und 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 horror
the news had inspired: "Antwerp attacked by his Majesty's rebellious
troops, those in Alst, headed by their Eletto--burned to ashes,
plundered, destroyed!"

With a hasty snatch Don John seized the parchment announcing the
misfortune, and read it, panting for breath.

The Council of Antwerp had addressed it to King Philip, and sent a copy
to him, the newly appointed governor.

When he let the hand which held the paper fall, he was deadly pale, and
gazed around him as though seeking assistance.

Then his eyes met those of his mother who, seized with anxious fears, was
watching his every movement, and he handed her the fatal sheet, with the
half-sorrowful, half-disdainful exclamation:

"And I am to lead this abused people back to love the man who sent them
the Duke of Alba, that he might heal their wounds with his pitiless iron
hand, and who let the poor, brave fellows in his service starve and go in
rags until, in fierce despair, they seized for themselves what their
employer denied."

The sheet Barbara's son had handed to her trembled in her hand a