“Yes,” he whispers, “Were you the Queen of Spain, I’d love you.” “Then you could not win me!” “But as, thank God, you are Hermoine de Alva,” answers Guy sturdily, “I will win you and wear you, daughter of the Viceroy though you be, for my beloved wife. You hear the term!”—for she gives sudden start at this new title. “Wife! And every time you say to me, ‘I am the daughter of Alva,’ or ‘Beware the Captain General of the Netherlands!’ your lips that do the deed shall pay the price, two for each word.” “Madre Mia! How impulsive you are,” cries the girl panting and struggling under the penalty exacted. For Guy Stanhope Chester is half mad with love and rapture, and though he respects this captive of his masculine bow and spear, still he woos her in a free and easy sailor manner which enthralls but astounds this daughter of the Viceroy. “Holy Virgin! you—you are so—so different.” “From whom?” cries Guy in jealous tones. “From—from the other suitors, who come bowing to the earth, mincing compliments and fawning for the honor of my hand.” “And they have dared?” snarls this gallant, who now regards all this brunette loveliness, these drooping, melting eyes, these lily and rose tinted cheeks, these ivory shoulders, this exquisite form, half girl’s, half woman’s—in short Hermoine de Alva—as his very own. “Dared!” pouts the young lady; then laughs, “Why not? Am I so very ugly?” “No, no! too beautiful.” “Then why should not grandees of Spain and generals in the army and Hidalgos of twenty-four quarterings aspire in humble tones and modest manner for an honor you take, my audacious Guido, as if heaven had given you title to me, the daughter of a Viceroy!” “And so it has, and love likewise, thy love,” and Guy has her in his arms again, murmuring: “You spoke the words ‘the daughter of a Viceroy!’ Beware the penalty.” “Take it, tyrant,” whispers the girl, and with this name that women love to give to those whose domination commands their love, she puts her soul upon her lips and gives it to him. And this game might go on indefinitely, the two seeming to like to play it very well, did not the sound of Oliver’s rapid footsteps announce his coming from the banqueting room. He steps to them, and bowing before the young lady says: “Doña de Alva, I have the honor, as your father’s herald, to announce his coming!” “Papa! Here!” and with these words the girl is up. “Yes, the Duke’s cavalcade is already in the Shoemarket, doubtless he is in search of you. I will tell the Countess de Pariza.” As Oliver on his errand closes the door Guy knows his time is very short, for Hermoine is dallying with her furs and whispering: “Away from your garrison without leave, papa had better not see you. I will meet him in the street.”