man's appearance was anything but
prepossessing, and on his entrance the nobles, as if animated with one
thought, shrank back with contempt and loathing, as if some unclean
animal had entered into their midst. His massive, herculean figure was
clad in a doublet of black leather, and his face, in which could be seen
no trace of intelligence, expressed, on the contrary, nothing but
vileness and villainy; a great scar, running right across his face and
losing itself in a bushy beard, added still further to the natural
brutality of his countenance.

An electric thrill ran through the assembly. The new comer was Fernando
Calavar, high executioner of Spain.

"Is he dead?" asked the King, in an imperious tone.

"No, sire," replied Calavar, bowing low.

The King frowned.

"Great Sovereign of Spain," Calavar continued, "the prisoner has claimed
his privileges, and I cannot take proceedings against a man whose blood
belongs to the noblest in Spain, without having a more imperative order
from your Majesty," and he bowed again.

The nobles, who had listened with great attention to these words, broke
into a murmur of approbation as the man finished speaking. The proud
Castilian blood rushed like a stream of lava through their veins, and
dyed their faces crimson. The manifestation became general. Young Alonza
D'Ossuna openly asserted his opinion by putting on his plumed cap. His
bold example was followed by the majority of the nobles, and their lofty
nodding crests seemed to proclaim with defiance that their masters
protested in favour of the privilege, which the hidalgos of Spain have
always enjoyed, of covering their heads before their Sovereign.

The King gave a furious start, and striking his fist violently upon the
chess-board, scattered the chessmen in all directions.

"He has been judged by our Royal Court of Justice," he cried, "and
condemned to death. What does the traitor demand?"

"Sire!" replied the executioner, "he asks permission to die upon the
block, and also to pass the three last hours of his life with a priest."

"Ah, that is granted!" replied Philip, in a tone of relief. "Is not our
confessor in the prison according to our orders?"

"Yes, sire!" said Calavar, "the holy man is there; but the Duke refuses
to see St. Diaz de Silva. He says he cannot receive absolution from
anyone below the dignity of a Bishop. Such is the privilege of a noble
condemned to death for high treason."

"Yes, these are our ri