“Not unless you let me sit upon your august knee.” [[243]]
With this she is upon his lap and with soft caresses and cooing words of love and kisses and “Papa darlings” tells him of her lover.
At which he opens his eyes and remarks: “Your Guido Amati; he was reported dead after the battle on the ice, I think.”
“Yes, but he has recovered from his wounds. Oh, it would take a great deal to kill him! Remember his march across the Drowned Lands up there. You passed the place to-day,” she points her hand.
“Yes, I recollect. That was a feat worthy of the Cid,” says Alva, who, above all, is a military tactician.
“Ah! then give me to the Cid; the Cid would be worthy even of the daughter of Alva. If Guido was worthy of the Cid he is worthy of me!” And with pleadings, coaxings and caresses Hermoine wins from this man who she thinks can refuse her naught, promise that he will grant her hand to Colonel Guido Amati de Medina.
“Now you must not go,” she pleads. “He is coming here this evening. You must see him. You must make him as happy as I am. Father, I never loved you until now.”
“Oho!—If I had refused I suppose you would have hated me.”
“I never think of hate with you; but then, you never do refuse. And as you never say me nay, you’ll stay and meet him. Give him your blessing; father, promise me as you love me, you will give Guido Amati as my promised husband, your blessing.”
“Then if I must do so, and you say I must,” mutters the Duke, a tremble on his lips and a quiver in his eyelids, “I must first ride on to Lillo and send from there a message to Sancho d’Avila.”