e adjutant's desk. "He arrives very opportunely," he said.

"So opportunely as to be suspicious, bedad!" said O'Moy. He had
brightened suddenly, his Irish blood quickening at the immediate
prospect of strife which this visit boded. "May the devil admire me, but
there's a warm morning in store for Mr. Forjas, Ned."

"Shall I leave you?"

"By no means."

The door opened, and the orderly admitted Miguel Forjas, the Portuguese
Secretary of State. He was a slight, dapper gentleman, all in black,
from his silk stockings and steel-buckled shoes to his satin stock.
His keen aquiline face was swarthy, and the razor had left his chin and
cheeks blue-black. His sleek hair was iron-grey. A portentous gravity
invested him this morning as he bowed with profound deference first to
the adjutant and then to the secretary.

"Your Excellencies," he said--he spoke an English that was smooth and
fluent for all its foreign accent "Your Excellencies, this is a terrible
affair."

"To what affair will your Excellency be alluding?" wondered O'Moy.

"Have you not received news of what has happened at Tavora? Of the
violation of a convent by a party of British soldiers? Of the fight that
took place between these soldiers and the peasants who went to succour
the nuns?"

"Oh, and is that all?" said O'Moy. "For a moment I imagined your
Excellency referred to other matters. I have news of more terrible
affairs than the convent business with which to entertain you this
morning."

"That, if you will pardon me, Sir Terence, is quite impossible."

"You may think so. But you shall judge, bedad. A chair, Dom Miguel."

The Secretary of State sat down, crossed his knees and placed his hat in
his lap. The other two resumed their seats, O'Moy leaning forward, his
elbows on the writing-table, immediately facing Senhor Forjas.

"First, however," he said, "to deal with this affair of Tavora. The
Council of Regency will, no doubt, have been informed of all the
circumstances. You will be aware, therefore, that this very deplorable
business was the result of a misapprehension, and that the nuns of
Tavora might very well have avoided all this trouble had they behaved in
a sensible, reasonable manner. If instead of shutting themselves up in
the chapel and ringing the alarm bell the Mother-Abbess or one of the
sisters had gone to the wicket and answered the demand of admittance
from the officer commanding the detachment, he would instantly have
realised h