On this the Duke begins to plead with her to think of his gray hairs—she who is the comfort of his declining life—and finally bursts out at Guy: “This is a selfish love of yours—to take this girl who has had princess’ state to live with you, a rover of the sea.”
“But with her I have taken a mighty dower—worthy a King’s daughter; all THY UNLUCKY TENTH PENNY [[267]]TAX, my lord of Alva!” answers Chester, who can’t withhold this parting shot.
“How so? From whence?”
“From thy treasure house under the Bastion of the Duke.”
“Good God! Impossible!”
“It was the dying Paciotto’s secret!”
“I—I can’t believe,” falters Fernando, pale, trembling, broken.
“Believe by this! The statue moved its hand!” jeers Chester.
“And Roderigo, my watcher, died six days ago! It is fate—fortune has turned her face from me,” moans he of Alva, and bows his head upon his breast, as if hope had left him.
From this picture of despair Guy leads his bride away; but chancing at the door to turn back for one last glance at her father who is now alone, Hermoine begins to shudder and sob even in her husband’s arms.