rs in which Don John urged him to
send money--to throw wood on the fire whilst it was alight, or else
resign himself to the loss of Flanders for all time. As it meant also
resigning himself to the loss of all hope of England for all time,
Escovedo's activities were just then increased a hundredfold.

"Send me money and Escovedo," was the burden of the almost daily letters
from Don John to me, and at my elbow was Escovedo, perpetually pressing
me to bend the King to his master's will. Another matter on which he
pressed me then was that I should obtain for himself the governorship of
the Castle of Mogro, which commands the port of Santander, an ambition
this which intrigued me deeply, for I confess I could not fathom what it
had to do with all the rest.

And then something else happened. From the Spanish Ambassador at the
Louvre we learnt one day of a secret federation entered into between Don
John and the Guises, known as the Defence of the Two Crowns. Its object
was as obscure as its title. But it afforded the last drop to the cup
of Philip's mistrust. This time it was directly against Don John that
he inveighed to me. And to defend Don John, in the interests of common
justice, I was forced to place the blame where it belonged.

"Nay, Sire," I assured him, "these ambitions are not Don John's. With
all his fevered dreams of greatness, Don John has ever been, will ever
be, loyal to his King."

"If you know anything of temptation," he answered me, "you should know
that there is a breaking-point to every man's resistance of it. How long
will Don John remain loyal while Escovedo feeds his disloyalty, adds
daily to the weight of temptation the burden of a fresh ambition? I tell
you, man, I feel safe no longer." He rose up before me, a blotch on his
sallow face, his fingers tugging nervously at the tuft of straw-coloured
beard. "I tell you some blow is about to fall unless we avert it. This
man this fellow Escovedo--must be dispatched before he can kill us."

I shrugged and affected carelessness to soothe him.

"A contemptible dreamer," I said. "Pity him, Sire. He has his uses.
To remove him would be to remove a channel through which we can always
obtain knowledge precisely of what is doing."

Again I prevailed, and there the matter hung a while. But the King was
right, his fears were well inspired. Escovedo, always impatient,
was becoming desperate under persistent frustration. I reasoned with
him--was he not still my