“Humph! when this gentleman arrives, bring him to me.” And going from the apartment Alva gives some pertinent directions to the lieutenant in command of his escort.
Then he returns to the dining-room, and, as it is nearly eight o clock—has supper served to him.
To minister to his wants comes running in his daughter, her face as radiant as a sunbeam. She who had been before to him as the lily is now blushing as a rose.
As he sits down there is a very curious expression in [[248]]my lord of Alva’s face, and as he drinks there is a lump in his throat that nearly chokes him, though he is abstemious this evening, his daughter notes, as she serves papa with loving hands.
“You—you do not grieve at losing me?” she whispers, a ripple of concern running over her face.
“No, it—it isn’t that.” His face has an expression Hermoine cannot understand.
“By the by,” she says, “adored papa, another promise.”
“What?”
“Take off that reward for the Englishman’s head. You remember I told you he saved my Guido’s life.”
“After to-morrow; then it may not be needed,” mutters His Highness, though his eyes do not meet the girl’s; he keeps them on his wine cup.