eigneur, he speedily undid the iron belt which had not yet
had time to eat into the flesh. The Abbe John was commanded to go on
shore. During his short time aboard he had made himself a favourite. The
Turk, Ben Hamal, hugged him to his hairy chest and stammered a blessing
in the name of the Prophet. Others here and there wished him good speed,
and looked wistfully at him, even though after John had departed they
shook their heads, and with quick upward motions of their thumbs
imitated the darting flames of the bi-weekly _auto de fe_.

They understood why he was sent for--and envied him.

Only Francis Agnew the Scot said no word, bade no adieu, wished no wish,
gazing steadily at a post on the shore, which to his distorted
imagination took on the shape of a woman dressed in white waiting for
John d'Albret.

Had he only thought, he would have known that to be impossible. But he
did not think--except of Claire, his daughter. And--as he had said--he
had begun to love the lad. So much the worse for him and for all.

* * * * *

It was not upon the shore, but high in the city that the Abbe John found
Valentine la Nina. She awaited him in that secular annex to the palace
of the Archbishop which the great Teres Doria now occupied as Viceroy of
Catalonia. The Archbishop-Governor had put his private cabinet at her
service. One does not say no to the daughters of reigning sovereigns,
when one has served both father and grandfather.

Doria had ordered his valet, a layman with mere servitor's vows to give
him a standing, to assist John d'Albret in his toilet. So before long
the Abbe John found himself in a suit of black velvet, severe and
unbroidered, which fitted him better than it could ever have done the
stouter Don Jacques Casas, for whom it had been made. A sword hung at
his side--a feeble blade and blunt, as John d'Albret ascertained as soon
as he was left a moment alone, but sheathed in a scabbard of price. He
sat still and let the good valet perfume and lave, and comb out his
love-locks, without thinking much of what was coming. His mind was
benumbed and curiously oppressed. Fate planned above his head, shadowy
but unseen. And somehow he was afraid--he knew not why.

Finally all was done. Even Jacques Casas was satisfied, and smiled. The
galley-slave had become a man again.

The cabinet of the Cardinal-Viceroy of Catalonia looked over the city
wall, very nearly at its highest seaward angl