to win love and gratitude in the Netherlands. His
royal brother left him in the lurch where he was entitled to depend upon
his assistance. But when Philip let the mask fall and showed openly how
deeply he distrusted the glorious son of his dead father, and to what
a degree his ill will had risen--when he committed the cruel crime of
having Escovedo, the devoted, loyal friend and counsellor of the victor
of Lepanto, assassinated in Madrid, where he had come to labour in his
master's cause--the most ambitious and sensitive of hearts received the
deathblow which was to put an end to his famous career and his young
life.

Scarcely two years after Barbara's meeting with Don John, the Emperor
Charles's hero son died. Even in the Netherlands he had remained to the
last victor on the battlefield. Alessandro Farnese, his dearest friend,
his companion in youth, in study, and in war, had valiantly supported
him with his good sword; but his faithful friendship had been unable to
heal the sufferings which wore out Don John's strong body and brave soul
when, to the severest political failures, was added the bloody treachery
of his royal brother.

The death of this son doubtless first taught Barbara with what cruel
anguish a mother's heart can be visited; but her John had not really
died to her. Accustomed to love him from a distance, she continued to
live in and with him, and in her thoughts and dreams he remained her
own.

At first, without leaving the lay condition, she had joined the
Dominican Sisters in the Convent of Santa Maria la Real at Cebrian; but
even the slight constraint which life behind stone walls imposed upon
her still seemed unendurable, so she retired to the little city of
Colindres, in the district of Loredo. There stood the deserted house
of Escovedo, the murdered friend and counsellor of her John and, as
everything under its roof reminded her of the beloved dead, it seemed
the most fitting spot in which to pass the remnant of her days. In it
she led an independent but quiet, secluded life. She spent only a few
maravedis for her own wants, while she used the thousands of ducats
which, after her son's death, King Philip awarded her as an annual
income, to make life easier for the poor and the sick whom she
affectionately sought out.

With every tear she dried she believed that she was showing the best
honour to her son's memory.

She was denied the pleasure of placing a flower upon his grave, for King
Phili