“I shall let Jussuf have her,” thought Zarah; “they are not so pretty and amusing as they grow older. Ayesha is only fourteen.”
In the meantime Harry Hartsed left Fez in company with Paolo, and before many weeks were over found himself on the stormy promontory of Sagres, telling his tale to Dom Enrique himself.
There Enrique had retired, and amid plans for navigation, observations of the heavens, and constant efforts to improve the mathematical instruments with which they were carried out, endeavoured to forget the distracting disputes between Dom Pedro’s party and that of the queen. Nevertheless he was never deaf to the call of duty, and succeeded on the whole in keeping unimpaired both his brotherly love and his loyalty to his young nephew, through all the petty spite and false accusation of that miserable time.
He listened with great attention to Harry’s story, and then said—
“I think, Master Hartsed, that in the soreness of our hearts we neglected to inquire sufficiently into the vague story that so angered you. But it is ended; for a wretched soldier not long since made confession that he, and he only, was aware of the traitor’s intention on that fatal night, and being sentry, permitted him to pass the outpost. But I will come with you to Sir Walter Northberry and confirm this tale.”
“I thank you, my lord. Dom Alvarez is doubtless—is doubtless—”
“Dom Alvarez and Sir Walter are no longer friends, since Dom Alvarez, with his family, has joined the party of the queen. Sir Walter is one of those who wish for my brother’s regency. His betrothal therefore is at an end.”
“Oh, my lord, I never hoped—I never dreamed of hearing this,” cried Harry so ecstatically, that a smile broke over the prince’s grave face.
“Well, Master Hartsed, you shall come with me to Lisbon. I offer you again a place in my household, and doubtless Sir Walter will understand how matters have sped, especially when you bring him such good news.”
“My lord, I can never thank you.”