The pale face of the youth had turned yellow in the twilight. His dark, shifty eyes refused to meet his master’s insistent gaze. His thin hand drummed nervously on the dry, rattling parchment in front of him as he said, with an attempt at candor which did not ring true:
“I believe, señor, that it would be well for Doña Julia, and for you, to leave Seville for a time. She mourns Don Josef—does she not? And you, Don Rodrigo, have won a triumph in diplomacy that frees you for a while from public life. The voyage now is not so fraught with danger as of old, nor is there peril when you reach New Spain. More than one fair lady of Seville has been across and back for love of Mother Church. And, as I said, the marvels of the sea might serve to turn your daughter’s mind from thoughts of her betrothed.”
Don Rodrigo gazed earnestly at the eager face of his secretary.
“You believe, then, Juan, that Doña Julia’s heart was broken when Don Josef fell, run through by the Frenchman’s sword? You think she loved him?”
“Nay, señor, such thoughts are not for me,” answered Juan, in a voice that resembled the purring of a cat. “But this I see—that since you returned from France her eyes are heavy and her cheeks are pale. The songs she used to sing we hear no more. She’s fading like a flower which craves the sun. Give her, señor, new aims, new scenes, the splendors of the sea, the marvels of New Spain, and once again her eyes and smile will be as sunny as they were of old.”
“You’re wise beyond your years, young man,” remarked the old diplomat, playfully. “Mayhap, my Juan, you know a charm to make me young again. Or perhaps you can find the island of Bimini and the fountain of eternal youth which bold de Leon sought. But, hark, I hear her step! We’ll lay the venture, in all its bare simplicity, before her, and do as she decides.”
As Don Rodrigo ceased speaking there entered the library a dark-haired, large-eyed, graceful girl, who glided from the shadows of the twilight toward the centre of the room, and stood motionless at the lower end of the long table. A belated sunbeam, stealing through the distant window, caressed her face for a moment, upon which a sad smile rested as her eyes met her father’s.
“You disobey his Majesty’s behest, Don Rodrigo de Aquilar!” she exclaimed, playfully, pointing toward the books and maps before her. “Did not the King command you to take a well-earned rest, my father?”
“But his Majesty has never ordered me to sit here and die,” remarked Don Rodrigo, emphatically. “Be seated, Julia. You come to us at a most opportune moment. For my services in France his Majesty has granted me fair lands across the sea. Mines rich in silver belong to me by virtue of this seal. The question is, my daughter, will you go with me to view my province in New Spain?”
Juan Rodriquez, who had arisen upon Doña Julia’s entrance, stood watching the girl with stealthy eyes, in which there gleamed a light not there before. There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Julia, looking Don Rodrigo fearlessly in the face, said: