"This," he said at length in a voice that was awed, "is an ultimatum."
"It is that," O'Moy admitted readily.
Forjas sighed, shook his dark head and drew himself up like a man who
has chosen his part. Being shrewd, he saw the immediate necessity of
choosing, and, being honest, he chose honestly.
"Perhaps it is as well," he said.
"That Lord Wellington should go?" cried O'Moy.
"That Lord Wellington should announce intentions of going," Forjas
explained. And having admitted so much, he now stripped off the
official mask completely. He spoke with his own voice and not with
that of the Council whose mouthpiece he was. "Of course it will
never be permitted. Lord Wellington has been entrusted with the
defence of the country by the Prince Regent; consequently it is the
duty of every Portuguese to ensure that at all costs he shall
continue in that office."
O'Moy was mystified. Only a knowledge of the minister's inmost
thoughts could have explained this oddly sudden change of manner.
"But your Excellency understands the terms - the only terms upon
which his lordship will so continue?"
"Perfectly. I shall hasten to convey those terms to the Council.
It is also quite clear - is it not? - that I may convey to my
Government and indeed publish your complete assurance that the
officer responsible for the raid on the convent at Tavora will be
shot when taken?
Looking intently into O'Moy's face, Dom Miguel saw the clear blue
eyes flicker under his gaze, he beheld a grey shadow slowly
overspreading the adjutant's ,ruddy cheek.
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