At once the heavy tapestries in two of the arches, drawn up by bullion cords drape themselves in graceful festoons, showing the dining-room, in which stands a table covered with snowy linen, decorated by silver and gold plate, sparkling with Venetian glass, and made pretty by flowers. “Colonel Amati, thy arm!” murmurs Hermoine, and putting a white hand within his, the two go in together to a meal served in a luxury Guy has never seen before, even at the court of Elizabeth; for there are strangely curious implements to eat with called forks, of which he does not know the use, preferring as a polished English gentleman his fingers and a napkin. But his hostess insists on showing him how to use these Italian inventions, and teaches him how to get the instrument into his mouth without skewering his tongue, over which Guy laughs rather ruefully, crying: “I pray you, lady Hermoine, don’t make me lose more blood!” At this she grows a little pale, and looking at him mutters: “Your wounds, oh yes!—your awful wounds. Eat and grow strong for my sake.” Then her loving hands compel Guy to make a giant meal, to which he is nothing loath, as the cuisine is of the finest and the wine of the rarest Spanish vintages—the Rhine wine cooled with snow and ice—a new wrinkle in luxury to which the English sailor does the fullest justice. All this time the girl eats nothing, making her meal off Guy with her eyes. “You—you eat nothing, my Hermoine,” whispers the cavalier, becoming anxious on his side. “Oh, I’ve grown used to fasting,” she says, “you know I was preparing myself for convent life. Wouldn’t it have been horrible?” and a charming moue gives piquancy to the embrio nun. “You would have entered a convent for my sake?” “I thought so. There was a great house in Valladolid—that I was to be the Lady Abbess of—I was to dower it so grandly—” “You—a lady abbess?” “Yes. Don’t I look austere?” prattles Miss Happiness. “Perhaps, though, I would have changed my mind. I was getting tired of the prayer-book already. But now I think no more of midnight vigils—oh, Guido mio—tell me it is not a dream.” “I’ll do more—I’ll prove it!” whispers Guy, and rises from the table. He looks as if he would like to make love again. And perhaps being very willing for him to have his way in this matter, the young lady gives a signal to her two Moorish girls who have waited upon them, as Chester and Hermoine pass from the dining-room to the other apartment, the curtains fall behind them, and they are alone. “Come into the window; we’ll have moonlight later,” remarks the young lady. And somehow they find themselves side by side looking over the soft waves of the Schelde, a gentle summer breeze coming in upon them from the open casement. “Would you like music?” suggests the lady. “Your voice is enough for me.”