“By that of my brother, Don Pedro. He called him to the Alcazar, and smote him in the Hall of the Ambassadors at Seville.” Exhausted by the long ride from Talavera, the vigil in the cathedral, and the agitation of meeting with Don Enrique, this cruel blow was too much. Ere he had spoken Blanche fell into a swoon so death-like that as Claire knelt before her under the glare of the torches, she asked herself if life would ever return? Great was the compassion of Don Enrique as he looked down on her fair young face. “Let the nearest leech be summoned instantly,” he commands, turning to an attendant. “Meanwhile, ask the good fathers if they have no strong waters to sprinkle on the queen, or no relics at hand which, by their virtue, will bring the dead to life. Even I, a soldier, have heard in camp of the virtue of Santa Leocadia, whose bones lie in the Sacristy. Let every means be tried. Madam,” turning to Claire, vainly trying by every art to revive her mistress, “my royal sister is happy indeed to possess such a friend; I will myself remain and assist you.” The strong waters brought by the priests effected no immediate cure. No relics were forthcoming. It was not deemed meet that Santa Leocadia should be removed from her consecrated shrine at the command of a newly-made king, not sure of [Illustration: A WINDOW IN THE ALHAMBRA.] his title. For, be it noted, the appearance of the Pretender, Enrique de Trastamare, in the cathedral, and his determination to carry away the Lady Blanche was most unwelcome to the chapter, who were thus deprived of their sanctuary dues, the actually reigning sovereign alone having the privilege of recompensing them. At length a leech arrives in the person of an aged Jew well-known in her city at the beginning and end of life. Quickly he opens a vein, and as, drop by drop, the blood flows over the delicate skin, her eyes open, and again she breathes. No sooner has consciousness returned to the queen than it is Claire’s turn to give way. Tottering backwards she seems about to fall. But the brave girl, ever faithful to her charge, forces herself to overcome the passing weakness and tend her mistress, on whose pale cheeks a faint tinge of colour has stolen. “Dear Blanche, hear me!” cries Claire, passionately seizing her hand and carrying the cold fingers to her lips. “On my knees I conjure you to live, for yourself, for me! For France, our pleasant land, where we shall return. Rouse yourself, Blanche. Sit up,” and she essays to raise her in her arms, while Enrique, with looks of the tenderest pity, assists her. At length, more dead than alive, she is placed on a litter bearing the device of “the Castle” (the same as was used by the pious Queen Berengaria when she came to Mass), and is carried from the cathedral up the hill to the square of the Zocodover, on her way to the Alcazar. CHAPTER XV Taking of Toledo by Don Pedro--Death of Queen Blanche