hat I thought white, was black, the radiant daylight
was dusk and the darkness of night. Oh, if it were really granted me
Yet, child, you certainly do not know what you are asking. So, before it
comes to the final decision, let me put this one more question: Do you
believe, really and firmly, that if the confidence of the States-General
permits you to take your army by sea, and you lead it in England and
succeed in winning the crown and hand of this--whether she is guilty
or not--beautiful, devout, and, whatever errors she has committed,
desirable Queen, that the troubles which it is so hard for your
ambitious soul to bear will then vanish? When you have won the woman
for whom you yearn, the throne, and the sceptre, will your sore heart
be healed and happiness make its joyous entry, and also remain in your
soul, that is so hard to satisfy? For--I see and feel it--it is carried
away by the 'More, farther,' of your father. Can you, my John, have you
really the firm conviction that, if this lofty desire is fulfilled, you
will be content and believe that you have found the summit and the limit
of your feverish struggle upward and forward?"

"Yes, and again yes," cried Don John in a tone of immovably firm belief,
while his large eyes beamed upon his mother with an expression of full
and genuine trust. "The vainglory which your first sacrifice brought me
was the source of this life full of bitter disappointment. The hand of
Mary Stuart, the lovely martyr, the woman so lavishly endowed with every
mental and physical gift, for whom my heart has yearned ever since I saw
her picture, and the crown of England, the symbol of genuine majesty,
will transform disappointment into the fulfilment which Heaven has
hitherto denied me. If these both fall to the lot of the son, the
mother's sacrifice will not have been in vain; no, it will bring him
golden fruit, for the success of this enterprise will bestow upon your
John, besides the fleeting radiance, the sun whence the light emanates.
It will raise him to the height to which he aspires, and for which Fate
destined him."

Here he hesitated, for the agitated face of Escovedo, who entered with a
despatch in his hand, showed that something unexpected and startling had
occurred.

The secretary, Don John's friend and counsellor, did not allow himself
to be intimidated by the angry gesture with which his master waved him
back, but handed him the paper, exclaiming in a tone ringing with
the