d silver goblets? I hope the king and queen never sat there
watching the poor wretches bound before marching off to the Zoco to die;
but I'm sure Isabel wouldn't: she was so sweet, she must often have wished
she hadn't made that awful promise to Torquemada."

"You're Catholic, yet you say that!" I exclaimed, as we stood looking at
the gorgeous shields of Los Reyes Catolicos. Dick was near, listening with
concealed eagerness for the girl's answer,--and no wonder, since he was
Protestant, and not the man to be a turncoat, even for his love.

"Oh yes, I'm Catholic," said she. "But,"--half whispering,--"Spaniards, even
the most ardent Catholics, didn't really love the Inquisition. It was
thrust on them; and--I suppose in those brutal old days it was a horrible
excitement to see the burnings. It's natural to us Latins to have
excitement; and after years of such dreadful ones as we had in those
times, do you wonder the people clamour for bull-fights?"

"Then you don't think we Protestants deserve burning?" asked Dick, staring
at the crucifix.

"How can you ask such a question?"

"But you--couldn't make a real _friend_ of one, I suppose, or--er--let
yourself care about one much?"

"I should try and convert him--or her."

"Supposing you couldn't?"

"Then, I'd have to like him--or her--in spite of all. And he--or she--would
have to leave my religion alone. But I'm tired of solemn things; and
brother Cristobal's dying to buy metal-work."

I don't think that Dick knew whether he had been encouraged or not. And he
must have remembered that the Conde de Roldan is the best and most
eligible of Catholics. Poor Dick! Perhaps he was beginning to realize how
much easier it is to advise another man to be sensible than to be sensible
yourself.

Pilar had been right in her surmises as to the workings of Carmona's mind.
When we came to the showroom of the Fabrica de Espadas, where the dusk was
shot with a thousand gleams and glitters of strange weapons, there were
those we had sought in vain till now. The Duchess, yellow with fatigue,
was resting her stout person on a bench in the long, low room, Lady
Vale-Avon beside her, looking tired and bored. But Carmona was at the
glass-covered counter, begging Monica's advice in the selection of his
purchases.

His back was towards us as we entered, and, unnoticed by him, we saw him
hold up to the light a small sharp dagger, with a handle beautifully
ornamented. He was indicating with his