Nella blushed a little and cast down her eyes, and as she raised them they met those of Alvarez, fixed on her with an expression of such passionate jealousy that her heart gave a frightened throb. How she wished that she had never teased Harry by encouraging his rival—for as such she began to recognise Alvarez; and though she scarcely realised that Harry wished her to be more to him than his old playmate, he had always been jealous of interference, and the feelings of Alvarez were unmistakable. The latter, too, was by far the best match, and Nella had a frightened conviction that her father would favour this suit whenever it was formally offered. She was glad when the queen signed to her to attend her, so that further speech was impossible.
While this little scene was passing a dance had been going forward—one of those stately and ceremonious exercises which were limited to a few couples at a time, whose graceful movements afforded a spectacle for the rest of the company.
Dom Pedro had led out Queen Leonor; and the king excusing himself on the plea of fatigue, sat down a little apart, watching the dancers with sad, unseeing eyes. Presently Enrique came up and joined him.
“I have a petition to present to you, my brother,” he said.
“What is it, then?” asked Duarte; “what is it you wish?”
“Will you give me leave to go with the envoys who offer the Moors this ransom? Who could plead as I? And at least I should see my Fernando once more.”
“I cannot refuse you,” said Duarte; “but, Enrique, my mind misgives me. I would not be too long without your counsel.”
“My counsel!” said Enrique, bitterly; “take any counsel rather than mine.”
Duarte smiled.
“Your presence, then,” he said. “But I think it is well that you should go, though I have little hope, Enrique, in my heart—”