovereign lord of Britain, not being to your mind, we must make abatement of this peninsularity of yours, and find some other.” “I would serve some Spanish gentleman of high degree, and if you can bring one to mind, Sir Englishman, who, diminished in his fortune, has a beauteous and enchanting daughter--” “Oho! we have now in the case a beauteous and enchanting daughter! Is that another of your father’s precepts, my son, or does it proceed out of your own wise pate?” “The words of my father are these: ‘Set your heart without haughtiness, but with bright ambition, upon some fair Spanish lady, one whose condition is the equal of her beauty, and whose figure in the world is of the first consideration, for so much superiority shall raise your spirit, my gentle kinsman, to vie with hers, and be, as it were, as that North Star that is fixed above the seas to point the course of fortune. And further, gentle kinsman, I append as follows: When your parts and situation are fit to vie with hers, the blood of a Sarda y Boegas shall make you the nuptial lord of this proud lady.’” When I had given this further precept of my father’s, the Englishman sat laughing into his hands. “Why, this is the maddest fellow,” he said, as if to himself; “yet I like to hear these notions of his, because there is a kind of poetry in them, and there is no saying whither his maggot will be leading him next.” “I wish, sir, you could aid me in the quest of this nobleman I seek, and likewise of this beautiful and enchanting lady.” “What should English Dick know of these noblemen you seek, and these beautiful and enchanting ladies, you mad varlet?”