“Yes, for Spain!” cries Isabel, an inspired look lighting up her face. “For union and for Spain!” Then, as the tears come gathering in her eyes, she trembles with emotion, and her soft voice but ill expresses the courage of her words. “For myself let me speak. A wife more loving or more humble you shall not find. Husband, father, all, you shall be to me,” and she clasps his hand and raises it to her lips, spite of his protest. She is about to kneel to him, but he withholds her in his arms. “But for any ill to my people I will not obey; this must be clear. Too much have they suffered from ill government, extortion, and neglect; now it must be peace.” “What ill could I desire to Castile?” asks Ferdinand, provoked at the insisting of the beautiful girl, who speaks like a legislator, which, if maintained, will cross many projects of his own to the advantage of his kingdom. “I know not,” she answers. “I have seen many strange things happen upon the throne.” “That you have, indeed, my princess,” he replies, won back by her gentleness. “Ah! how my heart has bled for you! Nor is the succession yet settled as it should be. The king, your brother will never give up the hope of placing the Beltraneja on the throne. For that reason I desire to carry you straight into Aragon, where I can defend your rights. In that desire we are one.” “Oh! blessed thought!” cries Isabel, clinging to him, as she speaks, with a sense of protection and love she has never known before. “Give me but your royal word, Infante, for the liberty of Castile, and I am yours while this poor heart beats.” “Enchantress!” cries Ferdinand, clasping her in his arms. “Who can withstand you? By Santiago! you have conquered me quite, even against my judgment. I give you my royal word that you shall reign in Castile even as in my heart, _alone_.” “Then with this kiss do I seal it,” she answers, breaking out all over into a great joy, and with a cry of rapture she kisses him on the lips. * * * * * Then, hand in hand, they left the _estrada_ and came down to where the archbishop and Don Gutierra, and Doña Beatrix waited. “I am ready, my lord, to wed the prince,” said Isabel, with a proud smile. “Give me your blessing. Before you all, I declare that I accept for my consort the Infante of Aragon, whose nobility of soul exceeds all my desires” (1467). And here it may be noted that the princes were so poor that the archbishop paid the expenses of the marriage and of their journey into Aragon. * * * * *