The close of this outpouring of the young hero’s heart sounded like a manly, irrevocable resolution; but his mother laid her hand upon his arm, and said quietly, “I will go.”

A sunny glance of gratitude from her son rested upon her; she, however, only bent her head slightly and went on as calmly as if she had found the strength to be content, but with warm affection: 

“My first sacrifice was vain.  May the second not only aid you to gain the splendour of a crown, but, above all, instil into your soul the satisfaction with that longed-for highest happiness which your mother’s heart desires for you!”

Then Don John obeyed the mighty impulse of his soul to pour forth to his mother the gratitude and love which her unselfish retirement wrung from him.  His arms clasped her closely and tenderly, and never had he rewarded even his foster-mother in Villagarcia for her love and faithfulness with a more affectionate kiss.

“My gratitude will die only with myself,” he cried as he released her.  “Blessed be the day on which I found my own mother!  It led you, dear lady, not only to your John, but to his love.”

Escovedo, moved to the depths of his heart, had listened in surprise to this outburst of feeling from the famous son of the Emperor, whom he loved, to whom he had devoted his fine intellect and wealth of experience, and for whom it was appointed that he should die.

Thus ended Don John’s meeting with his mother, which he had dreaded as an inevitable evil.  Alba, who described her as an extremely obstinate woman, had advised him to use a stratagem to induce her to yield to his wish and leave the Netherlands.  He was to represent that his sister, the Duchess Margaret, who was holding her court at Aquila, in the Abruzzi Mountains, invited her to visit her in order to make her acquaintance.  She would not resist this summons, for she had often made her way to the government building, and took special pleasure in the society of the aristocratic Spaniards.  When she was once on board a ship, she would be obliged to submit to being carried to Spain, whence her return could easily be prevented.

To set such a snare for this woman had been impossible for Don John.  Truth and love had sufficed to induce her to fulfil his wish.

Senor Escovedo had witnessed much that was noble during this hour, but especially a mother whom in the future he could remember with gratitude and joy; for Don John’s confidant knew that of all he saw and heard here not a word was false and feigned, yet he knew better than any other man his master’s heart and every look.  Barbara, too, believed her son no less confidently, and as the shout of victory reaches combatants lying on the ground, wounded by lances and arrows, the cry of a secret voice within her soul, sorely as she was stricken, great as was the sacrifice and suffering which she had imposed upon herself, called upon her to rejoice in the highest of all gifts—­the love of her child, to whom hitherto she had been only a dreaded stranger.