“My lord,” replies Albuquerque, as he places himself beside the table, “I am already late in imparting the important intelligence. The Lady Blanche of Bourbon has escaped, and is now within the cathedral. Your brother, Don Pedro, is restored to health, and is advancing on this city.” In a moment the smiling face of the young prince changes to an expression of gravest thought. “By the bones of Santiago, this is a wondrous change!” he exclaims. “My brother, though still civilly deceased, rises from a bed of death to fight me, and the lady comes to aid me. Is she alone?” “As far as we know,” is the reply, “one female attendant only is with her. The Lady Blanche is invaluable as a hostage.” “In what sense?” “Your Highness may at once dictate peace to Don Pedro by giving her up.” “Never!” cries Don Enrique. “Even to speak of it is a crime. My lord,” rising and turning sharply on Albuquerque, “you forget whom you now serve. The perfidious policy of my brother never shall be mine.” “I do not advocate perfidy,” is the dignified reply of the unmoved statesman, “but it is my duty to point out your Grace’s present advantage.” “Away with such proposals!” exclaims Enrique, his cheeks reddening under the waves of chestnut hair. “By the Queen of Heaven! I hold you a poor counsellor to advocate such crooked means. As a sister I greet her and will protect her. Her youth and hapless fate touch me deeply. Poor Fadique! how well he loved her! It cost him his life.” After this brief passage of arms between the new king and his former enemy, Enrique reseats himself, his face still aglow with emotion, and signs to Albuquerque, who has also risen, to do the same. It is the minister who speaks first, with the imperturbable composure of a man who cares no more for the chances of life than for the throw of dice upon a board. “Your Grace is sure of the support of the Great Companies, if you can hold Toledo until they arrive.” “_If_,” quickly rejoins Don Enrique. “_If_, where is the doubt? Look out beyond,” and he points to the opposite hills over the dark gorge through which the Tagus flows; “are not those our tents glistening in the light? Are not those our standards flying in the wind? The lances of our gallant squadrons of horse catching the sun? Below our body of archers, whose special charge it is to guard our person? Does all Spain show a company of men more gallant? Every one of them would die [Illustration: A VIEW OF GRANADA.] rather than harm come to me! Listen to the trumpet-call ringing on the heights! Hark! it is answered from the garrison within the city. Are these not more than enough to keep possession of what we have?” A long silence follows.