"That is the only thing which troubles me," she said. "I feel as if I were doing something mean and underhand. I shall marry a man whom I can never love, who belongs to a race that has always been inimical to Spain. My husband will hate all those whom I love. He will hate everything that I have always honoured and cherished--my King, my country, the glory and grandeur of Spain. He will rebel against her laws which I know to be beneficent even though they seem harsh and even cruel at times. A Netherlander can never have anything in common with a Spaniard...." "Oh! they’d murder us if they could," the young man rejoined with a careless shrug of the shoulders, "but only in the dark streets or from behind a hedge." "The King is very angry with them, I know; he declared that he would not come to the Netherlands until there is not a single rebel or heretic within its shores." "The terms are synonymous," he retorted lightly, "and I fear that His Majesty will never grace this abominable country with his presence, if his resolution holds good. They are a stiff-necked crowd, these Netherlanders--Catholics and heretics, they are all rebels--but the heretics are the worst." Then, as she said nothing, but stared straight out before her at this crowd of people amongst whom she was doomed to live in the future, he continued with a tone of sullen wrath: "We have burnt a goodly number of these rebels, but still they swarm." "It is horrible!" exclaimed the young girl with a shudder. "Horrible, my dear love?" he said with a cynical laugh, "it is the only way to deal with these people. Their arrogance passes belief; their treachery knows no bounds. The King’s sacred person would not be safe here among them; the Duke’s life has often been threatened; the heretics have pillaged and ransacked the churches! No! you must not waste your sympathy on the people here. They are rebellious and treacherous to the core. As for me, I hate them tenfold, for it is one of them who will take you from me." "He cannot take my heart from you, Ramon, for that will be yours always." "Lenora!" he whispered once more with that fierce earnestness which he seemed unable to control, "you know what is in my mind?--what I have thought and planned ever since I realised that you were being taken from me?" "What is it, Ramon?" "The Duke of Alva--the King himself--want you to work for them--to be their tool. Well! so be it! You have not the strength to resist--I have not the power to rebel! If we did we should both be crushed like miserable worms by the powers which know how to force obedience. Often have I thought in the past two miserable days that I would kill you, Lenora, and myself afterwards, but..." The words died on his lips, his olive skin became almost livid in hue. Hastily he drew a tiny image from inside his doublet: with it in his hand he made the sign of the Cross, then kissed it reverently.