In terror at this picture the Burgomaster runs away, while Guy, chewing his mustache, knows he has shortened an interview he would prolong though life and death are on its very brevity. He turns and takes a look at Hermoine de Alva. She has her back to him, and in graceful pose and with twistings of lithe limbs is striving, without the loosening of bodice or stomacher, to clutch something that eludes her—some article she must treasure as it lies close to her beating heart. As Guy closes the door she gives a little cry of success, and a moment after is in his arms again, murmuring: “That poor Bodé Volcker will be here in a moment, then you must go. Ay de mi! the time is very short. But I have this, now, upon my hand by which to remember you.” With rapture Guy sees again his brilliant upon the delicate finger of his love. “Whatever they tell you,” he whispers, “swear to remember me by it as thy true knight.” “Yes,” says the girl, “if it is whispered to me that you are untrue, I shall whisper to myself, ‘It is a lie.’ If they say you are a drunkard, as that old idiot Bodé Volcker told me,” she flashes indignant eyes against the door where the Burgomaster has made his exit, “I shall say, ‘My Guido proved it a lie once, it is a lie again.’ But,” her tone is piteous now, “you’ll come back to me. I know you must go to your command. There is but one place when war is raging against the flag of Spain for the affianced of Alva’s daughter, and that is where the battle flags are waving! There you may win rank high enough and glory great enough to claim my hand.” “Don’t doubt me, I’ll be where the fighting is,” mutters Chester grimly, “and it’ll be you I fight for, though perhaps Alva will not appreciate my efforts.” “My father always rewards bravery and conduct, remember that, Major Guido Amati de Medina—bravery and conduct. You may have the courage of a Paladin, but it will not give you promotion without brains. You have plenty of both, I think,” she laughs, smoothing away the curls from Guy’s determined forehead, then cries excitedly: “Why, you have the head of a chess player!” “Yes, the game in which the knight takes the queen,” whispers Guy. “Then he must be very gallant and tender and discreet to the captured lady,” cries the girl, blushing, though there is languor in her drooping eyes. For the knight at his word has taken possession of the queen of his soul in a mad, delirious kind of way, as into his mind for one brief second has come the thought of carrying her off instanter by some wild coup. A moment’s consideration shows Guy that now he has no time to press his suit or make arrangements to that effect, or even to persuade Hermoine, for he would not take her unwillingly or bring discredit on the name of her he honors most upon this earth, and the Burgomaster is now rapping at the door. “Remember—”