Part 11 (1/2)

And then (I know not how nor why) A subtle flame in the lady's eye-- Unseen by the courtiers standing by--

Burned through his lace and t.i.tled wreath, Burned through his body's jeweled sheath, Till it touched the steel of the man beneath!

(And yet, mayhap, no more was meant Than to point a well-worn compliment, And the lady's beauty, her worst intent.)

Howbeit, the Marquis bowed again: ”Who rules with awe well serveth Spain, But best whose law is love made plain.”

Be sure that night no pillow prest The seneschal, but with the rest Watched, as was due a royal guest,--

Watched from the wall till he saw the square Fill with the moonlight, white and bare,-- Watched till he saw two shadows fare

Out from his garden, where the shade That the old church tower and belfry made Like a benedictory hand was laid.

Few words spoke the seneschal as he turned To his nearest sentry: ”These monks have learned That stolen fruit is sweetly earned.

”Myself shall punish yon acolyte Who gathers my garden grapes by night; Meanwhile, wait thou till the morning light.”

Yet not till the sun was riding high Did the sentry meet his commander's eye, Nor then till the Viceroy stood by.

To the lovers of grave formalities No greeting was ever so fine, I wis, As this host's and guest's high courtesies!

The seneschal feared, as the wind was west, A blast from Morena had chilled his rest; The Viceroy languidly confest

That cares of state, and--he dared to say-- Some fears that the King could not repay The thoughtful zeal of his host, some way

Had marred his rest. Yet he trusted much None shared his wakefulness; though such Indeed might be! If he dared to touch

A theme so fine--the bride, perchance, Still slept! At least, they missed her glance To give this greeting countenance.

Be sure that the seneschal, in turn, Was deeply bowed with the grave concern Of the painful news his guest should learn:

”Last night, to her father's dying bed By a priest was the lady summoned; Nor know we yet how well she sped,

”But hope for the best.” The grave Viceroy (Though grieved his visit had such alloy) Must still wish the seneschal great joy

Of a bride so true to her filial trust!

Yet now, as the day waxed on, they must To horse, if they'd 'scape the noonday dust.

”Nay,” said the seneschal, ”at least, To mend the news of this funeral priest, Myself shall ride as your escort east.”

The Viceroy bowed. Then turned aside To his nearest follower: ”With me ride-- You and Felipe--on either side.

”And list! Should anything me befall, Mischance of ambush or musket-ball, Cleave to his saddle yon seneschal!

”No more.” Then gravely in accents clear Took formal leave of his late good cheer; Whiles the seneschal whispered a musketeer,

Carelessly stroking his pommel top: ”If from the saddle ye see me drop, Riddle me quickly yon solemn fop!”

So these, with many a compliment, Each on his own dark thought intent, With grave politeness onward went,