nd sighed.

"There is but one remedy, lest worse follow and all be ruined. Don
Sebastian must go."

"Go?" Fear robbed her of breath. "Go where?"

"Away from Madrigal--anywhere--and at once; tomorrow at latest." And
then, seeing the look of horror in her face, "What else, what else?"
he added, impatiently. "This meddlesome provincial may be stirring up
trouble already."

She fought down her emotion. "I... I shall see him before he goes?" she
begged.

"I don't know. It may not be wise. I must consider." He flung away in
deepest perturbation, leaving her with a sense that life was slipping
from her.

That late September evening, as she sat stricken in her room, hoping
against hope for at least another glimpse of him, Dona Maria de Grado
brought word that Espinosa was even then in the convent in Frey Miguel's
cell. Fearful lest he should be smuggled thence without her seeing
him, And careless of the impropriety of the hour--it was already eight
o'clock and dusk was falling--she at once dispatched Roderos to the
friar, bidding him bring Espinosa to her in the parlour.

The friar obeyed, and the lovers--they were no less by now--came face to
face in anguish.

"My lord, my lord," she cried, casting all prudence to the winds, "what
is decided?"

"That I leave in the morning," he answered.

"To go where?" She was distraught.

"Where?" He shrugged. "To Valladolid at first, and then... where God
pleases."

"And when shall I see you again?"

"When... when God pleases."

"Oh, I am terrified... if I should lose you... if I should never see you
more!" She was panting, distraught.

"Nay, lady, nay," he answered. "I shall come for you when the time is
ripe. I shall return by All Saints, or by Christmas at the latest, and I
shall bring with me one who will avouch me."

"What need any to avouch you to me?" she protested, on a note of
fierceness. "We belong to each other, you and I. But you are free to
roam the world, and I am caged here and helpless..."

"Ah, but I shall free you soon, and we'll go hence together. See."
He stepped to the table. There was an ink-horn, a box of pounce, some
quills, and a sheaf of paper there. He took up a quill, and wrote with
labour, for princes are notoriously poor scholars:

"I, Don Sebastian, by the Grace of God King of Portugal, take to wife
the most serene Dona ulna of Austria, daughter of the most serene
Prince, Don John of Austria, by virtue of the dispensation which I hold