on her hand and her
eyes lowered. Silence held save for the fountain plashing. Don Enrique
stood by the railing, and Jayme de Marchena felt his concern. But he
himself walked just then--Don Jayme or Juan Lepe--into long patience,
into greater steadfastness. Into the inner fields came translucence,
gold light; came and faded, but left strength.

Dona Beatrix raised her eyes and let them dwell upon me. "Spain breeds
bold knights," she said, "but not so many after all who are bold within!
Not so many, I think, as are found in Italy or in France." She paused a
moment, looking at the sky above the roofs, then came back to me. "It is
hopeless, and you must see it, to talk in those terms to the only powers
that can lead the Holy Office to forget that you live! It is hopeless
to talk to the Queen, telling her that. She would hold that she had
entertained heresy, and her imagination would not let her alone. I see
naught in this world for you to do but to go out of it into another!
There are other lands--"

A damsel hurried to her from the door. "There's a stir below, Madam!
Something has brought the Queen home earlier than we thought--"

The Marchioness de Moya rose. Don Enrique kissed her hand, and Jayme de
Marchena kissed it and thanked her. "I would help if I could!" she said.
"But in Spain to-day it is deadly dangerous to talk or write as though
there were freedom!"

She passed from the gallery, Don Enrique and I following. We came upon
a landing with a great stair before us. Quick as had been her maidens,
they were not quick enough. Many folk were coming up the broad steps.
Dona Beatrix glanced, then opened a door giving into a great room,
apparently empty. She pointed to an opposite door. "The little stair!
Go that way!" Don Enrique nodded comprehension. We were in the room; the
door closed.

At first it seemed an empty great chamber. Then from behind a square of
stretched cloth came a man's head, followed by the figure pertaining to
it. The full man was clad after a rich fancy and he held in his hand a
brush and looked at us at first dreamily and then with keenness.

He knew me, differently arrayed though I was, and looked from me to Don
Enrique. "Master Manuel Rodriguez," said the latter, "I would stop for
good talk and to admire the Queen's likeness, but duty calls me out of
palace! Adios!" He made toward the door across from that by which we had
entered. The painter spoke after us. "That door is bolted, Don Enri