Barbara felt wounded to the inmost depths of her being by this letter.
Had the officious adviser, who had certainly despatched the reply without
her son's knowledge, been within her reach, she would have showed her how
little inclination she felt to be patronized by the person who, after
alienating the son's heart from his mother, even presumed to dictate to
her to rob herself of her last claim upon his regard.

True, in one respect she agreed with the writer of the letter.

Precisely because it appeared as if Heaven had accepted her sacrifice and
the grandeur for which she had made it seemed to be awaiting her son, she
ought to attempt nothing that might impede his climbing to the height,
and her open connection with him might easily have placed stones in his
path. His elevation depended upon King Philip, whose boundless pride had
gazed at her from his chilling face.

So she resolved to make no more advances to her child until the day came
--and a voice within told her that come it must--when he himself longed
for his own mother. Meanwhile she would be content with the joy of
watching his brilliant course from the distance.

The miracles which she had anticipated and prayed for in his behalf were
accomplished. First, she heard that Count Ribadavia's splendid palace
would be prepared for her son, that the sons of noble families would be
assigned to attend him, and that a body-guard of Spaniards and Germans
and a train of his own were at his command.

Then she learned in what a remarkable manner Elizabeth of Valois, the
King's new wife, favoured the lad of thirteen. At the taking of the oath