Thereupon Guy, following the Moorish girl, who had brought him the packet that evening at the Citadel, and who appears to be his sweetheart’s confidential servant, soon finds himself in the most luxurious chamber he has ever seen, though curiously masculine in its fittings, furniture and contents. There are arms upon the wall, men’s boots are in the dressing-room adjoining, and on the toilet table a missal beautifully bound with the castle with the three towers, a raven on each—the arms of Alva; in this is a book-mark curiously worked, and signed “Thy Hermoine.” “What masculine creature,” thinks Chester to himself, half jealously, “makes himself thus at home here?” Turning to the girl who has shown him hither, and who looks on him with curious and astonished eyes, he says: “These seem a gentleman’s quarters?” “Yes! It is the chamber of my lord his Highness of Alva, when he honors us with his presence,” answers the maid, with a low courtesy, and leaves Guy gazing about this sanctum of his enemy. “Egad!” he thinks, “Truly I’m in the Lion’s nest now.” Then looking at the luxury of the draperies and canopy of the bed he mutters: “A week ago I slept in Hasselaer’s inn, in Haarlem!” and all the horror of the famine and death of the leaguered city coming to him—his present luxury seems almost a dream. But devoting himself to business, for he is anxious for sight for his sweetheart once more as well as dinner, the young man brushes from himself all evidences of his journey, making his ablutions with softer towels than his stalwart hands have ever clutched before. Then striding down the great oak staircase into the hall below, he is ushered by the other Moorish maid into an apartment that will never leave his memory—perchance not for the impression it first made upon him, but for what afterwards took place in it. It is a lofty arched room in the right wing of the mansion, one great oriel window at its end opening right over the waters of the Schelde, through which the splash of its soft waves can be heard, for the sashes are up and awnings extend above to keep out the setting sun. On one side the wall is broken by three large arches. Heavily curtained with thickest Flemish tapestry adorned with bullion tassels, they separate this apartment from another one behind it. Opposite this, facing the garden, are pretty windows opening on a balcony, which has brilliant colored awnings over it and seats upon it. Upon a cushioned lounge within the oriel window, the sun’s setting rays tinting her dark hair, sits Hermoine. But even as he enters she is up to meet him, saying: “I’ve made no change in my toilet; I couldn’t bear to keep you waiting, you—you are so hungry!” then cries out, clapping hands: “Supper instantly.”