thin his domain. A world was in dying agony, another world was
coming, full-armed, into existence within the hand-breadth of time and of
space where he played his little part, but he dreamed not of it. He
passed away like a shadow, and was soon forgotten.

An effort was made, during the last illness of Ernest, to procure from
him the appointment of the elector of Cologne as temporary successor to
the government, but Count Fuentes was on the spot and was a man of
action. He produced a power in the French language from Philip, with a
blank for the name. This had been intended for the case of Peter Ernest
Mansfeld's possible death during his provisional administration, and
Fuentes now claimed the right of inserting his own name.

The dying Ernest consented, and upon his death Fuentes was declared
governor-general until the king's further pleasure should be known.

Pedro de Guzman, Count of Fuentes, a Spaniard of the hard and antique
type, was now in his sixty-fourth year. The pupil and near relative of
the Duke of Alva, he was already as odious to the Netherlanders as might
have been inferred from such education and such kin. A dark, grizzled,
baldish man, with high steep forehead, long, haggard, leathern visage,
sweeping beard, and large, stern, commanding, menacing eyes, with his
Brussels ruff of point lace and his Milan coat of proof, he was in
personal appearance not unlike the terrible duke whom men never named
without a shudder, although a quarter of a century had passed since he
had ceased to curse the Netherlands with his presence. Elizabeth of
England was accustomed to sneer at Fuentes because he had retreated
before Essex in that daring commander's famous foray into Portugal. The
queen called the Spanish general a timid old woman. If her gibe were
true, it was fortunate for her, for Henry of France, and for the
republic, that there were not many more such old women to come from Spain
to take the place of the veteran chieftains who were destined to
disappear so rapidly during this year in Flanders. He was a soldier of
fortune, loved fighting, not only for the fighting's sake, but for the
prize-money which was to be accumulated by campaigning, and he was wont
to say that he meant to enter Paradise sword in hand.

Meantime his appointment excited the wrath of the provincial magnates.
The Duke of Arschot was beside himself with frenzy, and swore that he
would never serve under Fuentes nor sit at his council-board.