"I cannot go," he said; "at least, not till I have fulfilled a sacred duty which lies heavily upon me. I took up a charge. I have not fulfilled it. I cannot serve the Queen-Regent till I have laid down that which I undertook, and to the person who charged me with the mission!" The Queen stared at the bold young man, but the Prime Minister understood better. "It is his point of honour," he explained to Maria Cristina; "those of his nation cannot help it. It is in the blood and in the gloomy creed which they profess--a sour and inconvenient religion in which there is no confession." "No confession!" cried the Queen, casting up her hands in horror, "no absolution! How then can they go on living from day to day?" "Much like other people," said the Premier, smiling; "they repent, and then--repent of their repentances!" "And is this young man not a Christian?" cried the Queen. "Is he also of this dark and gloomy superstition--what was it that you called the heresy?" "I am indeed a Presbyterian," said Rollo, smiling; "at least, my father was, and I also when any one contradicts me. For the rest I am, I fear, but an indifferent Christian!" "Ah," murmured the Queen with a reflective sigh, "then even heretics may have their uses. In that case it will be easier for you to oppress--I mean to argue with and convince the holy friars of the righteous intentions of the government with regard to them!" "Well," said Mendizabal, quickly, desirous of diverting the conversation from a dangerous subject, "off with you, sirrah! Go satisfy that Calvinistic conscience of yours! But first kiss her Majesty's royal hand. Let no one spoil your beauty, and return betimes to the post which we will keep open for you!" Rollo did as he was bidden. He kissed the hand of the Queen, who was graciously pleased to give his fingers a slight pressure as hers rested a moment in his. For the handsome face and high bearing of Rollo Blair had been working their usual way with Maria Cristina. The Prime Minister, noting a slight movement of the _portiere_ curtains, bustled Rollo off lest he should lose his favour with the Power Behind the Throne. But, pausing a moment at the door, he whispered in his ear--"Have you any objection to telling me the name of the person from whom you had this commission? I promise you upon my sacred honour that you shall have no cause to repent your frankness. Neither you nor he shall suffer on account of my knowledge--no, not if it were Don Carlos himself." "His name is Don Baltasar Varela, Prior of the Abbey of Montblanch!" said Rollo, after a moment's hesitation. "I understand," said Mendizabal, with an inscrutable expression. "Nevertheless, I will keep my word." CHAPTER XLVIII A POINT OF HONOUR