His pride again, I thought, for after all, this child is his.

A new relationship had sprung up between us.

He told me now and then what was happening at home, always with a biased flavor which I learned to ignore. Our suppers were an escape from the company of Honey and Jennet. Not that I sought to avoid that. Honey’s serenity, Jennet’s delight in her situation were a continual solace to me. Carlos had taken to them too. Jennet adored him. He was only second to her own Jacko; and indeed the two boys were growing more alike every day. It made me laugh for the very incongruity of it. Two sons of Jake Pennlyon were here with us and he did not know of their existence.

Don Felipe clearly had an immense interest in England, and so it seemed had others in Spain, for it was through Spain and the visitors who called at the Hacienda from that land that he received his information.

He was chagrined to admit that events had not turned out as he had prophesied. He had believed that the end of Elizabeth’s reign was in sight when the wife of Robert Dudley, the man on whom she had set her heart, was found dead at the bottom of a staircase. But Elizabeth had come through that affair with an unquestionable ease. There might have been rumors, but nothing was proved against her, and there was no marriage with Dudley.

“She is cleverer than so many of us thought,” ruminated Don Felipe as we sat at the table together. “To have taken Dudley as her husband could only have been done at the cost of her crown and she knew it. She has made her decision clear. Dudley is not worth a crown.”

“So you admire her cleverness?”

“She has shown a certain wisdom in this matter,” he said.

On another occasion he talked of the death of the young King of France, François Deux, which took place in December of the last year although it was only now that we heard of it.

Don Felipe was excited by this news because of the effect it had on the Queen of Scotland.

François had died of an imposthume of the ear; and his young Queen, Mary of Scotland, had found there was no place for her in France. So she must return to her kingdom of Scotland.

“She will be less powerful now,” I said.

He answered: “She will be more of a threat to the woman who calls herself Queen of England.”

“I doubt our Queen cares overmuch for the people beyond the border.”

“She will have supporters everywhere, not only in Scotland but in France; and I am of the opinion that there are many Catholic gentlemen in England who would rally to her standard if she were to travel south.”

“So you wish for a civil war in my country?”

He did not answer; there was no need.

Life passed by smoothly; the days of my pregnancy were drawing to a close and I longed for my child to be born. I was shut into a little cocoon of contentment.

The preparations for the birth were almost ceremonious. The midwife was already installed in the house when my labor began; I went to the bedroom—that room of many memories—and it was there that my child was born.

I shall never forget the moment when he was laid in my arms. He was small … much smaller than Jacko had been, he had dark eyes and there was a down of dark hairs on his head.

I thought as soon as I saw him: My little Spaniard!

I delighted in him. I held him against me and I felt love overwhelm me, love such as I had never known for any other living being—except perhaps once for Carey. But there was no barrier between me and this child. He was my very own.

And as I held him in my arms Don Felipe came into the room. He stood by the bed and momentarily I remembered his standing there with the candle in his hand when I had feigned to be asleep.

I held the baby out for him to see and he looked at him in wonder and I saw the faintest color in his olive cheeks. Then his eyes met mine; they glowed with a luminosity I had never seen in them before.

I thought: It is the fulfillment of revenge.

Then he was looking at me; his gaze embraced us both and I was not sure what was in his thoughts.

Don Felipe ordained that the child should be called Roberto. I said that for me he should be Robert; but somehow I was soon calling him Roberto. It suited him better.

He was baptized in the chapel of the Hacienda with all the pomp that would have been given to the son of the house.

During the first weeks after his birth I thought of nothing beyond his welfare. Remembering how Honey used to feel because she had come before me and was not my mother’s own, I wanted no such heartaches for little Carlos. I tried to make him interested in the child, and he was; he took a protective attitude toward him because he was mine and was gentle with him. We were a happy little nursery. Jennet was in her element with babies; the fact that hers and mine were illegitimate worried her not in the least.

“Law bless us,” she said on one occasion, “they’m babies … little ’uns. That be good enough for the likes of I.”

Don Felipe often came to the nursery to see the child. I had seen him, bending over the cradle, staring at him. I knew that it satisfied his pride to have such a son.

One day I went into the escritorio and said to Don Felipe: “Your plan is complete. I have your child. Is it not time for you to keep to your promise? You have said we should go back to our homes.”

“The child is too young to travel,” he said. “You must wait until he is a little older.”

“How much older?” I asked.

“Would you take a child of a few months on the high seas?”

I hesitated. I thought of the storms and calms; I thought of the faces of sailors driven a little crazy by long days at sea. I said: “We should have gone before the child was born.”

“Wait awhile,” he said. “Wait until he is older.”

I went back to my room and brooded on what he had said. I laughed inwardly. He loves his son and does not want to lose him. Love! What does such a man know of love? He is proud of his son. Who would not be of Roberto? And he doesn’t want to lose him.

We lacked nothing. Anything we wanted we had. The only condition that was asked of us was that we show ourselves to be good Catholics. That was easy for Honey and Jennet because they were. As for myself: I had my children, Roberto and Carlos, to think of, and children were more important to me than my faith. I was not of the stuff that martyrs were made.

Don Felipe’s attitude changed toward me. He wished me to dine with him frequently. He would come into the garden where I sat with the children; and he even spoke now and then to Carlos, who began to lose his fear of him. But it was Roberto who enchanted him. There could be little doubt that the child was his. Already Roberto had a look of him. Strangely enough it did not repel me, only amuse me; and I loved Roberto nonetheless for that. In the same way I could see Jake Pennlyon clearly in Carlos and that somehow endeared the child to me.

And the months began to slip away without incident. Roberto was six months old and the winter was almost upon us.

I said to Don Felipe: “He is older now. We shall be going soon.”

“Wait for the winter to pass,” said Don Felipe.

And then the spring came and Roberto was one year old.

I HAD DINED WITH Don Felipe and we sat in the light of the candles and talked of Roberto: how he had a tooth, how he was crawling; how I was sure he had said: “Madre.”

Then I lifted my eyes and looking at him intently, I said: “I often think of my home. What news is there of England?”

“Nothing of interest. All I can think of is that the spire of St. Paul’s Cathedral was burned down and that although it was supposed it was struck by lightning a workman has now confessed—on his deathbed—that a pan of coals was carelessly left in a steeple.”