To minister to his wants comes running in his daughter, her face as radiant as a sunbeam. She who had been before to him as the lily is now blushing as a rose. As he sits down there is a very curious expression in my lord of Alva’s face, and as he drinks there is a lump in his throat that nearly chokes him, though he is abstemious this evening, his daughter notes, as she serves papa with loving hands. “You—you do not grieve at losing me?” she whispers, a ripple of concern running over her face. “No, it—it isn’t that.” His face has an expression Hermoine cannot understand. “By the by,” she says, “adored papa, another promise.” “What?” “Take off that reward for the Englishman’s head. You remember I told you he saved my Guido’s life.” “After to-morrow; then it may not be needed,” mutters His Highness, though his eyes do not meet the girl’s; he keeps them on his wine cup. “Thanks, dear papa,” answers the young lady. Then suddenly she says: “But I must go.” “Why?” “To make toilet for my coming husband.” “Humph!” “I shall be dressed as a bride.” “You love this man so very much, my Hermoine?” There is a sob in the father’s voice. “With my whole heart,” she answers; then suddenly cries: “Perhaps I shall have another surprise for you to-night, if you’ll grant it, but then papa you grant me everything!—you dear old papa who will make your daughter’s happiness so very great this night.” With this she puts tender kiss upon his brow and runs away, leaving her father wondering to himself whether he has guessed right or not. But all the same there are tears in his eyes that never shed them; and once or twice when he hears his daughter’s voice from neighboring apartment giving orders as to her toilet and other preparations for the reception of the man she loves, his face has a horrified expression on it. Then a minute after a gleam comes into the serpent’s eyes, and his long hands clench themselves together as if seizing some enemy long sought for and difficult to grasp, but very pleasant to his grip and talons, and he mutters to himself: “If it is he who stole my gold for that Jezebel Elizabeth; if it is he by whose advice the Gueux were ordered out of England with no food, no water, but only cannon balls and powder to stir up rebellion in this land, I’d sooner have him than even William the Silent!” CHAPTER XXII. “OHO! THE FOX AT LAST!” All this day during which his sweetheart has been obtaining papa’s consent, Chester has worked like a beaver laying in winter store. The seamen under Bodé Volcker’s direction have got out all the silver, some of which is in ingots, the rest in Spanish dollars, into the cellar, and by the very earliest sunrise at the opening of the city gates, the first load comes into the hold of the Esperanza, for this is more bulky, though not nearly as valuable, as the gold.