“The Escurial,” he muttered. “Philip, remembering Lepanto might give me that–if not, then Our Lady of Montserrat–but I am not dying,” he added. “My life is not finished–you must see that–my life is–not–finished.”
An extraordinary feeling of peace came over him; he wondered at it and closed his eyes; he again saw the blue Sicilian seas encompassing him and heard their lapping waves in his ears.
“I will sleep now,” he thought, “and when I wake I will plan a victory–life is so long and I am so young—”
He smiled, for all the agony had ceased, and he was no longer conscious of his body; his head sank to one side so that his face was turned towards the wall.…
Francisco Orantes rose from his knees.
“He died very gently,” he said; “his soul passed as lightly as a bird to the bough.”
Farnese made the sign of the cross, and his figure dilated with pride, ambition and power; he went to the armour in the corner and picked up the dead man’s bâton of command.
Philip buried his brother in the Escurial near the great Emperor who was their father.