IN THE PALACE OF THE KING A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID BYF. MARION CRAWFORD 1900 To my old friend GEORGE P. BRETT New York, October, 1906 CONTENTS CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XIX CHAPTER XX * * * * * CHAPTER I Two young girls sat in a high though very narrow room of the old Moorishpalace to which King Philip the Second had brought his court when hefinally made Madrid his capital. It was in the month of November, in theafternoon, and the light was cold and grey, for the two tall windowslooked due north, and a fine rain had been falling all the morning. Thestones in the court were drying now, in patches, but the sky was like asmooth vault of cast lead, closing over the city that lay to thenorthward, dark, wet and still, as if its life had shrunk down underground, away from the bitter air and the penetrating damp. The room was scantily furnished, but the few objects it contained, thecarved table, the high-backed chairs and the chiselled bronze brazier, bore the stamp of the time when art had not long been born again. On thewalls there were broad tapestries of bold design, showing green forestspopulated by all sorts of animals in stiff attitudes, staring at oneanother in perpetual surprise. Below the tapestry a carved walnutwainscoting went round the room, and the door was panelled and flankedby fluted doorposts of the same dark wood, on which rested corbelsfashioned into curling acanthus leaves, to hold up the cornice, whichitself made a high shelf over the door. Three painted Italian vases, filled with last summer's rose leaves and carefully sealed lest thefaint perfume should be lost, stood symmetrically on this projection, their contents slowly ripening for future use. The heap of white ashes, under which the wood coals were still alive in the big brazier, diffuseda little warmth through the chilly room. The two girls were sitting at opposite ends of the table. The one held along goose-quill pen, and before her lay several large sheets of papercovered with fine writing. Her eyes followed the lines slowly, and fromtime to time she made a correction in the manuscript. As she read, herlips moved to form words, but she made no sound. Now and then a faintsmile lent singular beauty to her face, and there was more light in hereyes, too; then it disappeared again, and she read on, carefully andintently, as if her soul were in the work. She was very fair, as Spaniards sometimes are still, and were more oftenin those days, with golden hair and deep grey eyes; she had the highfeatures, the smooth white throat, and the finely modelled ears thatwere the outward signs of the lordly Gothic race. When she was notsmiling, her face was sad, and sometimes the delicate colour left herclear cheek and she grew softly pale, till she seemed almost delicate. Then the sensitive nostrils quivered almost imperceptibly, and thecurving lips met closely as if to keep a secret; but that look cameseldom, and for the most part her eyes were quiet and her mouth waskind. It was a face that expressed devotion, womanly courage, andsensitiveness rather than an active and dominating energy. The girl wasindeed a full-grown woman, more than twenty years of age, but the earlybloom of girlhood was on her still, and if there was a little sadness inthe eyes, a man could guess well enough that it rose from the heart, andhad but one simple source, which was neither a sudden grief nor along-hidden sorrow, but only youth's one secret--love. Maria Dolores deMendoza knew all of fear for the man she loved, that any woman couldknow, and much of the hope that is love's early life; but she knewneither the grief, nor the disappointment, nor the shame for another, nor for herself, nor any of the bitterness that love may bring. She didnot believe that such things could be wrung from hearts that were trueand faithful; and in that she was right. The man to whom she had givenher heart and soul and hope had given her his, and if she feared forhim, it was not lest he should forget her or his own honour. He was aman among men, good and true; but he was a soldier, and a leader, whodaily threw his life to the battle, as Douglas threw the casket thatheld the Bruce's heart into the thick of the fight, to win it back, ordie. The man she loved was Don John of Austria, the son of the greatdead Emperor Charles the Fifth, the uncle of dead Don Carlos and thehalf brother of King Philip of Spain--the man who won glory by land andsea, who won back Granada a second time from the Moors, as bravely ashis great grandfather Ferdinand had won it, but less cruelly, who wonLepanto, his brother's hatred and a death by poison, the foulest stainin Spanish history. It was November now, and it had been June of the preceding year when hehad ridden away from Madrid to put down the Moriscoes, who had risensavagely against the hard Spanish rule. He had left Dolores de Mendozaan hour before he mounted, in the freshness of the early summer morning, where they had met many a time, on a lonely terrace above the King'sapartments. There were roses there, growing almost wild in great earthenjars, where some Moorish woman had planted them in older days, andDolores could go there unseen with her blind sister, who helped herfaithfully, on pretence of taking the poor girl thither to breathe thesweet quiet air. For Inez was painfully sensitive of her affliction, andsuffered, besides blindness, all that an over-sensitive and imaginativebeing can feel. She was quite blind, with no memory of light, though she had been bornseeing, as other children. A scarlet fever had destroyed her sight. Motherless from her birth, her father often absent in long campaigns, she had been at the mercy of a heartless nurse, who had loved the fairlittle Dolores and had secretly tormented the younger child, as soon asshe was able to understand, bringing her up to believe that she was sorepulsively ugly as to be almost a monster. Later, when the nurse wasgone, and Dolores was a little older, the latter had done all she couldto heal the cruel wound and to make her sister know that she had softdark hair, a sad and gentle face, with eyes that were quite closed, anda delicate mouth that had a little half painful, half pathetic way oftwitching when anything hurt her, --for she was easily hurt. Very palealways, she turned her face more upwards than do people who have sight, and being of good average woman's height and very slender and finelymade, this gave her carriage an air of dignity that seemed almost pridewhen she was offended or wounded. But the first hurt had been deep andlasting, and she could never quite believe that she was not offensive tothe eyes of those who saw her, still less that she was sometimes almostbeautiful in a shadowy, spiritual way. The blind, of all theirsufferings, often feel most keenly the impossibility of knowing whetherthe truth is told them about their own looks; and he who will try andrealize what it is to have been always sightless will understand thatthis is not vanity, but rather a sort of diffidence towards which allpeople should be very kind. Of all necessities of this world, of allblessings, of all guides to truth, God made light first. There are manysharp pains, many terrible sufferings and sorrows in life that come andwrench body and soul, and pass at last either into alleviation orrecovery, or into the rest of death; but of those that abide a lifetimeand do not take life itself, the worst is hopeless darkness. We callignorance 'blindness, ' and rage 'blindness, ' and we say a man is 'blind'with grief. Inez sat opposite her sister, at the other end of the table, listening. She knew what Dolores was doing, how during long months her sister hadwritten a letter, from time to time, in little fragments, to give to theman she loved, to slip into his hand at the first brief meeting or todrop at his feet in her glove, or even, perhaps, to pass to him by theblind girl's quick fingers. For Inez helped the lovers always, and DonJohn was very gentle with her, talking with her when he could, and evenleading her sometimes when she was in a room she did not know. Doloresknew that she could only hope to exchange a word with him when he cameback, and that the terrace was bleak and wet now, and the roseswithered, and that her father feared for her, and might do somedesperate thing if he found her lover talking with her where no onecould see or hear. For old Mendoza knew the world and the court, and heforesaw that sooner or later some royal marriage would be made for DonJohn of Austria, and that even if Dolores were married to him, sometortuous means would be found to annul her marriage, whereby a greatshame would darken his house. Moreover, he was the King's man, devotedto Philip body and soul, as his sovereign, ready to give his life tentimes for his sovereign's word, and thinking it treason to doubt a royalthought or motive. He was a rigid old man, a Spaniard of Spain's greatdays, fearless, proud, intolerant, making Spain's honour his idol, capable of gentleness only to his children, and loving them dearly, butwith that sort of severity and hardness in all questions where hisauthority was concerned which can make a father's true affection themost intolerable burden to a girl of heart, and which, where a son isits object, leads sooner or later to fierce quarrels and lifelongestrangement. And so it had happened now. For the two girls had abrother much older than they, Rodrigo; and he had borne to be treatedlike a boy until he could bear no more, and then he had left hisfather's house in anger to find out his own fortune in the world, asmany did in his day, --a poor gentleman seeking distinction in an army ofmen as brave as himself, and as keen to win honour on every field. Then, as if to oppose his father in everything, he had attached himself to DonJohn, and was spoken of as the latter's friend, and Mendoza feared lesthis son should help Don John to a marriage with Dolores. But in this hewas mistaken, for Rodrigo was as keen, as much a Spaniard, and as muchdevoted to the honour of his name as his father could be; and though helooked upon Don John as the very ideal of what a soldier and a princeshould be, he would have cut off his own right hand rather than let itgive his leader the letter Dolores had been writing so long; and sheknew this and feared her brother, and tried to keep her secret from him. Inez knew all, and she also was afraid of Rodrigo and of her father, both for her sister's sake and her own. So, in that divided house, thefather was against the son, and the daughters were allied against themboth, not in hatred, but in terror and because of Dolores' great lovefor Don John of Austria. As they sat at the table it began to rain again, and the big drops beatagainst the windows furiously for a few minutes. The panes were roundand heavy, and of a greenish yellow colour, made of blown glass, eachwith a sort of knob in the middle, where the iron blowpipe had beenseparated from the hot mass. It was impossible to see through them atall distinctly, and when the sky was dark with rain they admitted only alurid glare into the room, which grew cold and colourless again when therain ceased. Inez had been sitting motionless a long time, her elbow onthe table, her chin resting upon her loosely clasped white hands, herblind face turned upward, listening to the turning of the pages and tothe occasional scratching of her sister's pen. She sighed, moved, andlet her hands fall upon the table before her in a helpless, halfdespairing way, as she leaned back in the big carved chair. Doloreslooked up at once, for she was used to helping her sister in herslightest needs and to giving her a ready sympathy in every mood. "What is it?" she asked quickly. "Do you want anything, dear?" "Have you almost finished?" The girl's voice would almost have told that she was blind. It was sweetand low, but it lacked life; though not weak, it was uncertain instrength and full of a longing that could never be satisfied, but thatoften seemed to come within possible reach of satisfaction. There was inthe tones, too, the perpetual doubt of one from whom anything might behidden by silence, or by the least tarn of words. Every passing hope andfear, and every pleasure and pain, were translated into sound by itsquick changes. It trusted but could not always quite promise to believe;it swelled and sank as the sensitive heart beat faster or slower. Itcame from a world without light, in which only sound had meaning, andonly touch was certainty. "Yes, " answered Dolores. "I have almost finished--there is only half apage more to read over. " "And why do you read it over?" asked Inez. "Do you change what you havewritten? Do you not think now exactly as you did when you wrote?" "No; I feel a great deal more--I want better words! And then it allseems so little, and so badly written, and I want to say things that noone ever said before, many, many things. He will laugh--no, not that!How could he? But my letter will seem childish to him. I know it will. Iwish I had never written it I Do you think I had better give it to him, after all?" "How can I tell?" asked Inez hopelessly. "You have never read it to me. I do not know what you have said to him. " "I have said that I love him as no man was ever loved before, " answeredDolores, and the true words seemed to thrill with a life of their own asshe spoke them. Then she was silent for a moment, and looked down at the written pageswithout seeing them. Inez did not move, and seemed hardly to breathe. Then Dolores spoke again, pressing both her hands upon the paper beforeher unconsciously. "I have told him that I love him, and shall love him for ever and ever, "she said; "that I will live for him, die for him, suffer for him, servehim! I have told him all that and much more. " "More? That is much already. But he loves you, too. There is nothing youcan promise which he will not promise, and keep, too, I think. But more!What more can you have said than that?" "There is nothing I would not say if I could find words!" There was a fullness of life in her voice which, to the other'suncertain tones, was as sunshine to moonlight. "You will find words when you see him this evening, " said Inez slowly. "And they will be better than anything you can write. Am I to give himyour letter?" Dolores looked at her sister quickly, for there was a little constraintin the accent of the last phrase. "I do not know, " she answered. "How can I tell what may happen, or how Ishall see him first?" "You will see him from the window presently. I can hear the guardsforming already to meet him--and you--you will be able to see him fromthe window. " Inez had stopped and had finished her speech, as if something had chokedher. She turned sideways in her chair when she had spoken, as if tolisten better, for she was seated with her back to the light. "I will tell you everything, " said Maria Dolores softly. "It will bealmost as if you could see him, too. " "Almost--" Inez spoke the one word and broke off abruptly, and rose from her chair. In the familiar room she moved almost as securely as if she could see. She went to the window and listened. Dolores came and stood beside her. "What is it, dear?" she asked. "What is the matter? What has hurt you?Tell me!" "Nothing, " answered the blind girl, "nothing, dear. I was thinking--howlonely I shall be when you and he are married, and they send me to aconvent, or to our dismal old house in Valladolid. " A faint colour came into her pale face, and feeling it she turned awayfrom Dolores; for she was not speaking the truth, or at least not halfof it all. "I will not let you go!" answered Dolores, putting one arm round hersister's waist. "They shall never take you from me. And if in many yearsfrom now we are married, you shall always be with us, and I will alwaystake care of you as I do now. " Inez sighed and pressed her forehead and blind eyes to the cold window, almost withdrawing herself from the pressure of Dolores' arm. Down belowthere was tramping of heavy feet, as the companies of foot guards tooktheir places, marching across the broad space, in their wrought steelcaps and breastplates, carrying their tasselled halberds on theirshoulders. An officer's voice gave sharp commands. The gust that hadbrought the rain had passed by, and a drizzling mist, caused by a suddenchill, now completely obscured the window. "Can you see anything?" asked Inez suddenly, in a low voice. "I think Ihear trumpets far away. " "I cannot see--there is mist on the glass, too. Do you hear the trumpetsclearly?" "I think I do. Yes--I hear them clearly now. " She stopped. "He iscoming, " she added under her breath. Dolores listened, but she had not the almost supernatural hearing of theblind, and could distinguish nothing but the tramping of the soldiersbelow, and her sister's irregular breathing beside her, as Inez held herbreath again and again in order to catch the very faint and distantsound. "Open the window, " she said almost sharply, "I know I hear thetrumpets. " Her delicate fingers felt for the bolts with almost feverish anxiety. Dolores helped her and opened the window wide. A strain of distantclarions sounding a triumphant march came floating across the wet city. Dolores started, and her face grew radiant, while her fresh lips openeda little as if to drink in the sound with the wintry air. Beside her, Inez grew slowly pale and held herself by the edge of the window frame, gripping it hard, and neither of the two girls felt any sensation ofcold. Dolores' grey eyes grew wide and bright as she gazed fixedlytowards the city where the avenue that led to the palace began, butInez, bending a little, turned her ear in the same direction, as if shecould not bear to lose a single note of the music that told her how DonJohn of Austria had come home in triumph, safe and whole, from his longcampaign in the south. Slowly it came nearer, strain upon strain, each more clear and loud andfull of rejoicing. At first only the high-pitched clarions had senttheir call to the window, but now the less shrill trumpets made richharmonies to the melody, and the deep bass horns gave the marching timeto the rest, in short full blasts that set the whole air shaking as withlittle peak of thunder. Below, the mounted officers gave orders, exchanged short phrases, cantered to their places, and came back again amoment later to make some final arrangement--their splendid gold-inlaidcorslets and the rich caparisons of their horses looking like greatpieces of jewelry that moved hither and thither in the thin grey mist, while the dark red and yellow uniforms of the household guardssurrounded the square on three sides with broad bands of colour. Dolorescould see her father, who commanded them and to whom the officers camefor orders, sitting motionless and erect on his big black horse--a sternfigure, with close-cut grey beard, clad all in black saving his heavilygilded breastplate and the silk sash he wore across it from shoulder tosword knot. She shrank back a little, for she would not have let him seeher looking down from an upper window to welcome the returning visitor. "What is it? Do you see him? Is he there?" Inez asked the questions in abreath, as she heard her sister move. "No--our father is below on his horse. He must not see us. " And shemoved further into the embrasure. "You will not be able to see, " said Inez anxiously. "How can you tellme--I mean, how can you see, where you are?" Dolores laughed softly, but her laugh trembled with the happiness thatwas coming so soon. "Oh, I see very well, " she answered. "The window is wide open, youknow. " "Yes--I know. " Inez leaned back against the wall beside the window, letting her handdrop in a hopeless gesture. The sample answer had hurt her, who couldnever see, by its mere thoughtlessness and by the joy that made hersister's voice quaver. The music grew louder and louder, and now therecame with it the sound of a great multitude, cheering, singing the marchwith the trumpets, shouting for Don John; and all at once as the throngburst from the street to the open avenue the voices drowned the clarionsfor a moment, and a vast cry of triumph filled the whole air. "He is there! He is there!" repeated Inez, leaning towards the windowand feeling for the stone sill. But Dolores could not hear for the shouting. The clouds had lifted tothe westward and northward; and as the afternoon sun sank lower theybroke away, and the level rays drank up the gloom of the wintry day inan instant. Dolores stood motionless before the window, undazzled, likea statue of ivory and gold in a stone niche. With the light, as theadvancing procession sent the people before it, the trumpets rang highand clear again, and the bright breastplates of the trumpeters gleamedlike dancing fire before the lofty standard that swayed with the slowpace of its bearer's horse. Brighter and nearer came the colours, theblazing armour, the standard, the gorgeous procession of victoriousmen-at-arms; louder and louder blew the trumpets, higher and higher theclouds were lifted from the lowering sun. Half the people of Madrid wentbefore, the rest flocked behind, all cheering or singing or shouting. The stream of colour and light became a river, the river a flood, and inthe high tide of a young victor's glory Don John of Austria rode onwardto the palace gate. The mounted trumpeters parted to each side beforehim, and the standard-bearer ranged his horse to the left, opposite thebanner of the King, which held the right, and Don John, on a grey Arabmare, stood out alone at the head of his men, saluting his royal brotherwith lowered sword and bent head. A final blast from the trumpetssounded full and high, and again and again the shout of the great throngwent up like thunder and echoed from the palace walls, as King Philip, in his balcony above the gate, returned the salute with his hand, andbent a little forward over the stone railing. Dolores de Mendoza forgot her father and all that he might say, andstood at the open window, looking down. She had dreamed of this moment;she had seen visions of it in the daytime; she had told herself againand again what it would be, how it must be; but the reality was beyondher dreams and her visions and her imaginings, for she had to the fullwhat few women have in any century, and what few have ever had in theblush of maidenhood, --the sight of the man she loved, and who loved herwith all his heart, coming home in triumph from a hard-fought war, himself the leader and the victor, himself in youth's first spring, theyoung idol of a warlike nation, and the centre of military glory. When he had saluted the King he sat still a moment on his horse andlooked upward, as if unconsciously drawn by the eyes that, of allothers, welcomed him at that moment; and his own met them instantly andsmiled, though his face betrayed nothing. But old Mendoza, motionless inhis saddle, followed the look, and saw; and although he would havepraised the young leader with the best of his friends, and would havefought under him and for him as well as the bravest, yet at that momenthe would gladly have seen Don John of Austria fall dead from his horsebefore his eyes. Don John dismounted without haste, and advanced to the gate as the Kingdisappeared from the balcony above. He was of very graceful figure andbearing, not short, but looking taller than he really was by theperfection of his proportions. The short reddish brown hair grew closeand curling on his small head, but left the forehead high, while it setoff the clear skin and the mobile features. A very small moustacheshaded his lip without hiding the boyish mouth, and at that time he woreno beard. The lips, indeed, smiled often, and the expression of themouth was rather careless and good-humoured than strong. The strength ofthe face was in the clean-cut jaw, while its real expression was in thedeep-set, fiery blue eyes, that could turn angry and fierce at onemoment, and tender as a woman's the next. He wore without exaggeration the military dress of his time, --abeautifully chiselled corslet inlaid with gold, black velvet sleeves, loose breeches of velvet and silk, so short that they did not descendhalf way to the knees, while his legs were covered by tight hose andleather boots, made like gaiters to clasp from the knee to the ankle andheel. Over his shoulder hung a short embroidered cloak, and his headcovering was a broad velvet cap, in which were fastened the black andyellow plumes of the House of Austria. As he came near to the gate, many friends moved forward to greet him, and he gave his hand to all, with a frank smile and words of greeting. But old Mendoza did not dismount nor move his horse a step nearer. DonJohn, looking round before he went in, saw the grim face, and waved hishand to Dolores' father; but the old man pretended that he saw nothing, and made no answering gesture. Some one in the crowd of courtierslaughed lightly. Old Mendoza's face never changed; but his knees musthave pressed the saddle suddenly, for his black horse stirred uneasily, and tried to rear a little. Don John stopped short, and his eyeshardened and grew very light before the smile could fade from his lips, while he tried to find the face of the man whose laugh he had heard. Butthat was impossible, and his look was grave and stern as he went inunder the great gate, the multitude cheering after him. From her high window Dolores had seen and heard also, for she hadfollowed every movement he made and every change of his expression, andhad faithfully told her sister what she saw, until the laugh came, shortand light, but cutting. And Inez heard that, too, for she was leaningfar forward upon the broad stone sill to listen for the sound of DonJohn's voice. She drew back with a springing movement, and a sort of cryof pain. "Some one is laughing at me!" she cried. "Some one is laughing because Iam trying to see!" Instantly Dolores drew her sister to her, kissing her tenderly, andsoothing her as one does a frightened child. "No, dear, no! It was not that--I saw what it was. Nobody was looking atyou, my darling. Do you know why some one laughed? It hurt me, too. Hesmiled and waved his hand to our father, who took no notice of him. Thelaugh was for that--and for me, because the man knew well enough thatour father does not mean that we shall ever marry. Do you see, dear? Itwas not meant for you. " "Did he really look up at us when you said so?" asked Inez, in asmothered voice. "Who? The man who laughed?" "No. I mean--" "Don John? Yes. He looked up to us and smiled--as he often does atme--with his eyes only, while his face was quite grave. He is notchanged at all, except that he looks more determined, and handsomer, andbraver, and stronger than ever! He does each time I see him!" But Inez was not listening. "That was worth living for--worth being blind for, " she said suddenly, "to hear the people shout and cheer for him as he came along. You whocan see it all do not understand what the sound means to me. For amoment--only for a moment--I saw light--I know I saw a bright lightbefore my eyes. I am not dreaming. It made my heart beat, and it made myhead dizzy. It must have been light. Do you think it could be, Dolores?" "I do not know, dear, " answered the other gently. But as the day faded and they sat together in the early dusk, Doloreslooked long and thoughtfully at the blind face. Inez loved Don John, though she did not know it, and without knowing it she had told hersister. * * * * * CHAPTER II When Don John had disappeared within the palace the people lingered alittle while, hoping that something might happen which would be worthseeing, and then, murmuring a little in perfectly unreasonabledisappointment, they slowly dispersed. After that old Mendoza gave hisorders to the officers of the guards, the men tramped away, onedetachment after another, in a regular order; the cavalry that hadridden up with Don John wheeled at a signal from the trumpets, and beganto ride slowly back to the city, pressing hard upon the multitude, andbefore it was quite dark the square before the palace was desertedagain. The sky had cleared, the pavement was dry again, and the fullmoon was rising. Two tall sentinels with halberds paced silently up anddown in the shadow. Dolores and her sister were still sitting in the dark when the dooropened, and a grey-haired servant in red and yellow entered the room, bearing two lighted wax candles in heavy bronze candlesticks, which heset upon the table. A moment later he was followed by old Mendoza, stillin his breastplate, as he had dismounted, his great spurs jingling onhis heavy boots, and his long basket-hilted sword trailing on the marblepavement. He was bareheaded now, and his short hair, smooth andgrizzled, covered his energetic head like a close-fitting skull cap ofiron-grey velvet. He stood still before the table, his bony right handresting upon it and holding both his long gloves. The candlelight shoneupward into his dark face, and gleamed yellow in his angry eyes. Both the girls rose instinctively as their father entered; but theystood close together, their hands still linked as if to defend eachother from a common enemy, though the hard man would have given his lifefor either of them at any moment since they had come into the world. They knew it, and trembled. "You have made me the laughing-stock of the court, " he began slowly, andhis voice shook with anger. "What have you to say in your defence?" He was speaking to Dolores, and she turned a little pale. There wassomething so cruelly hard in his tone and bearing that she drew back alittle, not exactly in bodily fear, but as a brave man may draw back astep when another suddenly draws a weapon upon him. Instantly Inez movedforward, raising one white hand in protest, and turning her blind faceto her father's gleaming eyes. "I am not speaking to you, " he said roughly, "but you, " he went on, addressing Dolores, and the heavy table shook under his hand. "Whatdevil possessed you that you should shame me and yourself, standing atyour window to smile at Don John, as if he were the Espadero at a bullfight and you the beauty of the ring--with all Madrid there to look on, from his Majesty the King to the beggar in the road? Have you nomodesty, no shame, no blood that can blush? And if not, have you noteven so much woman's sense as should tell you that you are ruining yourname and mine before the whole world?" "Father! For the sake of heaven do not say such words--you must not! Youshall not!" Dolores' face was quite white now, as she gently pushed Inez aside andfaced the angry man. The table was between them. "Have I said one word more than the very truth?" asked Mendoza. "Doesnot the whole court know that you love Don John of Austria--" "Let the whole world know it!" cried the girl bravely. "Am I ashamed tolove the best and bravest man that breathes?" "Let the whole world know that you are willing to be his toy, hisplaything--" "His wife, sir!" Dolores' voice was steady and clear as she interruptedher father. "His wife, " she repeated proudly; "And to-morrow, if you andthe King will not hinder us. God made you my father, but neither God norman has given you the right to insult me, and you shall not beunanswered, so long as I have strength and breath to speak. But for you, I should be Don John of Austria's wife to-day--and then, then his 'toy, 'his 'plaything'--yes, and his slave and his servant--what you will! Ilove him, and I would work for him with my hands, as I would give myblood and my life for his, if God would grant me that happiness andgrace, since you will not let me be his wife!" "His wife!" exclaimed Mendoza, with a savage sneer. "His wife--to bemarried to-day and cast off to-morrow by a turn of the pen and thetwisting of a word that would prove your marriage void, in order thatDon John may be made the husband of some royal widowed lady, like QueenMary of the Scots! His wife!" He laughed bitterly. "You have an exalted opinion of your King, my father, since you supposethat he would permit such deeds in Spain!" Dolores had drawn herself up to her full height as she spoke, and sheremained motionless as she awaited the answer to what she had said. Itwas long in coming, though Mendoza's dark eyes met hers unflinchingly, and his lips moved more than once as if he were about to speak. She hadstruck a blow that was hard to parry, and she knew it. Inez stood besideher, silent and breathing hard as she listened. "You think that I have nothing to say, " he began at last, and his tonehad changed and was more calm. "You are right, perhaps. What should Isay to you, since you have lost all sense of shame and all thought ofrespect or obedience? Do you expect that I shall argue with you, and tryto convince you that I am right, instead of forcing you to respect meand yourself? Thank Heaven, I have never yet questioned my King'sthoughts, nor his motives, nor his supreme right to do whatsoever may befor the honour and glory of Spain. My life is his, and all I have ishis, to do with it all as he pleases, by grace of his divine right. Thatis my creed and my law--and if I have failed to bring you up in the samebelief, I have committed a great sin, and it will be counted against mehereafter, though I have done what I could, to the best of myknowledge. " Mendoza lifted his sheathed sword and laid his right hand upon thecross-bar of the basket hilt. "God--the King--Spain!" he said solemnly, as he pressed his lips to itonce for each article of his faith. "I do not wish to shake your belief, " said Dolores coldly. "I daresaythat is impossible!" "As impossible as it is to make me change my determination, " answeredMendoza, letting his long sword rest on the pavement again. "And what may your determination be?" asked the girl, still facing him. Something in his face forewarned her of near evil and danger, as helooked at her long without answering. She moved a little, so as to standdirectly in front of Inez. Taking an attitude that was almost defiant, she began to speak rapidly, holding her hands behind her and pressingherself back against her sister to attract the latter's attention; andin her hand she held the letter she had written to Don John, folded intothe smallest possible space, for she had kept it ready in the wrist ofher tight sleeve, not knowing what might happen any moment to give heran opportunity of sending it. "What have you determined?" she asked again, and then went on withoutwaiting for a reply. "In what way are you going to exhibit your powerover me? Do you mean to take me away from the court to live inValladolid again? Are you going to put me in the charge of some sour oldwoman who will never let me out of her sight from morning till morning?"She had found her sister's hand behind hers and had thrust the letterinto the fingers that closed quickly upon it. Then she laughed a little, almost gaily. "Do you think that a score of sour old duennas could teachme to forget the man I love, or could prevent me from sending him amessage every day if I chose? Do you think you could hinder Don John ofAustria, who came back an hour ago from his victory the idol of allSpain, the favourite of the people--brave, young, powerful, rich, popular, beloved far more than the King himself, from seeing me everyday if he chose, so long as he were not away in war? And then--I willask you something more--do you think that father, or mother, or king, orlaw, or country has power to will away the love of a woman who loveswith all her heart and soul and strength? Then answer me and tell mewhat you have determined to do with me, and I will tell you mydetermination, too, for I have one of my own, and shall abide by it, come what may, and whatsoever you may do!" She paused, for she had heard Inez softly close the door as she wentout. The letter at least was safe, and if it were humanly possible, Inezwould find a means of delivering it; for she had all that strangeingenuity of the blind in escaping observation which it seems impossiblethat they should possess, but of which every one who has been much withthem is fully aware. Mendoza had seen Inez go out, and was glad that shewas gone, for her blind face sometimes disturbed him when he wished toassert his authority. "Yes, " he said, "I will tell you what I mean to do, and it is the onlything left to me, for you have given me no choice. You are disobedientand unruly, you have lost what little respect you ever had--orshowed--for me. But that is not all. Men have had unruly daughtersbefore, and yet have married them well, and to men who in the end haveruled them. I do not speak of my affection for you both, since you havenone for me. But now, you are going beyond disobedience and lawlessness, for you are ruining yourself and disgracing me, and I will neitherpermit the one nor suffer the other. " His voice rose harshly. "Do youunderstand me? I intend to protect my name from you, and yours from theworld, in the only way possible. I intend to send you to Las Huelgasto-morrow morning. I am in earnest, and unless you consent to give upthis folly and to marry as I wish, you shall stay there for the rest ofyour natural life. Do you understand? And until to-morrow morning youshall stay within these doors. We shall see whether Don John of Austriawill try to force my dwelling first and a convent of holy nunsafterwards. You will be safe from him, I give you my word ofhonour, --the word of a Spanish gentleman and of your father. You shallbe safe forever. And if Don John tries to enter here to-night, I willkill him on the threshold. I swear that I will. " He ceased speaking, turned, and began to walk up and down the smallroom, his spurs and sword clanking heavily at every step. He had foldedhis arms, and his head was bent low. A look of horror and fear had slowly risen in Dolores' face, for sheknew her father, and that he kept his word at every risk. She knew alsothat the King held him in very high esteem, and was as firmly opposed toher marriage as Mendoza himself, and therefore ready to help him to dowhat he wished. It had never occurred to her that she could be suddenlythrust out of sight in a religious institution, to be kept there at herfather's pleasure, even for her whole life. She was too young and toofull of life to have thought of such a possibility. She had indeed heardthat such things could be done, and had been done, but she had neverknown such a case, and had never realized that she was so completely ather father's mercy. For the first time in her life she felt real fear, and as it fell upon her there came the sickening conviction that shecould not resist it, that her spirit was broken all at once, that in amoment more she would throw herself at her father's feet and imploremercy, making whatever promise he exacted, yet making it falsely, out ofsheer terror, in an utter degradation and abasement of all moralstrength, of which she had never even dreamed. She grew giddy as shefelt it coming upon her, and the lights of the two candles movedstrangely. Already she saw herself on her knees, sobbing with fear, trying to take her father's hand, begging forgiveness, denying her love, vowing submission and dutiful obedience in an agony of terror. For onthe other side she saw the dark corridors and gloomy cells of LasHuelgas, the veiled and silent nuns, the abomination of despair that wasbefore her till she should die and escape at last, --the faint hope whichwould always prevent her from taking the veil herself, yet a hopefainter and fainter, crossed by the frightful uncertainty in which sheshould be kept by those who guarded her. They would not even tell herwhether the man she loved were alive or dead, she could never knowwhether he had given up her love, himself in despair, or whether, then, as years went by, he would not lose the thread that took him back to thememory of her, and forget--and love again. But then her strong nature rose again, and the vision of fear began tofade as her faith in his love denied the last thought with scorn. Many atime, when words could tell no more, and seemed exhausted just whentrust was strongest, he had simply said, "I love you, as you love me, "and somehow the little phrase meant all, and far more than the tenderspeeches that sometimes formed themselves so gracefully, and yetnaturally and simply, because they, too, came straight from the heart. So now, in her extreme need, the plain words came back to her in hisvoice, "I love you, as you love me, " with a sudden strength of faith inhim that made her live again, and made fear seem impossible. While herfather slowly paced the floor in silence, she thought what she shoulddo, and whether there could be anything which she would not do, if DonJohn of Austria were kept a prisoner from her; and she felt sure thatshe could overcome every obstacle and laugh at every danger, for thehope of getting to him. If she would, so would he, since he loved her asshe loved him. But for all the world, he would not have her throwherself upon her father's mercy and make false promises and sob outdenials of her love, out of fear. Death would be better than that. "Do as you will with me, since you have the power, " she said at last, quite calmly and steadily. Instantly the old man stopped in his walk, and turned towards her, almost as if he himself were afraid now. To her amazement she saw thathis dark eyes were moist with tears that clung but half shed to therugged lids and rough lashes. He did not speak for some moments, whileshe gazed at him in wonder, for she could not understand. Then all atonce he lifted his brown hands and covered his face with a gesture ofutter despair. "Dolores! My child, my little girl!" he cried, in a broken voice. Then he sat down, as it overcome, clasped his hands on the hilt of hissword, and rested his forehead against them, rocking himself with abarely perceptible motion. In twenty years, Dolores had neverunderstood, not even guessed, that the hard man, ever preaching ofwholesome duty and strict obedience, always rebuking, never satisfied, ill pleased almost always, loved her with all his heart, and looked uponher as the very jewel of his soul. She guessed it now, in a sudden burstof understanding; but it was so new, so strange, that she could not havetold what she felt. There was at best no triumph at the thought that, ofthe two, he had broken down first in the contest. Pity came first, womanly, simple and kind, for the harsh nature that was so wounded atlast. She came to his side, and laid one hand upon his shoulder, speaking softly. "I am very, very sorry that I have hurt you, " she said, and waited forhim to speak, pressing his shoulder with a gentle touch. He did not look up, and still he rocked himself gently, leaning on hissword. The girl suffered, too, to see him suffering so. A little whileago he had been hard, fierce, angry, cruel, threatening her with aliving death that had filled her with horror. It had seemed quiteimpossible that there could be the least tenderness in him for anyone--least of all for her. "God be merciful to me, " he said at length in very low tones. "Godforgive me if it is my fault--you do not love me--I am nothing to youbut an unkind old man, and you are all the world to me, child!" He raised his head slowly and looked into her face. She was startled atthe change in his own, as well as deeply touched by what he said. Hisdark cheeks had grown grey, and the tears that would not quite fall werelike a glistening mist under the lids, and almost made him looksightless. Indeed, he scarcely saw her distinctly. His clasped handstrembled a little on the hilt of the sword he still held. "How could I know?" cried Dolores, suddenly kneeling down beside him. "How could I guess? You never let me see that you were fond of me--or Ihave been blind all these years--" "Hush, child!" he said. "Do not hurt me any more--it must have been myfault. " He grew more calm, and though his face was very grave and sad, thenatural dark colour was slowly coming back to it now, and his hands weresteady again. The girl was too young, and far too different from him, tounderstand his nature, but she was fast realizing that he was not theman he had always seemed to her. "Oh, if I had only known!" she cried, in deep distress. "If I had onlyguessed, I would have been so different! I was always frightened, alwaysafraid of you, since I can remember--I thought you did not care for usand that we always displeased you--how could we know?" Mendoza lifted one of his hands from the sword hilt, and took hers, withas much gentleness as was possible to him. His eyes became clear again, and the profound emotion he had shown subsided to the depths whence ithad risen. "We shall never quite understand each other, " he said quietly. "Youcannot see that it is a man's duty to do what is right for his children, rather than to sacrifice that in order to make them love him. " It seemed to Dolores that there might be a way open between the two, butshe said nothing, and left her hand in his, glad that he was kind, butfeeling, as he felt, that there could never be any real understandingbetween them. The breach had existed too long, and it was far too wide. "You are headstrong, my dear, " he said, nodding at each word. "You arevery headstrong, if you will only reflect. " "It is not my head, it is my heart, " answered Dolores. "And besides, "she added with a smile, "I am your daughter, and you are not of a verygentle and yielding disposition, are you?" "No, " he answered with hesitation, "perhaps not. " Then his face relaxeda little, and he almost smiled too. It seemed as if the peace were made and as if thereafter there need notbe trouble again. But it was even then not far off, for it was asimpossible for Mendoza to yield as it would have been for Dolores togive up her love for Don John. She did not see this, and she fanciedthat a real change had taken place in his disposition, so that he wouldforget that he had threatened to send her to Las Huelgas, and not thinkof it again. "What is done cannot be undone, " he said, with renewed sadness. "Youwill never quite believe that you have been everything to me during yourlife. How could you not be, my child? I am very lonely. Your mother hasbeen dead nearly eighteen years, and Rodrigo--" He stopped short suddenly, for he had never spoken his son's name in thegirl's hearing since Rodrigo had left him to follow his own fortunes. "I think Rodrigo broke my heart, " said the old man, after a short pause, controlling his voice so that it sounded dry and indifferent. "And ifthere is anything left of it, you will break the rest. " He rose, taking his hand from hers, and turning away, with the roughnessof a strong, hard man, who has broken down once under great emotion andis capable of any harshness in his fear of yielding to it again. Doloresstarted slightly and drew back. In her the kindly impression was stillstrong, but his tone and manner wounded her. "You are wrong, " she said earnestly. "Since you have shown me that youlove me, I will indeed do my best not to hurt you or displease you. Iwill do what I can--what I can. " She repeated the last words slowly and with unconscious emphasis. Heturned his face to her again instantly. "Then promise me that you will never see Don John of Austria again, thatyou will forget that you ever loved him, that you will put himaltogether out of your thoughts, and that you will obediently accept themarriage I shall make for you. " The words of refusal to any such obedience as that rose to the girl'slips, ready and sharp. But she would not speak them this time, lest moreangry words should answer hers. She looked straight at her father'seyes, holding her head proudly high for a moment. Then, smiling at theimpossibility of what he asked, she turned from him and went to thewindow in silence. She opened it wide, leaned upon the stone sill andlooked out. The moon had risen much higher now, and the court was white. She had meant to cut short the discussion without rousing anger again, but she could have taken no worse way to destroy whatever was left ofher father's kindlier mood. He did not raise his voice now, as hefollowed her and spoke. "You refuse to do that?" he said, with an already ominous interrogationin his tone. "You ask the impossible, " she answered, without looking round. "I havenot refused, for I have no will in this, no choice. You can do what youplease with me, for you have power over my outward life--and if youlacked it, the King would help you. But you have no power beyond that, neither over my heart nor over my soul. I love him--I have loved himlong, and I shall love him till I die, and beyond that, forever andever, beyond everything--beyond the great to-morrow of God's lastjudgment! How can I put him out of my thoughts, then? It is madness toask it of me. " She paused a moment, while he stood behind her, getting his teeth andslowly grinding the heel of one heavy boot on the pavement. "And as for threatening me, " she continued, "you will not kill Don John, nor even try to kill him, for he is the King's brother. If I can see himthis evening, I will--and there will be no risk for him. You would notmurder him by stealth, I suppose? No! Then you will not attack him atall, and if I can see him, I will--I tell you so, frankly. To-morrow orthe next day, when the festivities they have for him are over, and youyourself are at liberty, take me to Las Huelgas, if you will, and withas little scandal as possible. But when I am there, set a strong guardof armed men to keep me, for I shall escape unless you do. And I shallgo to Don John. That is all I have to say. That is my last word. " "I gave you mine, and it was my word of honour, " said Mendoza. "If DonJohn tries to enter here, to see you, I will kill him. To-morrow, youshall go to Las Huelgas. " Dolores made no answer and did not even turn her head. He left her andwent out. She heard his heavy tread in the hall beyond, and she heard abolt slipped at the further door. She was imprisoned for the night, forthe entrance her father had fastened was the one which cut off theportion of the apartment in which the sisters lived from the smallerpart which he had reserved for himself. These rooms, from which therewas no other exit, opened, like the sitting-room, upon the same hall. When Dolores knew that she was alone, she drew back from the window andshut it. It had served its purpose as a sort of refuge from her father, and the night air was cold. She sat down to think, and being in asomewhat desperate mood, she smiled at the idea of being locked into herroom, supperless, like a naughty child. But her face grew graveinstantly as she tried to discover some means of escape. Inez wascertainly not in the apartment--she must have gone to the other end ofthe palace, on pretence of seeing one of the court ladies, but really inthe hope of giving Don John the letter. It was more than probable thatshe would not be allowed to enter when she came back, for Mendoza woulddistrust her. That meant that Dolores could have no communication withany one outside her rooms during the evening and night, and she knew herfather too well to doubt that he would send her to Las Huelgas in themorning, as he had sworn to do. Possibly he would let her serving-womancome to her to prepare what she needed for the journey, but even thatwas unlikely, for he would suspect everybody. The situation looked hopeless, and the girl's face grew slowly pale asshe realized that after all she might not even exchange a word with DonJohn before going to the convent--she might not even be able to tell himwhither they were sending her, and Mendoza might keep the secret foryears--and she would never be allowed to write, of course. She heard the further door opened again, the bolt running back with asharp noise. Then she heard her father's footsteps and his voice callingto Inez, as he went from room to room. But there was no answer, andpresently he went away, bolting the door a second time. There could beno more doubt about it now. Dolores was quite alone. Her heart beatheavily and slowly. But it was not over yet. Again the bolt slipped inthe outer hall, and again she heard the heavy steps. They came straighttowards the door. He had perhaps changed his mind, or he had somethingmore to say; she held her breath, but he did not come in. As if to makedoubly sure, he bolted her into the little room, crossed the hall a lasttime, and bolted it for the night, perfectly certain that Dolores wassafely shut off from the outer world. For some minutes she sat quite still, profoundly disturbed, and utterlyunable to find any way out of her difficulty, which was, indeed, thatshe was in a very secure prison. Then again there was a sound at the door, but very soft this time, nothalf as loud in her ears as the beating of her own heart. There wassomething ghostly in it, for she had heard no footsteps. The bolt movedvery slowly and gently--she had to strain her ears to hear it move. Thesound ceased, and another followed it--that of the door being cautiouslyopened. A moment later Inez was in the room--turning her head anxiouslyfrom side to side to hear Dolores' breathing, and so to find out whereshe was. Then as Dolores rose, the blind girl put her finger to herlips, and felt for her sister's hand. "He has the letter, " she whispered quickly. "I found him by accident, very quickly. I am to say to you that after he has been some time in thegreat hall, he will slip away and come here. You see our father will beon duty and cannot come up. " Dolores' hand trembled violently. "He swore to me that he would kill Don John if he came here, " shewhispered. "He will do it, if it costs his own life! You must find himagain--go quickly, dear, for the love of Heaven!" Her anxiety increased. "Go--go, darling--do not lose a moment--he may come sooner--save him, save him!" "I cannot go, " answered Inez, in terror, as she understood thesituation. "I had hidden myself, and I am locked in with you. He calledme, but I kept quiet, for I knew he would not let me stay. " She buriedher face in her hands and sobbed aloud in an agony of fear. Dolores' lips were white, and she steadied herself against a chair. * * * * * CHAPTER III Dolores stood leaning against the back of the chair, neither hearing norseeing her sister, conscious only that Don John was in danger and thatshe could not warn him to be on his guard. She had not believed herselfwhen she had told her father that he would not dare to lift his handagainst the King's half brother. She had said the words to give herselfcourage, and perhaps in a rush of certainty that the man she loved was amatch for other men, hand to hand, and something more. It was differentnow. Little as she yet knew of human nature, she guessed withoutreasoning that a man who has been angry, who has wavered and given wayto what he believes to be weakness, and whose anger has then burst outagain, is much more dangerous than before, because his wrath is nolonger roused against another only, but also against himself. Morefollies and crimes have been committed in that second tide of passionthan under a first impulse. Even if Mendoza had not fully meant what hehad said the first time, he had meant it all, and more, when he had lastspoken. Once more the vision of fear rose before Dolores' eyes, noblernow; because it was fear for another and not for herself, but thereforealso harder to conquer. Inez had ceased from sobbing now, and was sitting quietly in heraccustomed seat, in that attitude of concentrated expectancy of soundswhich is so natural to the blind, that one can almost recognizeblindness by the position of the head and body without seeing the face. The blind rarely lean back in a chair; more often the body is quiteupright, or bent a little forward, the face is slightly turned up whenthere is total silence, often turned down when a sound is already hearddistinctly; the knees are hardly ever crossed, the hands are seldomfolded together, but are generally spread out, as if ready to help thehearing by the sense of touch--the lips are slightly parted, for theblind know that they hear by the mouth as well as with their ears--theexpression of the face is one of expectation and extreme attention, still, not placid, calm, but the very contrary of indifferent. It wasthus that Inez sat, as she often sat for hours, listening, always andforever listening to the speech of things and of nature, as well as forhuman words. And in listening, she thought and reasoned patiently andcontinually, so that the slightest sounds had often long and accuratemeanings for her. The deaf reason little or ill, and are verysuspicious; the blind, on the contrary, are keen, thoughtful, andingenious, and are distrustful of themselves rather than of others. Inezsat quite still, listening, thinking, and planning a means of helpingher sister. But Dolores stood motionless as if she were paralyzed, watching thepicture that Ŧhe could not chase away. For she saw the familiar figureof the man she loved coming down the gloomy corridor, alone and unarmed, past the deep embrasures through which the moonlight streamed, straighttowards the oak door at the end; and then, from one of the windowsanother figure stood out, sword in hand, a gaunt man with a grey beard, and there were few words, and an uncertain quick confounding of shadowswith a ray of cold light darting hither and thither, then a fall, andthen stillness. As soon as it was over, it began again, with littlechange, save that it grew more distinct, till she could see Don John'swhite face in the moonlight as he lay dead on the pavement of thecorridor. It became intolerable at last, and she slowly raised one hand andcovered her eyes to shut out the sight. "Listen, " said Inez, as Dolores stirred. "I have been thinking. You mustsee him to-night, even if you are not alone with him. There is only oneway to do that; you must dress yourself for the court and go down to thegreat hall with the others and speak to him--then you can decide how tomeet to-morrow. " "Inez--I have not told you the rest! To-morrow I am to be sent to LasHuelgas, and kept there like a prisoner. " Inez uttered a low cry ofpain. "To a convent!" It seemed like death. Dolores began to tell her all Mendoza had said, but Inez sooninterrupted her. There was a dark flush in the blind girl's face. "And he would have you believe that he loves you?" she criedindignantly. "He has always been hard, and cruel, and unkind, he hasnever forgiven me for being blind---he will never forgive you for beingyoung! The King! The King before everything and every one--beforehimself, yes, that is well, but before his children, his soul, hisheart--he has no heart! What am I saying--" She stopped short. "And yet, in his strange way, he loves us both, " said Dolores. "I cannotunderstand it, but I saw his face when there were tears in his eyes, andI heard his voice. He would give his life for us. " "And our lives, and hearts, and hopes to feed his conscience and to savehis own soul!" Inez was trembling with anger, leaning far forward, her face flushed, one slight hand clenched, the other clenching it hard. Dolores wassilent. It was not the first time that Inez had spoken in this way, forthe blind girl could be suddenly and violently angry for a good cause. But now her tone changed. "I will save you, " she said suddenly, "but there is no time to be lost. He will not come back to our rooms now, and he knows well enough thatDon John cannot come here at this hour, so that he is not waiting forhim. We have this part of the place to ourselves, and the outer dooronly is bolted now. It will take you an hour to dress--saythree-quarters of an hour. As soon as you get out, you must go quicklyround the palace to the Duchess Alvarez. Our father will not go there, and you can go down with her, as usual--but tell her nothing. Our fatherwill be there, and he will see you, but he will not care to make an openscandal in the court. Don John will come and speak to you; you must staybeside the Duchess of course--but you can manage to exchange a fewwords. " Dolores listened intently, and her face brightened a little as Inez wenton, only to grow sad and hopeless again a moment later. It was all animpossible dream. "That would be possible if I could once get beyond the door of thehall, " she said despondently. "It is of no use, dear! The door isbolted. " "They will open it for me. Old Eudaldo is always within hearing, and hewill do anything for me. Besides, I shall seem to have been shut in bymistake, do you see? I shall say that I am hungry, thirsty, that I amcold, that in locking you in our father locked me in, too, because I wasasleep. Then Eudaldo will open the door for me. I shall say that I amgoing to the Duchess's. " "Yes--but then?" "You will cover yourself entirely with my black cloak and draw it overyour head and face. We are of the same height--you only need to walk asI do--as if you were blind--across the hall to the left. Eudaldo willopen the outer door for you. You will just nod to thank him, withoutspeaking, and when you are outside, touch the wall of the corridor withyour left hand, and keep close to it. I always do, for fear of runningagainst some one. If you meet any of the women, they will take you forme. There is never much light in the corridor, is there? There is oneoil lamp half way down, I know, for I always smell it when I pass in theevening. " "Yes, it is almost dark there--it is a little lamp. Do you really thinkthis is possible?" "It is possible, not sure. If you hear footsteps in the corridor beyondthe corner, you will have time to slip into one of the embrasures. Butour father will not come now. He knows that Don John is in his ownapartments with many people. And besides, it is to be a great festivalto-night, and all the court people and officers, and the Archbishop, andall the rest who do not live in the palace will come from the city, sothat our father will have to command the troops and give orders for theguards to march out, and a thousand things will take his time. Don Johncannot possibly come here till after the royal supper, and if our fathercan come away at all, it will be at the same time. That is the danger. " Dolores shivered and saw the vision in the corridor again. "But if you are seen talking with Don John before supper, no one willsuppose that in order to meet him you would risk coming back here, whereyou are sure to be caught and locked up again. Do you see?" "It all depends upon whether I can get out, " answered Dolores, but therewas more hope in her tone. "How am I to dress without a maid?" she askedsuddenly. "Trust me, " said Inez, with a laugh. "My hands are better than aserving-woman's eyes. You shall look as you never looked before. I knowevery lock of your hair, and just how it should be turned and curled andfastened in place so that it cannot possibly get loose. Come, we arewasting time. Take off your slippers as I have done, so that no oneshall hear us walking through the hall to your room, and bring thecandles with you if you choose--yes, you need them to pick out thecolours you like. " "If you think it will be safer in the dark, it does not matter, " saidDolores. "I know where everything is. " "It would be safer, " answered Inez thoughtfully. "It is just possiblethat he might be in the court and might see the light in your window, whereas if it burns here steadily, he will suspect nothing. We will boltthe door of this room, as I found it. If by any possibility he comesback, he will think you are still here, and will probably not come in. " "Pray Heaven he may not!" exclaimed Dolores, and she began to go towardsthe door. Inez was there before her, opening it very cautiously. "My hands are lighter than yours, " she whispered. They both passed out, and Inez slipped the bolt back into its place withinfinite precaution. "Is there light here?" she asked under her breath. "There is a very small lamp on the table. I can just see my door. " "Put it out as we pass, " whispered Inez. "I will lead you if you cannotfind your way. " They moved cautiously forward, and when they reached the table, Doloresbent down to the small wick and blew out the flame. Then she felt hersister's hand taking hers and leading her quickly to the other door. Theblind girl was absolutely noiseless in her movements, and Dolores hadthe strange impression that she was being led by a spirit through thedarkness. Inez stopped a moment, and then went slowly on; they hadentered the room though Dolores had not heard the door move, nor did shehear it closed behind her again. Her own room was perfectly dark, forthe heavy curtain that covered the window was drawn; she made a stepalone, and cautiously, and struck her knee against a chair. "Do not move, " whispered Inez. "You will make a noise. I can dress youwhere you stand, or if you want to find anything, I will lead you to theplace where it is. Remember that it is always day for me. " Dolores obeyed, and stood still, holding her breath a little in herintense excitement. It seemed impossible that Inez could do all shepromised without making a mistake, and Dolores would not have been awoman had she not been visited just then by visions of ridicule. Withoutlight she was utterly helpless to do anything for herself, and she hadnever before then fully realized the enormous misfortune with which hersister had to contend. She had not guessed, either, what energy andquickness of thought Inez possessed, and the sensation of being advised, guided, and helped by one she had always herself helped and protectedwas new. They spoke in quick whispers of what she was to wear and of how her hairwas to be dressed, and Inez found what was wanted without noise, andalmost as quickly as Dolores could have done in broad daylight, andplaced a chair for her, making her sit down in it, and began to arrangeher hair quickly and skilfully. Dolores felt the spiritlike handstouching her lightly and deftly in the dark--they were very slight andsoft, and did not offend her with a rough movement or a wrong turn, asher maid's sometimes did. She felt her golden hair undone, and swiftlydrawn out and smoothed without catching, or tangling, or hurting her atall, in a way no woman had ever combed it, and the invisible handsgently divided it, and turned it upon her head, slipping the hairpinsinto the right places as if by magic, so that they were firm at thefirst trial, and there was a faint sound of little pearls tapping eachother, and Dolores felt the small string laid upon her hair and fastenedin its place, --the only ornament a young girl could wear for aheaddress, --and presently it was finished, and Inez gave a sigh ofsatisfaction at her work, and lightly felt her sister's head here andthere to be sure that all was right. It felt as if soft little birdswere just touching the hair with the tips of their wings as theyfluttered round it. Dolores had no longer any fear of looking illdressed in the blaze of light she was to face before long. The dressingof her hair was the most troublesome part, she knew, and though shecould not have done it herself, she had felt that every touch and turnhad been perfectly skilful. "What a wonderful creature you are!" she whispered, as Inez bade herstand up. "You have beautiful hair, " answered the blind girl, "and you arebeautiful in other ways, but to-night you must be the most beautiful ofall the court, for his sake--so that every woman may envy you, and everyman envy him, when they see you talking together. And now we must bequick, for it has taken a long time, and I hear the soldiers marchingout again to form in the square. That is always just an hour and a halfbefore the King goes into the hall. Here--this is the front of theskirt. " "No--it is the back!" Inez laughed softly, a whispering laugh that Dolores could scarcelyhear. "It is the front, " she said. "You can trust me in the dark. Put yourarms down, and let me slip it over your head so as not to touch yourhair. No---hold your arms down!" Dolores had instinctively lifted her hands to protect her headdress. Then all went quickly, the silence only broken by an occasionalwhispered word and by the rustle of silk, the long soft sound of thelacing as Inez drew it through the eyelets of the bodice, the lighttapping of her hands upon the folds and gatherings of the skirt and onthe puffed velvet on the shoulders and elbows. "You must be beautiful, perfectly beautiful to-night, " Inez repeatedmore than once. She herself did not understand why she said it, unless it were thatDolores' beauty was for Don John of Austria, and that nothing in thewhole world could be too perfect for him, for the hero of her thoughts, the sun of her blindness, the immeasurably far-removed deity of herheart. She did not know that it was not for her sister's sake, but forhis, that she had planned the escape and was taking such infinite painsthat Dolores might look her best. Yet she felt a deep and deliciousdelight in what she did, like nothing she had ever felt before, for itwas the first time in her life that she had been able to do somethingthat could give him pleasure; and, behind that, there was the beliefthat he was in danger, that she could no longer go to him nor warn himnow, and that only Dolores herself could hinder him from comingunexpectedly against old Mendoza, sword in hand, in the corridor. "And now my cloak over everything, " she said. "Wait here, for I must getit, and do not move!" Dolores hardly knew whether Inez left the room or not, so noiselesslydid the girl move. Then she felt the cloak laid upon her shoulders anddrawn close round her to hide her dress, for skirts were short in thosedays and easily hidden. Inez laid a soft silk handkerchief upon hersister's hair, lest it should be disarranged by the hood which shelightly drew over all, assuring herself that it would sufficiently hidethe face. "Now come with me, " she whispered. I will lead you to the door that isbolted and place you just where it will open. Then I will call Eudaldoand speak to him, and beg him to let me out. If he does, bend your headand try to walk as I do. I shall be on one side of the door, and, as theroom is dark, he cannot possibly see me. While he is opening the outerdoor for you, I will slip back into my own room. Do you understand? Andremember to hide in an embrasure if you hear a man's footsteps. Are youquite sure you understand?" "Yes; it will be easy if Eudaldo opens. And I thank you, dear; I wish Iknew how to thank you as I ought! It may have saved his life--" "And yours, too, perhaps, " answered Inez, beginning to lead her away. "You would die in the convent, and you must not come back--you mustnever come back to us here--never till you are married. Good-by, Dolores--dear sister. I have done nothing, and you have done everythingfor me all your life. Good-by--one kiss--then we must go, for it islate. " With her soft hands she drew Dolores' head towards her, lifted the hooda little, and kissed her tenderly. All at once there were tears on boththeir faces, and the arms of each clasped the other almost desperately. "You must come to me, wherever I am, " Dolores said. "Yes, I will come, wherever you are. I promise it. " Then she disengaged herself quickly, and more than ever she seemed aspirit as she went before, leading her sister by the hand. They reachedthe door, and she made Dolores stand before the right hand panel, readyto slip out, and once more she touched the hood to be sure it hid theface. She listened a moment. A harsh and regular sound came from adistance, resembling that made by a pit-saw steadily grinding its waylengthwise through a log of soft pine wood. "Eudaldo is asleep, " said Inez, and even at this moment she could hardlysuppress a half-hysterical laugh. "I shall have to make a tremendousnoise to wake him. The danger is that it may bring some one else, ---thewomen, the rest of the servants. " "What shall we do?" asked Dolores, in a distressed whisper. She had braced her nerves to act the part of her sister at the dangerousmoment, and her excitement made every instant of waiting seem ten timesits length. Inez did not answer the question at once. Dolores repeatedit still more anxiously. "I was trying to make up my mind, " said the other at last. "You couldpass Eudaldo well enough, I am sure, but it might be another matter ifthe hall were full of servants, as it is certain that our father hasgiven a general order that you are not to be allowed to go out. We maywait an hour for the man to wake. " Dolores instinctively tried the door, but it was solidly fastened fromthe outside. She felt hot and cold by turns as her anxiety grew moreintolerable. Each minute made it more possible that she might meet herfather somewhere outside. "We must decide something!" she whispered desperately. "We cannot waithere. " "I do not know what to do, " answered Inez. "I have done all I can; Inever dreamt that Eudaldo would be asleep. At least, it is a sure signthat our father is not in the house. " "But he may come at any moment! We must, we must do something at once!" "I will knock softly, " said Inez. "Any one who hears it will suppose itis a knock at the hall door. If he does not open, some one will go andwake him up, and then go away again so as not to be seen. " She clenched her small hand, and knocked three times. Such a sound couldmake not the slightest impression upon Eudaldo's sound sleep, but herreasoning was good, as well as ingenious. After waiting a few moments, she knocked again, more loudly. Dolores held her breath in the silencethat followed. Presently a door was opened, and a woman's voice washeard, low but sharp. "Eudaldo, Eudaldo! Some one is knocking at the front door!" The woman probably shook the old man to rouse him, for his voice camenext, growling and angry. "Witch! Hag! Mother of malefactors! Let me alone--I am asleep. Are youtrying to tear my sleeve off with your greasy claws? Nobody is knocking;you probably hear the wine thumping in your ears!" The woman, who was the drudge and had been cleaning the kitchen, wasprobably used to Eudaldo's manner of expressing himself, for she onlylaughed. "Wine makes men sleep, but it does not knock at doors, " she answered. "Some one has knocked twice. You had better go and open the door. " A shuffling sound and a deep yawn announced that Eudaldo was getting outof his chair. The two girls heard him moving towards the outer entrance. Then they heard the woman go away, shutting the other door behind her, as soon as she was sure that Eudaldo was really awake. Then Inez calledhim softly. "Eudaldo? Here--it was I that knocked--you must let me out, please--comenearer. " "Doņa Inez?" asked the old man, standing still. "Hush!" answered the girl. "Come nearer. " She waited, listening while heapproached. "Listen to me, " she continued. "The General has locked mein, by mistake. He did not know I was here when he bolted the door. AndI am hungry and thirsty and very cold, Eudaldo--and you must let me out, and I will run to the Duchess Alvarez and stay with her little girl. Indeed, Eudaldo, the General did not mean to lock me in, too. " "He said nothing about your ladyship to me, " answered the servantdoubtfully. "But I do not know--" he hesitated. "Please, please, Eudaldo, " pleaded Inez, "I am so cold and lonelyhere--" "But Doņa Dolores is there, too, " observed Eudaldo. Dolores held her breath and steadied herself against the panel. "He shut her into the inner sitting-room. How could I dare to open thedoor! You may go in and knock--she will not answer you. " "Is your ladyship sure that Doņa Dolores is within?" asked Eudaldo, in amore yielding tone. "Absolutely, perfectly sure!" answered Inez, with perfect truth. "Oh, doplease let me out. " Slowly the old man drew the bolt, while Dolores' heart stood still, andshe prepared herself for the danger; for she knew well enough that thefaithful old servant feared his master much more than he feared thedevil and all evil spirits, and would prevent her from passing, evenwith force, if he recognized her. "Thank you, Eudaldo--thank you!" cried Inez, as the latch turned. "Andopen the front door for me, please, " she said, putting her lips justwhere the panel was opening. Then she drew back into the darkness. The door was wide open now, andEudaldo was already shuffling towards the entrance. Dolores wentforward, bending her head, and trying to affect her sister's step. Nodistance had ever seemed so long to her as that which separated her fromthe hall door which Eudaldo was already opening for her. But she darednot hasten her step, for though Inez moved with perfect certainty in thehouse, she always walked with a certain deliberate caution, and oftenstopped to listen, while crossing a room. The blind girl was listeningnow, with all her marvellous hearing, to be sure that all went well tillDolores should be outside. She knew exactly how many steps there werefrom where she stood to the entrance, for she had often counted them. Dolores must have been not more than three yards from the door, whenInez started involuntarily, for she heard a sound from without, faroff--so far that Dolores could not possibly have heard it yet, butunmistakable to the blind girl's keener ear. She listenedintently--there were Dolores' last four steps to the open doorway, andthere were others from beyond, still very far away in the vaultedcorridors, but coming nearer. To call her sister back would have madeall further attempt at escape hopeless--to let her go on seemed almostequally fatal--Inez could have shrieked aloud. But Dolores had alreadygone out, and a moment later the heavy door swung back to its place, andit was too late to call her. Like an immaterial spirit, Inez slippedaway from the place where she stood and went back to Dolores' room, knowing that Eudaldo would very probably go and knock where he supposedher sister to be a prisoner, before slipping the outer bolt again. Andso he did, muttering an imprecation upon the little lamp that had goneout and left the small hall in darkness. Then he knocked, and spokethrough the door, offering to bring her food, or fire, and repeating hiswords many times, in a supplicating tone, for he was devoted to both thesisters, though terror of old Mendoza was the dominating element in hisexistence. At last he shook his head and turned despondently to light the littlelamp again; and when he had done that, he went away and bolted the doorafter him, convinced that Inez had gone out and that Dolores had stayedbehind in the last room. When she had heard him go away the last time, the blind girl threwherself upon Dolores' bed, and buried her face in the down cushion, sobbing bitterly in her utter loneliness; weeping, too, for somethingshe did not understand, but which she felt the more painfully becauseshe could not understand it, something that was at once like a burningfire and an unspeakable emptiness craving to be filled, something thatlonged and feared, and feared longing, something that was a strongbodily pain but which she somehow knew might have been the source of allearthly delight, --an element detached from thought and yet holding it, above the body and yet binding it, touching the soul and growing uponit, but filling the soul itself with fear and unquietness, and makingher heart cry out within her as if it were not hers and were pleading tobe free. So, as she could not understand that this was love, which, asshe had heard said, made women and men most happy, like gods andgoddesses, above their kind, she lay alone in the darkness that wasalways as day to her, and wept her heart out in scalding tears. In the corridor outside, Dolores made a few steps, remembering to putout her left hand to touch the wall, as Inez had told her to do; andthen she heard what had reached her sister's ears much sooner. She stoodstill an instant, strained her eyes to see in the dim light of thesingle lamp, saw nothing, and heard the sound coming nearer. Then shequickly crossed the corridor to the nearest embrasure to hide herself. To her horror she realized that the light of the full moon was streamingin as bright as day, and that she could not be hid. Inez knew nothing ofmoonlight. She pressed herself to the wall, on the side away from her own door, making herself as small as she could, for it was possible that whoevercame by might pass without turning his head. Nervous and exhausted byall she had felt and been made to feel since the afternoon, she held herbreath and waited. The regular tread of a man booted and spurred came relentlessly towardsher, without haste and without pause. No one who wore spurs but herfather ever came that way. She listened breathlessly to the hollowechoes, and turned her eyes along the wall of the embrasure. In a momentshe must see his gaunt figure, and the moonlight would be white on hisshort grey beard. * * * * * CHAPTER IV Dolores knew that there was no time to reflect as to what she should do, if her father found her hiding in the embrasure, and yet in those shortseconds a hundred possibilities flashed through her disturbed thoughts. She might slip past him and run for her life down the corridor, or shemight draw her hood over her face and try to pretend that she was someone else, --but he would recognize the hood itself as belonging toInez, --or she might turn and lean upon the window-sill, indifferently, as if she had a right to be there, and he might take her for some ladyof the court, and pass on. And yet she could not decide which toattempt, and stood still, pressing herself against the wall of theembrasure, and quite forgetful of the fact that the bright moonlightfell unhindered through all the other windows upon the pavement, whereasshe cast a shadow from the one in which she was standing, and that anyone coming along the corridor would notice it and stop to see who wasthere. There was something fateful and paralyzing in the regular footfall thatwas followed instantly by the short echo from the vault above. It wasclose at hand now she was sure that at the very next instant she shouldsee her father's face, yet nothing came, except the sound, for thatdeceived her in the silence and seemed far nearer than it was. She hadheard horrible ghost stories of the old Alcazar, and as a child she hadbeen frightened by tales of evil things that haunted the corridors atnight, of wraiths and goblins and Moorish wizards who dwelt in secretvaults, where no one knew, and came out in the dark, when all was still, to wander in the moonlight, a terror to the living. The girl felt thethrill of unearthly fear at the roots of her hair, and trembled, and thesound seemed to be magnified till it reëchoed like thunder, though itwas only the noise of an advancing footfall, with a little jingling ofspurs. But at last there was no doubt. It was close to her, and she shut hereyes involuntarily. She heard one step more on the stones, and thenthere was silence. She knew that her father had seen her, had stoppedbefore her, and was looking at her. She knew how his rough brows wereknitting themselves together, and that even in the pale moonlight hiseyes were fierce and angry, and that his left hand was resting on thehilt of his sword, the bony brown fingers tapping the basket nervously. An hour earlier, or little more, she had faced him as bravely as anyman, but she could not face him now, and she dared not open her eyes. "Madam, are you ill, or in trouble?" asked a young voice that was softand deep. She opened her eyes with a sharp cry that was not of fear, and she threwback her hood with one hand as the looked. Don John of Austria was there, a step from her, the light full on hisface, bareheaded, his cap in his hand, bending a little towards her, asone does towards a person one does not know, but who seems to be indistress and to need help. Against the whiteness without he could notsee her face, nor could he recognize her muffled figure. "Can I not help you, Madam?" asked the kind voice again, very gravely. Then she put out her hands towards him and made a step, and as the hoodfell quite back with the silk kerchief, he saw her golden hair in thesilver light. Slowly and in wonder, and still not quite believing, hemoved to meet her movement, took her hands in his, drew her to him, turned her face gently, till he saw it well. Then he, too, uttered alittle sound that was neither a word nor a syllable nor a cry--a soundthat was half fierce with strong delight as his lips met hers, and hishands were suddenly at her waist lifting her slowly to his own height, though he did not know it, pressing her closer and closer to him, as ifthat one kiss were the first and last that ever man gave woman. A minute passed, and yet neither he nor she could speak. She stood withher hands clasped round his neck, and her head resting on his breastjust below the shoulder, as if she were saying tender words to the heartshe heard beating so loud through the soft black velvet. She knew thatit had never beaten in battle as it was beating now, and she loved itbecause it knew her and welcomed her; but her own stood still, and nowand then it fluttered wildly, like a strong young bird in a barred cage, and then was quite still again. Bending his face a little, he softlykissed her hair again and again, till at last the kisses formedthemselves into syllables and words, which she felt rather than heard. "God in heaven, how I love you--heart of my heart--life of my life--loveof my soul!" And again he repeated the same words, and many more like them, withlittle change, because at that moment he had neither thought nor carefor anything else in the world, not for life nor death nor kingdom norglory, in comparison with the woman he loved. He could not hear heranswers, for she spoke without words to his heart, hiding her face whereshe heard it throbbing, while her lips pressed many kisses on thevelvet. Then, as thought returned, and the first thought was for him, she drewback a little with a quick movement, and looked up to him withfrightened and imploring eyes. "We must go!" she cried anxiously, in a very low voice. "We cannot stayhere. My father is very angry--he swore on his word of honour that hewould kill you if you tried to see me to-night!" Don John laughed gently, and his eyes brightened. Before she could speakagain, he held her close once more, and his kisses were on her cheeksand her eyes, on her forehead and on her hair, and then again upon herlips, till they would have hurt her if she had not loved them so, andgiven back every one. Then she struggled again, and he loosed his hold. "It is death to stay here, " she said very earnestly. "It is worse than death to leave you, " he answered. "And I will not, " headded an instant later, "neither for the King, nor for your father, norfor any royal marriage they may try to force upon me. " She looked into his eyes for a moment, before she spoke, and there wasdeep and true trust in her own. "Then you must save me, " she said quietly. "He has vowed that I shall besent to the convent of Las Huelgas to-morrow morning. He locked me intothe inner room, but Inez helped me to dress, and I got out under hercloak. " She told him in a few words what she had done and had meant to do, inorder to see him, and how she had taken his step for her father's. Helistened gravely, and she saw his face harden slowly in an expressionshe had scarcely ever seen there. When she had finished her story he wassilent for a moment. "We are quite safe here, " he said at last, "safer than anywhere else, Ithink, for your father cannot come back until the King goes to supper. For myself, I have an hour, but I have been so surrounded and pesteredby visitors in my apartments that I have not found time to put on acourt dress--and without vanity, I presume that I am a necessary figureat court this evening. Your father is with Perez, who seems to be actingas master of ceremonies and of everything else, as well as the King'ssecretary--they have business together, and the General will not have amoment. I ascertained that, before coming here, or I should not havecome at this hour. We are safe from him here, I am sure. " "You know best, " answered Dolores, who was greatly reassured by what hesaid about Mendoza. "Let us sit down, then. You must be tired after all you have done. Andwe have much to say to each other. " "How could I be tired now?" she asked, with a loving smile; but she satdown on the stone seat in the embrasure, close to the window. It was just wide enough for two to sit there, and Don John took hisplace beside her, and drew one of her hands silently to him between bothhis own, and kissed the tips of her fingers a great many times. But hefelt that she was watching his face, and he looked up and saw hereyes--and then, again, many seconds passed before either could speak. They were but a boy and girl together, loving each other in the tenderfirst love of early youth, for the victor of the day, the subduer of theMoors, the man who had won back Granada, who was already High Admiral ofSpain, and who in some ten months from that time was to win a decisivebattle of the world at Lepanto, was a stripling of twenty-threesummers--and he had first seen Dolores when he was twenty and sheseventeen, and now it was nearly two years since they had met. He was the first to speak, for he was a man of quick and unerringdeterminations that led to actions as sudden as they were bold andbrilliant, and what Dolores had told him of her quarrel with her fatherwas enough to rouse his whole energy at once. At all costs she mustnever be allowed to pass the gates of Las Huelgas. Once within theconvent, by the King's orders, and a close prisoner, nothing short of asacrilegious assault and armed violence could ever bring her out intothe world again. He knew that, and that he must act instantly to preventit, for he knew Mendoza's character also, and had no doubt but that hewould do what he threatened. It was necessary to put Dolores beyond hisreach at once, and beyond the King's also, which was not an easy matterwithin the walls of the King's own palace, and on such a night. Don Johnhad been but little at the court and knew next to nothing of itsintrigues, nor of the mutual relations of the ladies and high officerswho had apartments in the Alcazar. In his own train there were no women, of course. Dolores' brother Rodrigo, who had fought by his side atGranada, had begged to be left behind with the garrison, in order thathe might not be forced to meet his father. Doņa Magdalena Quixada, DonJohn's adoptive mother, was far away at Villagarcia. The DuchessAlvarez, though fond of Dolores, was Mistress of the Robes to the youngQueen, and it was not to be hoped nor expected that she should risk thedanger of utter ruin and disgrace if it were discovered that she hadhidden the girl against the King's wishes. Yet it was absolutelynecessary that Dolores should be safely hidden within an hour, and thatshe should be got out of the palace before morning, and if possibleconveyed to Villagarcia. Don John saw in a moment that there was no oneto whom he could turn. Again he took Dolores' hand in his, but with a sort of gravity andprotecting authority that had not been in his touch the first time. Moreover, he did not kiss her fingers now, and he resolutely looked atthe wall opposite him. Then, in a low and quiet voice, he laid thesituation before her, while she anxiously listened. "You see, " he said at last, "there is only one way left. Dolores, do youaltogether trust me?" She started a little, and her fingers pressed his hand suddenly. "Trust you? Ah, with all my soul!" "Think well before you answer, " he said. "You do not quiteunderstand--it is a little hard to put it clearly, but I must. I knowyou trust me in many ways, to love you faithfully always, to speak truthto you always, to defend you always, to help you with my life when youshall be in need. You know that I love you so, as you love me. Have wenot often said it? You wrote it in your letter, too--ah, dear, I thankyou for that. Yes, I have read it--I have it here, near my heart, and Ishall read it again before I sleep--" Without a word, and still listening, she bent down and pressed her lipsto the place where her letter lay. He touched her hair with his lips andwent on speaking, as she leaned back against the wall again. "You must trust me even more than that, my beloved, " he said. "To saveyou, you must be hidden by some one whom I myself can trust--and forsuch a matter there is no one in the palace nor in all Madrid--no one towhom I can turn and know that you will be safe--not one human being, except myself. " "Except yourself!" Dolores loved the words, and gently pressed his hand. "I thank you, dearest heart--but do you know what that means? Do youunderstand that I must hide you myself, in my own apartments, and keepyou there until I can take you out of the palace, before morning?" She was silent for a few moments, turning her face away from him. Hisheart sank. "No, dear, " he said sadly, "you do not trust me enough for that--I seeit--what woman could?" Her hand trembled and started in his, then pressed it hard, and sheturned her face quite to him. "You are wrong, " she said, with a tremor in her voice. "I love you as noman was ever loved by any woman, far beyond all that all words can say, and I shall love you till I die, and after that, for ever--even if I cannever be your wife. I love you as no one loves in these days, and when Isay that it is as you love me, I mean a thousand fold for every word. Iam not the child you left nearly two years ago. I am a woman now, for Ihave thought and seen much since then--and I love you better and morethan then. God knows, there is enough to see and to learn in thiscourt--that should be hidden deep from honest women's sight! You and Ishall have a heaven on this earth, if God grants that we may be joinedtogether--for I will live for you, and serve you, and smooth all troubleout of your way--and ask nothing of you but your love. And if we cannotmarry, then I will live for you in my heart, and serve you with my soul, and pray Heaven that harm may never touch you. I will pray so ferventlythat God must hear me. And so will you pray for me, as you would fightfor me, if you could. Remember, if you will, that when you are in battlefor Spain, your sword is drawn for Spain's honour, and for the honour ofevery Christian Spanish woman that lives--and for mine, too!" The words pleased him, and his free hand was suddenly clenched. "You would make cowards fight like wolves, if you could speak to themlike that!" he said. "I am not speaking to cowards, " she answered, with a loving smile. "I amspeaking to the man I love, to the best and bravest and truest man thatbreathes--and not to Don John of Austria, the victorious leader, but toyou, my heart's love, my life, my all, to you who are good and brave andtrue to me, as no man ever was to any woman. No--" she laughed happily, and there were tears in her eyes--"no, there are no words for such loveas ours. " "May I be all you would have me, and much more, " he said fervently, andhis voice shook in the short speech. "I am giving you all I have, because it is not belief, it is certainty. I know you are all that I say you are, and more too. And I trust you, asyou mean it, and as you need my trust to save me. Take me where youwill. Hide me in your own room if you must, and bolt and bar it if needbe. I shall be as safe with you as I should be with my mother in heaven. I put my hands between yours. " Again he heard her sweet low laughter, full of joy and trust, and shelaid her hands together between his and looked into his eyes, straightand clear. Then she spoke softly and solemnly. "Into your hands I put my life, and my faith, and my maiden honour, trusting them all to you alone in this world, as I trust them to God. " Don John held her hands tightly for a moment, still looking into hereyes as if he could see her soul there, giving itself to his keeping. But he swore no great oath, and made no long speech; for a man who hasled men to deeds of glory, and against whom no dishonourable thing wasever breathed, knows that his word is good. "You shall not regret that you trust me, and you will be quite safe, " hesaid. She wanted no more. Loving as she did, she believed in him withoutpromises, yet she could not always believe that he quite knew how sheloved him. "You are dearer to me than I knew, " he said presently, breaking thesilence that followed. "I love you even more, and I thought it couldnever be more, when I found you here a little while ago--because you doreally trust me. " "You knew it, " the said, nestling to him. "But you wanted me to tellyou. Yes--we are nearer now. " "Far nearer--and a world more dear, " he answered. "Do you know? In allthese months I have often and often again wondered how we should meet, whether it would be before many people, or only with your sister Inezthere--or perhaps alone. But I did not dare hope for that. " "Nor I. I have dreamt of meeting you a hundred times--and more thanthat! But there was always some one in the way. I suppose that if we hadfound each other in the court and had only been able to say a few words, it would have been a long time before we were quite ourselvestogether--but now, it seems as if we had never been parted at all, doesit not?" "As if we could never be parted again, " he answered softly. For a little while there was silence, and though there was to be a greatgathering of the court, that night, all was very still where the loverssat at the window, for the throne room and the great halls of state werefar away on the other side of the palace, and the corridor looked upon acourt through which few persons had to pass at night. Suddenly from adistance there came the rhythmical beat of the Spanish drums, as somedetachment of troops marched by the outer gate. Don John listened. "Those are my men, " he said. "We must go, for now that they are below Ican send my people on errands with orders to them, until I am alone. Then you must come in. At the end of my apartments there is a smallroom, beyond my own. It is furnished to be my study, and no one willexpect to enter it at night. I must put you there, and lock the door andtake the key with me, so that no one can go in while I am at court--orelse you can lock it on the inside, yourself. That would be better, perhaps, " he added rather hurriedly. "No, " said the girl quietly. "I prefer that you should have the key. Ishall feel even safer. But how can I get there without being seen? Wecannot go so far together without meeting some one. " He rose, and she stood up beside him. "My apartments open upon the broad terrace on the south side, " he said. "At this time there will be only two or three officers there, and my twoservants. Follow me at a little distance, with your hood over your face, and when you reach the sentry-box at the corner where I turn off, go in. There will be no sentinel there, and the door looks outward. I shallsend away every one, on different errands, in five minutes. When everyone is gone I will come for you. Is that clear?" "Perfectly. " She nodded, as if she had made quite sure of what he hadexplained. Then she put up her hands, as if to say good-by. "Oh, if wecould only stay here in peace!" she cried. He said nothing, for he knew that there was still much danger, and hewas anxious for her. He only pressed her hands and then led her away. They followed the corridor together, side by side, to the turning. Thenhe whispered to her to drop behind, and she let him go on a dozen pacesand followed him. The way was long, and ill lighted at intervals by oillamps hung from the vault by small chains; they cast a broad blackshadow beneath them, and shed a feeble light above. Several timespersons passed them, and Dolores' heart beat furiously. A court lady, followed by a duenna and a serving-woman, stopped with a winning smile, and dropped a low courtesy to Don John, who lifted his cap, bowed, andwent on. They did not look at Dolores. A man in a green cloth apron andloose slippers, carrying five lighted lamps in a greasy iron tray, passed with perfect indifference, and without paying the least attentionto the victor of Granada. It was his business to carry lamps in thatpart of the palace--he was not a human being, but a lamplighter. Theywent on, down a short flight of broad steps, and then through a widercorridor where the lights were better, though the night breeze wasblowing in and made them flicker and flare. A corporal's guard of the household halberdiers came swinging down at amarching step, coming from the terrace beyond. The corporal crossed hishalberd in salute, but Don John stopped him, for he understood at oncethat a sentry had been set at his door. "I want no guard, " he said. "Take the man away. " "The General ordered it, your Highness, " answered the man, respectfully. "Request your captain to report to the General that I particularlydesire no sentinel at my door. I have no possessions to guard except myreputation, and I can take care of that myself. " He laughedgood-naturedly. The corporal grinned--he was a very dark, broad-faced man, with highcheek bones, and ears that stuck out. He faced about with his threesoldiers, and followed Don John to the terrace--but in the distance hehad seen the hooded figure of a woman. Not knowing what to do, for she had heard the colloquy, Dolores stoodstill a moment, for she did not care to pass the soldiers as they cameback. Then she turned and walked a little way in the other direction, togain time, and kept on slowly. In less than a minute they returned, bringing the sentinel with them. She walked slowly and counted them asthey went past her--and then she started as if she had been stung, andblushed scarlet under her hood, for she distinctly heard the bigcorporal laugh to himself when he had gone by. She knew, then, how shetrusted the man she loved. When the soldiers had turned the corner and were out of sight, she ranback to the terrace and hid herself in the stone sentry-box justoutside, still blushing and angry. On the side of the box towards DonJohn's apartment there was a small square window just at the height ofher eyes, and she looked through it, sure that her face could not beseen from without. She looked from mere curiosity, to see what sort ofmen the officers were, and Don John's servants; for everything connectedwith him or belonging to him in any way interested her most intensely. Two tall captains came out first, magnificent in polished breastplateswith gold shoulder straps and sashes and gleaming basket-hilted swords, that stuck up behind them as their owners pressed down the hilts andstrutted along, twisting their short black moustaches in the hope ofmeeting some court lady on their way. Then another and older man passed, also in a soldier's dress, but with bent head, apparently deep inthought. After that no one came for some time--then a servant, whopulled something out of his pocket and began to eat it, before he was inthe corridor. Then a woman came past the little window. Dolores saw her as distinctlyas she had seen the four men. She came noiselessly and stealthily, putting down her foot delicately, like a cat. She was a lady, and shewore a loose cloak that covered all her gown, and on her head a thickveil, drawn fourfold across her face. Her gait told the girl that shewas young and graceful--something in the turn of the head made her surethat she was beautiful, too--something in the whole figure and bearingwas familiar. The blood sank from Dolores' cheeks, and she felt a chillslowly rising to her heart. The lady entered the corridor and went onquickly, turned, and was out of sight. Then all at once, Dolores laughed to herself, noiselessly, and was happyagain, in spite of her danger. There was nothing to disturb her, shereflected. The terrace was long, there were doubtless other apartmentsbeyond Don John's, though she had not known it. The lady had indeedwalked cautiously, but it might well be that she had reasons for notbeing seen there, and that the further rooms were not hers. The Alcazarwas only an old Moorish castle, after all, restored and irregularlyenlarged, and altogether very awkwardly built, so that many of theapartments could only be reached by crossing open terraces. When Don John came to get her in the sentry-box, Dolores' momentarydoubt was gone, though not all her curiosity. She smiled as she came outof her hiding-place and met his eyes--clear and true as her own. Sheeven hated herself for having thought that the lady could have come fromhis apartment at all. The light was streaming from his open door as heled her quickly towards it. There were three windows beyond it, andthere the terrace ended. She looked at the front as they were passing, and counted again three windows between the open door and the cornerwhere the sentry-box stood. "Who lives in the rooms beyond you?" she asked quickly. "No one--the last is the one where you are to be. " He seemed surprised. They had reached the open door, and he stood aside to let her go in. "And on this side?" she asked, speaking with a painful effort. "My drawing-room and dining-room, " he answered. She paused and drew breath before she spoke again, and she pressed onehand to her side under her cloak. "Who was the lady who came from here when all the men were gone?" sheasked, very pale. * * * * * CHAPTER V Don John was a man not easily taken off his guard, but he startedperceptibly at Dolores' question. He did not change colour, however, nordid his eyes waver; he looked fixedly into her face. "No lady has been here, " he answered quietly. Dolores doubted the evidence of her own senses. Her belief in the manshe loved was so great that his words seemed at first to have destroyedand swept away what must have been a bad dream, or a horrible illusion, and her face was quiet and happy again as she passed him and went inthrough the open entrance. She found herself in a vestibule from whichdoors opened to the right and left. He turned in the latter direction, leading the way into the room. It was his bedchamber. Built in the Moorish manner, the vaulting beganat the height of a man's head, springing upward in bold and gracefulcurves to a great height. The room was square and very large, and thewall below the vault was hung with very beautiful tapestriesrepresenting the battle of Pavia, the surrender of Francis the First, and a sort of apotheosis of the Emperor Charles, the father of Don John. There were two tall windows, which were quite covered by curtains of adark brocade, in which the coats of Spain and the Empire were woven incolours at regular intervals; and opposite them, with the head to thewall, stood a vast curtained bedstead with carved posts twice a man'sheight. The vaulting had been cut on that side, in order that the footof the bed might stand back against the wall. The canopy had coats ofarms at the four corners, and the curtains were of dark green cordedsilk, heavily embroidered with gold thread in the beautiful scrolls andarabesques of the period of the Renascence. A carved table, dark andpolished, stood half way between the foot of the bedstead and the spacebetween the windows, where a magnificent kneeling-stool with red velvetcushions was placed under a large crucifix. Half a dozen big chairs wereranged against the long walls on each side of the room, and twocommodious folding chairs with cushions of embossed leather were besidethe table. Opposite the door by which Dolores had entered, anothercommunicated with the room beyond. Both were carved and ornamented withscroll work of gilt bronze, but were without curtains. Three or fourEastern, rugs covered the greater part of the polished marble pavement, which here and there reflected the light of the tall wax torches thatstood on the table in silver candlesticks, and on each side of the bedupon low stands. The vault above the tapestried walls was very darkblue, and decorated with gilded stars in relief. Dolores thought theroom gloomy, and almost funereal. The bed looked like a catafalque, thecandles like funeral torches, and the whole place breathed themagnificent discomfort of royalty, and seemed hardly intended for ahuman habitation. Dolores barely glanced at it all, as her companion locked the first doorand led her on to the next room. He knew that he had not many minutes tospare, and was anxious that she should be in her hiding-place before hisservants came back. She followed him and went in. Unlike the bedchamber, the small study was scantily and severely furnished. It contained only awriting-table, two simple chairs, a straight-backed divan covered withleather, and a large chest of black oak bound with ornamented steelwork. The window was curtained with dark stuff, and two wax candlesburned steadily beside the writing-materials that were spread out readyfor use. "This is the room, " Don John said, speaking for the first time sincethey had entered the apartments. Dolores let her head fall back, and began to loosen her cloak at herthroat without answering him. He helped her, and laid the long garmentupon the divan. Then he turned and saw her in the full light of thecandles, looking at him, and he uttered an exclamation. "What is it?" she asked almost dreamily. "You are very beautiful, " he answered in a low voice. "You are the mostbeautiful woman I ever saw. " The merest girl knows the tone of a man whose genuine admiration breaksout unconsciously in plain words, and Dolores was a grown woman. A faintcolour rose in her cheek, and her lips parted to smile, but her eyeswere grave and anxious, for the doubt had returned, and would not bethrust away. She had seen the lady in the cloak and veil during severalseconds, and though Dolores, who had been watching the men who passed, had not actually seen her come out of Don John's apartments, but hadbeen suddenly aware of her as she glided by, it seemed out of thequestion that she should have come from any other place. There wasneither niche nor embrasure between the door and the corridor, in whichthe lady could have been hidden, and it was hardly conceivable that sheshould have been waiting outside for some mysterious purpose, and shouldnot have fled as soon as she heard the two officers coming out, sinceshe evidently wished to escape observation. On the other hand, Don Johnhad quietly denied that any woman had been there, which meant at allevents that he had not seen any one. It could mean nothing else. Dolores was neither foolishly jealous nor at all suspicious by nature, and the man was her ideal of truthfulness and honour. She stood lookingat him, resting one hand on the table, while he came slowly towards her, moving almost unconsciously in the direction of her exquisite beauty, asa plant lifts itself to the sun at morning. He was near to her, and hestretched out his arms as if to draw her to him. She smiled then, for inhis eyes she forgot her trouble for a moment, and she would have kissedhim. But suddenly his face grew grave, and he set his teeth, and insteadof taking her into his arms, he took one of her hands and raised it tohis lips, as if it had been the hand of his brother's wife, the youngQueen. "Why?" she asked in surprise, and with a little start. "You are here under my protection, " he answered. "Let me have my ownway. " "Yes, I understand. How good you are to me!" She paused, and then wenton, seating herself upon one of the chairs by the table as she spoke. "You must leave me now, " she said. "You must lock me in and keep thekey. Then I shall know that I am safe; and in the meantime you mustdecide how I am to escape--it will not be easy. " She stopped again. "Iwonder who that woman was!" she exclaimed at last. "There was no woman here, " replied Don John, as quietly and assuredly asbefore. He was leaning upon the table at the other side, with both hands restingupon it, looking at her beautiful hair as she bent her head. "Say that you did not see her, " she said, "not that she was not here, for she passed me after all the men, walking very cautiously to make nonoise; and when she was in the corridor she ran--she was young andlight-footed. I could not see her face. " "You believe me, do you not?" asked Don John, bending over the table alittle, and speaking very anxiously. She turned her face up instantly, her eyes wide and bright. "Should I be here if I did not trust you and believe you?" she askedalmost fiercely. "Do you think--do you dare to think--that I would havepassed your door if I had supposed that another woman had been herebefore me, and had been turned out to make room for me, and would havestayed here--here in your room--if you had not sent her away? If I hadthought that, I would have left you at your door forever. I would havegone back to my father. I would have gone to Las Huelgas to-morrow, andnot to be a prisoner, but to live and die there in the only life fit fora broken-hearted woman. Oh, no! You dare not think that, --you who woulddare anything! If you thought that, you could not love me as I loveyou, --believing, trusting, staking life and soul on your truth andfaith!" The generous spirit had risen in her eyes, roused not against him, butby all his question might be made to mean; and as she met his look ofgrateful gladness her anger broke away, and left only perfect love andtrust behind it. "A man would die for you, and wish he might die twice, " he answered, standing upright, as if a weight had been taken from him and he werefree to breathe. She looked up at the pale, strong features of the young fighter, who wasso great and glorious almost before the down had thickened on his lip;and she saw something almost above nature in his face, --something highand angelic, yet manly and well fitted to face earthly battles. He washer sun, her young god, her perfect image of perfection, the very sourceof her trust. It would have killed her to doubt him. Her whole soul wentup to him in her eyes; and as he was ready to die for her, she knew thatfor him she would suffer every anguish death could hold, and not flinch. Then she looked down, and suddenly laughed a little oddly, and herfinger pointed towards the pens and paper. "She has left something behind, " she said. "She was clever to get inhere and slip out again without being seen. " Don John looked where she pointed, and saw a small letter folded roundthe stems of two white carnations, and neatly tied with a bit of twistedsilk. It was laid between the paper and the bronze inkstand, and halfhidden by the broad white feather of a goose-quill pen, that seemed tohave been thrown carelessly across the flowers. It lay there as if meantto be found, only by one who wrote, and not to attract too muchattention. "Oh!" he exclaimed, in a rather singular tone, as he saw it, and aboyish blush reddened his face. Then he took the letter and drew out the two flowers by the blossomsvery carefully. Dolores watched him. He seemed in doubt as to what heshould do; and the blush subsided quickly, and gave way to a look ofsettled annoyance. The carnations were quite fresh, and had evidentlynot been plucked more than an hour. He held them up a moment and lookedat them, then laid them down again and took the note. There was nowriting on the outside. Without opening it he held it to the flame ofthe candle, but Dolores caught his wrist. "Why do you not read it?" she asked quickly. "Dear, I do not know who wrote it, and I do not wish to know anythingyou do not know also. " "You have no idea who the woman is?" Dolores looked at him wonderingly. "Not the very least, " he answered with a smile. "But I should like to know so much!" she cried. "Do read it and tell me. I do not understand the thing at all. " "I cannot do that. " He shook his head. "That would be betraying awoman's secret. I do not know who it is, and I must not let you know, for that would not be honourable. " "You are right, " she said, after a pause. "You always are. Burn it. " He pushed the point of a steel erasing-knife through the piece of foldedpaper and held it over the flame. It turned brown, crackled and burstinto a little blaze, and in a moment the black ashes fell fluttering tothe table. "What do you suppose it was?" asked Dolores innocently, as Don Johnbrushed the ashes away. "Dear--it is very ridiculous--I am ashamed of it, and I do not quiteknow how to explain it to you. " Again he blushed a little. "It seemsstrange to speak of it--I never even told my mother. At first I used toopen them, but now I generally burn them like this one. " "Generally! Do you mean to say that you often find women's letters withflowers in them on your table?" "I find them everywhere, " answered Don John, with perfect simplicity. "Ihave found them in my gloves, tied into the basket hilt of mysword--often they are brought to me like ordinary letters by a messengerwho waits for an answer. Once I found one on my pillow!" "But"--Dolores hesitated--"but are they--are they all from the sameperson?" she asked timidly. Don John laughed, and shook his head. "She would need to be a very persistent and industrious person, " heanswered. "Do you not understand?" "No. Who are these women who persecute you with their writing? And whydo they write to you? Do they want you to help them?" "Not exactly that;" he was still smiling. "I ought not to laugh, Isuppose. They are ladies of the court sometimes, and sometimes others, and I--I fancy that they want me to--how shall I say?--to begin bywriting them letters of the same sort. " "What sort of letters?" "Why--love letters, " answered Don John, driven to extremity in spite ofhis resistance. "Love letters!" cried Dolores, understanding at last. "Do you mean tosay that there are women whom you do not know, who tell you that theylove you before you have ever spoken to them? Do you mean that a lady ofthe court, whom you have probably never even seen, wrote that note andtied it up with flowers and risked everything to bring it here, just inthe hope that you might notice her? It is horrible! It is vile! It isshameless! It is beneath anything!" "You say she was a lady--you saw her. I did not. But that is what shedid, whoever she may be. " "And there are women like that--here, in the palace! How little I know!" "And the less you learn about the world, the better, " answered the youngsoldier shortly. "But you have never answered one, have you?" asked Dolores, with a scornthat showed how sure she was of his reply. "No. " He spoke thoughtfully. "I once thought of answering one. I meantto tell her that she was out of her senses, but I changed my mind. Thatwas long ago, before I knew you--when I was eighteen. " "Ever since you were a boy!" The look of wonder was not quite gone from her face yet, but she wasbeginning to understand more clearly, though still very far fromdistinctly. It did not occur to her once that such things could betemptations to the brilliant young leader whom every woman admired andevery man flattered, and that only his devoted love for her had kept himout of ignoble adventures since he had grown to be a man. Had she seenthat, she would have loved him even better, if it were possible. It wasall, as she had said, shameless and abominable. She had thought that sheknew much of evil, and she had even told him so that evening, but thiswas far beyond anything she had dreamt of in her innocent thoughts, andshe instinctively felt that there were lower depths of degradation towhich a woman could fall, and of which she would not try to guess thevileness and horror. "Shall I burn the flowers, too?" asked Don John, taking them in hishand. "The flowers? No. They are innocent and fresh. What have they to do withher? Give them to me. " He raised them to his lips, looking at her, and then held them out. Shetook them, and kissed them, as he had done, and they both smiledhappily. Then she fastened them in her hair. "No one will see me to-night but you, " she said. "I may wear flowers inmy hair like a peasant woman!" "How they make the gold gleam!" he exclaimed, as he looked. "It isalmost time that my men came back, " he said sadly. "When I go down tothe court, I shall dismiss them. After the royal supper I shall try andcome here again and see you. By that time everything will be arranged. Ihave thought of almost everything already. My mother will provide youwith everything you need. To-morrow evening I can leave this placemyself to go and see her, as I always do. " He always spoke of Doņa Magdalena Quixada as his mother--he had neverknown his own. Dolores rose from her seat, for he was ready to go. "I trust you in everything, " she said simply. "I do not need to know howyou will accomplish it all--it is enough to know that you will. TellInez, if you can--protect her if my father is angry with her. " He held out his hand to take hers, and she was going to give it, as shehad done before. But it was too little. Before he knew it she had thrownher arms round his neck, and was kissing him, with little cries andbroken words of love. Then she drew back suddenly. "I could not help it, " she said. "Now lock me in. No--do not saygood-by--even for two hours!" "I will come back as soon as I can, " he answered, and with a long lookhe left her, closed the door and locked it after him, leaving her alone. She stood a few moments looking at the panels as if her sight couldpierce them and reach him on the other side, and she tried to hold thelast look she had seen in his eyes. Hardly two minutes had elapsedbefore she heard voices and footsteps in the bedchamber. Don John spokein short sentences now and then to his servants, and his voice wascommanding though it was kindly. It seemed strange to be so near him inhis life; she wondered whether she should some day always be near him, as she was now, and nearer; she blushed, all alone. So many things hadhappened, and he and she had found so much to say that nothing had beensaid at all of what was to follow her flight to Villagarcia. She was toleave for the Quixadas' house before morning, but Quixada and his wifecould not protect her against her father, if he found out where she was, unless she were married. After that, neither Mendoza nor any one else, save the King himself, would presume to interfere with the liberty ofDon John of Austria's wife. All Spain would rise to protect her--she wassure of that. But they had said nothing about a marriage and had wastedtime over that unknown woman's abominable letter. Since she reasoned itout to herself, she saw that in all probability the ceremony would takeplace as soon as Don John reached Villagarcia. He was powerful enough todemand the necessary permission of the Archbishop, and he would bring itwith him; but no priest, even in the absence of a written order, wouldrefuse to marry him if he desired it. Between the real power hepossessed and the vast popularity he enjoyed, he could command almostanything. She heard his voice distinctly just then, though she was not listeningfor it. He was telling a servant to bring white shoes. The fact struckher because she had never seen him wear any that were not black oryellow. She smiled and wished that she might bring him his white shoesand hang his order of the Golden Fleece round his neck, and breathe onthe polished hilt of his sword and rub it with soft leather. She hadseen Eudaldo furbish her father's weapons in that way since she had beena child. It had all come so suddenly in the end. Shading her eyes from thecandles with her hand, she rested one elbow on the table, and tried tothink of what should naturally have happened, of what must have happenedif the unknown voice among the courtiers had not laughed and roused herfather's anger and brought all the rest. Don John would have come to thedoor, and Eudaldo would have let him in--because no one could refuse himanything and he was the King's brother. He would have spent half an hourwith her in the little drawing-room, and it would have been aconstrained meeting, with Inez near, though she would presently haveleft them alone. Then, by this time, she would have gone down with theDuchess Alvarez and the other maids of honour, and by and by she wouldhave followed the Queen when she entered the throne room with the Kingand Don John; and she might not have exchanged another word with thelatter for a whole day, or two days. But now it seemed almost certainthat she was to be his wife within the coming week. He was in the nextroom. "Do not put the sword away, " she heard him say. "Leave it here on thetable. " Of course; what should he do with a sword in his court dress? But if hehad met her father in the corridor, coming to her after the supper, hewould have been unarmed. Her father, on the contrary, being on actualduty, wore the sword of his rank, like any other officer of the guards, and the King wore a rapier as a part of his state dress. She was astonished at the distinctness with which she heard what wassaid in the next room. That was doubtless due to the construction of thevault, as she vaguely guessed. It was true that Don John spoke veryclearly, but she could hear the servants' subdued answers almost aswell, when she listened. It seemed to her that he took but a very shorttime to dress. "I have the key of that room, " he said presently. "I have my papersthere. You are at liberty till midnight. My hat, my gloves. Call mygentlemen, one of you, and tell them to meet me in the corridor. " She could almost hear him drawing on his gloves. One of the servantswent out. "Fadrique, " said Don John, "leave out my riding-cloak. I may like towalk on the terrace in the moonlight, and it is cold. Have my drinkready at midnight and wait for me. Send Gil to sleep, for he was up lastnight. " There was a strange pleasure in hearing his familiar orders and smalldirections and in seeing how thoughtful he was for his servants. Sheknew that he had always refused to be surrounded by valets andgentlemen-in-waiting, and lived very simply when he could, but it wasdifferent to be brought into such close contact with his life. There wasa wonderful gentleness in his ways that contrasted widely with herfather's despotic manner and harsh tone when he gave orders. Mendozabelieved himself the type and model of a soldier and a gentleman, and hemaintained that without rigid discipline there could be no order and nosafety at home or in the army. But between him and Don John there wasall the difference that separates the born leader of men from the meremartinet. Dolores listened. It was clear that Don John was not going to sendFadrique away in order to see her again before he went down to thethrone room, though she had almost hoped he might. On the contrary, some one else came. She heard Fadrique announce him. "The Captain Don Juan de Escobedo is in waiting, your Highness, " saidthe servant. "There is also Adonis. " "Adonis!" Don John laughed, not at the name, for it was familiar to him, but at the mere mention of the person who bore it and who was the King'sdwarf jester, Miguel de Antona, commonly known by his classic nickname. "Bring Adonis here--he is an old friend. " The door opened again, and Dolores heard the well-known voice of thehunchback, clear as a woman's, scornful and full of evil laughter, --thesort of voice that is heard instantly in a crowd, though it is notalways recognizable. The fellow came in, talking loud. "Ave Cæsar!" he cried from the door. "Hail, conqueror! All hail, thoufavoured of heaven, of man, --and of the ladies!" "The ladies too?" laughed Don John, probably amused by the dwarfsantics. "Who told you that?" "The cook, sir. For as you rode up to the gate this afternoon a scullerymaid saw you from the cellar grating and has been raving mad ever since, singing of the sun, moon, and undying love, until the kitchen is morelike a mad-house than this house would be if the Day of Judgment camebefore or after Lent. " "Do you fast in Lent, Adonis?" "I fast rigidly three times a day, my lord conqueror, --no, six, for Ieat nothing either just before or just after my breakfast, my dinner, and my supper. No monk can do better than that, for at those times I eatnothing at all. " "If you said your prayers as often as you fast, you would be in a goodway, " observed Don John. "I do, sir. I say a short grace before and after eating. Why have youcome to Madrid, my lord? Do you not know that Madrid is the worst, thewickedest, the dirtiest, vilest, and most damnable habitation devised byman for the corruption of humanity? Especially in the month of November?Has your lordship any reasonable reason for this unreason of cominghere, when the streets are full of mud, and men's hearts are packed likesaddle-bags with all the sins they have accumulated since Easter andmean to unload at Christmas? Even your old friends are shocked to see soyoung and honest a prince in such a place!" "My old friends? Who?" "I saw Saint John the Conqueror graciously wave his hand to a mosthighly respectable old nobleman this afternoon, and the nobleman was somuch shocked that he could not stir an arm to return the salutation! Hislegs must have done something, though, for he seemed to kick his ownhorse up from the ground under him. The shock must have been terrible. As for me, I laughed aloud, which made both the old nobleman and DonJulius Caesar of Austria exceedingly angry. Get before me, Don Fadrique!I am afraid of the terror of the Moors, --and no shame to me either! Apoor dwarf, against a man who tears armies to shreds, --and sendsscullery maids into hysterics! What is a poor crippled jester comparedwith a powerful scullery maid or an army of heathen Moriscoes? Give methat sword, Fadrique, or I am a dead man!" But Don John was laughing good-naturedly. "So it was you, Adonis? I might have-known your voice, I should think. " "No one ever knows my voice, sir. It is not a voice, it is a freak ofgrammar. It is masculine, feminine, and neuter in gender, singular bynature, and generally accusative, and it is optative in mood and full ofacute accents. If you can find such another voice in creation, sir, Iwill forfeit mine in the King's councils. " Adonis laughed now, and Dolores remembered the laughter she had heardfrom the window. "Does his Majesty consult you on matters of state?" inquired Don John. "Answer quickly, for I must be going. " "It takes twice as long to tell a story to two men, as to tell it toone, --when you have to tell them different stories, " "Go, Fadrique, " said Don John, "and shut the door. " The dwarf, seeing the servant gone, beckoned Don John to the other sideof the room. "It is no great secret, being only the King's, " he said. "His Majestybids me tell your Serene Highness that he wishes to speak with youprivately about some matters, and that he will come here soon aftersupper, and begs you to be alone. " "I will be here--alone. " "Excellent, sir. Now there is another matter of secrecy which is justthe contrary of what I have told you, for it is a secret from the King. A lady laid a letter and two white carnations on your writing-table. Ifthere is any answer to be taken, I will take it. " "There is none, " answered Don John sternly, "Tell the lady that I burnedthe letter without reading it. Go, Adonis, and the next time you comehere, do not bring messages from women. Fadrique!" "Your Highness burned the letter without reading it?" "Yes. Fadrique!" "I am sorry, " said the dwarf, in a low voice. No more words were spoken, and in a few moments there was deep silence, for they were all gone, and Dolores was alone, locked into the littleroom. * * * * * CHAPTER VI The great throne room of the palace was crowded with courtiers longbefore the time when the King and Queen and Don John of Austria were toappear, and the entries and halls by which it was approached were almostas full. Though the late November air was keen, the state apartmentswere at summer heat, warmed by thousands of great wax candles thatburned in chandeliers, and in huge sconces and on high candelabra thatstood in every corner. The light was everywhere, and was very soft andyellow, while the odour of the wax itself was perceptible in the air, and helped the impression that the great concourse was gathered in awide cathedral for some solemn function rather than in a throne room towelcome a victorious soldier. Vast tapestries, dim and rich in the thickair, covered the walls between the tall Moorish windows, and above themthe great pointed vaulting, ornamented with the fantastically modelledstucco of the Moors, was like the creamy crests of waves lashed intofoam by the wind, thrown upright here, and there blown forward in swiftspray, and then again breaking in the fall to thousands of light andexquisite shapes; and the whole vault thus gathered up the light of thecandles into itself and shed it downward, distributing it into everycorner and lighting every face in a soft and golden glow. At the upper end, between two great doors that were like the gateways ofan eastern city, stood the vacant throne, on a platform approached bythree broad steps and covered with deep red cloth; and there stoodmagnificent officers of the guard in gilded corslets and plumed steelcaps, and other garments of scarlet and gold, with their drawn swordsout. But Mendoza was not there yet, for it was his duty to enter withthe King's own guard, preceding the Majorduomo. Above the throne, a hugecanopy of velvet, red and yellow, was reared up around the royal coat ofarms. To the right and left, on the steps, stood carved stools with silkencushions--those on the right for the chief ministers and nobles of thekingdom, those on the left for the great ladies of the court. Thesewould all enter in the King's train and take their places. For thethrong of courtiers who filled the floor and the entries there were noseats, for only a score of the highest and greatest personages weresuffered to sit in the royal presence. A few, who were near the windows, rested themselves surreptitiously on the high mouldings of thepilasters, pushing aside the curtains cautiously, and seeming from adistance to be standing while they were in reality comfortably seated, an object of laughing envy and of many witticisms to their lessfortunate fellow-courtiers. The throng was not so close but that it waspossible to move in the middle of the hall, and almost all the personsthere were slowly changing place, some going forward to be nearer thethrone, others searching for their friends among their manyacquaintances, that they might help the tedious hour to pass morequickly. Seen from the high gallery above the arch of the great entrance the hallwas a golden cauldron full of rich hues that intermingled in streams, and made slow eddies with deep shadows, and then little waves of lightthat turned upon themselves, as the colours thrown into the dyeing vatslowly seethe and mix together in rivulets of dark blue and crimson, andof splendid purple that seems to turn black in places and then issuddenly shot through with flashes of golden and opalescent light. Hereand there also a silvery gleam flashed in the darker surface, like apearl in wine, for a few of the court ladies were dressed all in white, with silver and many pearls, and diamonds that shed little rays of theirown. The dwarf Adonis had been there for a few moments behind the latticewhich the Moors had left, and as he stood there alone, where no one everthought of going, he listened to the even and not unmusical sound thatcame up from the great assembly--the full chorus of speaking voicestrained never to be harsh or high, and to use chosen words, with no loudexclamations, laughing only to please and little enough out ofmerriment; and they would not laugh at all after the King and Queen camein, but would only murmur low and pleasant flatteries, the change assudden as when the musician at the keys closes the full organ all atonce and draws gentle harmonies from softer stops. The jester had stood there, and looked down with deep-set, eager eyes, his crooked face pathetically sad and drawn, but alive with a swift andmeaning intelligence, while the thin and mobile lips expressed a sort ofready malice which could break out in bitterness or turn to a kindlyirony according as the touch that moved the man's sensitive nature wascruel or friendly. He was scarcely taller than a boy of ten years old, but his full-grown arms hung down below his knees, and his man's head, with the long, keen face, was set far forward on his shapeless body, sothat in speaking with persons of ordinary stature he looked up under hisbrows, a little sideways, to see better. Smooth red hair covered hisbony head, and grew in a carefully trimmed and pointed beard on hispointed chin. A loose doublet of crimson velvet hid the outlines of hiscrooked back and projecting breastbone, and the rest of his dress was ofmaterials as rich, and all red. He was, moreover, extraordinarilycareful of his appearance, and no courtier had whiter or more delicatelytended hands or spent more time before the mirror in tying a shoulderknot, and in fastening the stiffened collar of white embroidered linenat the fashionable angle behind his neck. He had entered the latticed gallery on his way to Don John's apartmentswith the King's message. A small and half-concealed door, known to fewexcept the servants of the palace, opened upon it suddenly from a nichein one of the upper corridors. In Moorish days the ladies of the haremhad been wont to go there unseen to see the reception of ambassadors ofstate, and such ceremonies, at which, even veiled, they could never bepresent. He only stayed a few moments, and though his eyes were eager, it was byhabit rather than because they were searching for any one in the crowd. It pleased him now and then to see the court world as a spectacle, as itdelights the hard-worked actor to be for once a spectator at another'splay. He was an integral part of the court himself, a man of whom mostwas often expected when he had the least to give, to whom it wasscarcely permitted to say anything in ordinary language, but to whomalmost any license of familiar speech was freely allowed. He was not aman, he was a tradition, a thing that had to be where it was fromgeneration to generation; wherever the court had lived a jester layburied, and often two and three, for they rarely lived an ordinarylifetime. Adonis thought of that sometimes, when he was alone, or whenhe looked down at the crowd of delicately scented and richly dressed menand women, every one called by some noble name, who would doubtlesslaugh at some jest of his before the night was over. To their eyes thefool was a necessary servant, because there had always been a fool atcourt; he was as indispensable as a chief butler, a chief cook, or astate coachman, and much more amusing. But he was not a man, he had noname, he had no place among men, he was not supposed to have a mother, awife, a home, anything that belonged to humanity. He was well lodged, indeed, where the last fool had died, and richly clothed as the otherhad been, and he fed delicately, and was given the fine wines of Franceto drink, lest his brain should be clouded by stronger liquor and heshould fail to make the court laugh. But he knew well enough thatsomewhere in Toledo or Valladolid the next court jester was beingtrained to good manners and instructed in the art of wit, to take thevacant place when he should die. It pleased him therefore sometimes tolook down at the great assemblies from the gallery and to reflect thatall those magnificent fine gentlemen and tenderly nurtured beauties ofSpain were to die also, and that there was scarcely one of them, man orwoman, for whose death some one was not waiting, and waiting perhapswith evil anxiety and longing. They were splendid to see, those fairwomen in their brocades and diamonds, those dark young princesses andduchesses in velvet and in pearls. He dreamed of them sometimes, fancying himself one of those Djin of the southern mountains of whom theMoors told blood-curdling tales, and in the dream he flew down from thegallery on broad, black wings and carried off the youngest and mostbeautiful, straight to his magic fortress above the sea. They never knew that he was sometimes up there, and on this evening hedid not wait long, for he had his message to deliver and must be inwaiting on the King before the royal train entered the throne room. After he was gone, the courtiers waited long, and more and more came infrom without. Now and then the crowd parted as best it might, to allowsome grandee who wore the order of the Golden Fleece or of some otherexalted order, to lead his lady nearer to the throne, as was his right, advancing with measured steps, and bowing gravely to the right and leftas he passed up to the front among his peers. And just behind them, onone aide, the young girls, of whom many were to be presented to the Kingand Queen that night, drew together and talked in laughing whispers, gathering in groups and knots of three and four, in a sort of irregularrank behind their mothers or the elder ladies who were to lead them tothe royal presence and pronounce their names. There was more light wherethey were gathered, the shadows were few and soft, the colours tender asthe tints of roses in a garden at sunset, and from the place where theystood the sound of young voices came silvery and clear. That should havebeen Inez de Mendoza's place if she had not been blind. But Inez hadnever been willing to be there, though she had more than once found herway to the gallery where the dwarf had stood, and had listened, andsmelled the odour of the wax candles and the perfumes that rose with theheated air. It was long before the great doors on the right hand of the canopy werethrown open, but courtiers are accustomed from their childhood to longwaiting, and the greater part of their occupation at court is to see andto be seen, and those who can do both and can take pleasure in eitherare rarely impatient. Moreover, many found an opportunity of exchangingquick words and of making sudden plans for meeting, who would have foundit hard to exchange a written message, and who had few chances of seeingeach other in the ordinary course of their lives; and others had waitedlong to deliver a cutting speech, well studied and tempered to hurt, andsought their enemies in the crowd with the winning smile a woman wearsto deal her keenest thrust. There were men, too, who had great interestsat stake and sought the influence of such as lived near the King, flattering every one who could possibly be of use, and coollyoverlooking any who had a matter of their own to press, though they wereof their own kin. Many officers of Don John's army were there, too, bright-eyed and bronzed from their campaigning, and ready to give theirlaurels for roses, leaf by leaf, with any lady of the court who wouldmake a fair exchange--and of these there were not a few, and the timeseemed short to them. There were also ecclesiastics, but not many, insober black and violet garments, and they kept together in one cornerand spoke a jargon of Latin and Spanish which the courtiers could notunderstand; and all who were there, the great courtiers and the small, the bishops and the canons, the stout princesses laced to suffocationand to the verge of apoplexy, and fanning themselves desperately in theheat, and their slim, dark-eyed daughters, cool and laughing--they wereall gathered together to greet Spain's youngest and greatest hero, DonJohn of Austria, who had won back Granada from the Moors. As the doors opened at last, a distant blast of silver trumpets rang infrom without, and the full chorus of speaking voices was hushed to amere breathing that died away to breathless silence during a few momentsas the greatest sovereign of the age, and one of the strangest figuresof all time, appeared before his court. The Grand Master of Ceremoniesentered first, in his robe of office, bearing a long white staff. In thestillness his voice rang out to the ends of the hall: "His Majesty the King! Her Majesty the Queen!" Then came a score of halberdiers of the guard, picked men of greatstature, marching in even steps, led by old Mendoza himself, in hisbreastplate and helmet, sword in hand; and he drew up the guard at oneside in a rank, making them pass him so that he stood next to the door. After the guards came Philip the Second, a tall and melancholy figure;and with him, on his left side, walked the young Queen, a small, thinfigure in white, with sad eyes and a pathetic face--wondering, perhaps, whether she was to follow soon those other queens who had walked by thesame King to the same court, and had all died before their time--Mary ofPortugal, Mary of England, Isabel of Valois. The King was one of those men who seem marked by destiny rather than bynature, fateful, sombre, almost repellent in manner, born to inspire avague fear at first sight, and foreordained to strange misfortune or toextraordinary success, one of those human beings from whom all menshrink instinctively, and before whom they easily lose their fluency ofspeech and confidence of thought. Unnaturally still eyes, of anuncertain colour, gazed with a terrifying fixedness upon a human world, and were oddly set in the large and perfectly colourless face that waslike an exaggerated waxen mask. The pale lips did not meet evenly, thelower one protruding, forced, outward by the phenomenal jaw that hasdescended to this day in the House of Austria. A meagre beard, so fairthat it looked faded, accentuated the chin rather than concealed it, andthe hair on the head was of the same undecided tone, neither thin northick, neither long nor short, but parted, and combed with the utmostprecision about the large but very finely moulded ears. The brow wasvery full as well as broad, and the forehead high, the whole face toolarge, even for a man so tall, and disquieting in its proportions. Philip bent his head forward a little when at rest; when he looked abouthim it moved with something of the slow, sure motion of a piece ofmechanism, stopping now and then, as the look in the eyes solidified toa stare, and then, moving again, until curiosity was satisfied and itresumed its first attitude, and remained motionless, whether the lipswere speaking or not. Very tall and thin, and narrow chested, the figure was clothed all incream-coloured silk and silver, relieved only by the collar of theGolden Fleece, the solitary order the King wore. His step was ungracefuland slow, as if his thin limbs bore his light weight with difficulty, and he sometimes stumbled in walking. One hand rested on the hilt of hissword as he walked, and even under the white gloves the immense lengthof the fingers and the proportionate development of the long thumb wereclearly apparent. No one could have guessed that in such a figure therecould be much elasticity or strength, and yet, at rare moments and whenyounger, King Philip displayed such strength and energy and quickness asmight well have made him the match of ordinary men. As a rule his angerwas slow, thoughtful, and dangerous, as all his schemes were vast andfar-reaching. With the utmost deliberation, and without so much as glancing at thecourtiers assembled, he advanced to the throne and sat down, restingboth hands on the gilded arms of the great chair; and the Queen took herplace beside him. But before he had settled himself, there was a lowsound of suppressed delight in the hall, a moving of heads, abrightening of women's eyes, a little swaying of men's shoulders as theytried to see better over those who stood before them; and voices rosehere and there above the murmur, though not loudly, and were joined byothers. Then the King's waxen face darkened, though the expression didnot change and the still eyes did not move, but as if something passedbetween it and the light, leaving it grey in the shadow. He did not turnto look, for he knew that his brother had entered the throne room andthat every eye was upon him. Don John was all in dazzling white--white velvet, white satin, whitesilk, white lace, white shoes, and wearing neither sword nor ornament ofany kind, the most faultless vision of young and manly grace that everglided through a woman's dream. His place was on the King's right, and he passed along the platform ofthe throne with an easy, unhesitating step, and an almost boyish smileof pleasure at the sounds he heard, and at the flutter of excitementthat was in the air, rather to be felt than otherwise perceived. Comingup the steps of the throne, he bent one knee before his brother, whoheld out his ungloved hand for him to kiss--and when that was done, heknelt again before the Queen, who did likewise. Then, bowing low as hepassed back before the King, he descended one step and took the chairset for him in the place that was for the royal princes. He was alone there, for Philip was again childless at his fourthmarriage, and it was not until long afterwards that a son was born wholived to succeed him; and there were no royal princesses in Madrid, sothat Don John was his brother's only near blood relation at the court, and since he had been acknowledged he would have had his place by right, even if he had not beaten the Moriscoes in the south and won backGranada. After him came the high Ministers of State and the ambassadors in a richand stately train, led in by Don Antonio Perez, the King's newfavourite, a man of profound and evil intelligence, upon whom Philip wasto rely almost entirely during ten years, whom he almost tortured todeath for his crimes, and who in the end escaped him, outlived him, anddied a natural death, in Paris, when nearly eighty. With these came alsothe court ladies, the Queen's Mistress of the Robes, and the maids ofhonour, and with the ladies was Doņa Ana de la Cerda, Princess of Eboliand Melito and Duchess of Pastrana, the wife of old Don Ruy Gomez deSilva, the Minister. It was said that she ruled her husband, and AntonioPerez and the King himself, and that she was faithless to all three. She was not more than thirty years of age at that time, and she lookedyounger when seen in profile. But one facing her might have thought herolder from the extraordinary and almost masculine strength of her smallhead and face, compact as a young athlete's, too square for a woman's, with high cheekbones, deep-set black eyes and eyebrows that met betweenthem, and a cruel red mouth that always curled a little just when shewas going to speak, and showed extraordinarily perfect little teeth, when the lips parted. Yet she was almost beautiful when she was notangry or in a hurtful mood. The dark complexion was as smooth as aperfect peach, and tinged with warm colour, and her eyes could be likeblack opals, and no woman in Spain or Andalusia could match her forgrace of figure and lightness of step. Others came after in the long train. Then, last of all, at a littledistance from the rest, the jester entered, affecting a very dejectedair. He stood still a while on the platform, looking about as if to seewhether a seat had been reserved for him, and then, shaking his headsadly, he crouched down, a heap of scarlet velvet with a man's face, just at Don John's feet, and turning a little towards him, so as towatch his eyes. But Don John would not look at him, and was surprisedthat he should put himself there, having just been dismissed with asharp reprimand for bringing women's messages. The ceremony, if it can be called by that name, began almost as soon asall were seated. At a sign from the King, Don Antonio Perez rose andread out a document which he had brought in his hand. It was a sort ofthrone speech, and set forth briefly, in very measured terms, theresults of the long campaign against the Moriscoes, according highpraise to the army in general, and containing a few congratulatoryphrases addressed to Don John himself. The audience of nobles listenedattentively, and whenever the leader's name occurred, the suppressedflutter of enthusiasm ran through the hall like a breeze that stirsforest leaves in summer; but when the King was mentioned the silence wasdead and unbroken. Don John sat quite still, looking down a little, andnow and then his colour deepened perceptibly. The speech did not hint atany reward or further distinction to be conferred on him. When Perez had finished reading, he paused a moment, and the hand thatheld the paper fell to his side. Then he raised his voice to a higherkey. "God save his Majesty Don Philip Second!" be cried. "Long live theKing!" The courtiers answered the cheer, but moderately, as a matter of course, and without enthusiasm, repeating it three times. But at the last time asingle woman's voice, high and clear above all the rest, cried out otherwords. "God save Don John of Austria! Long live Don John of Austria!" The whole multitude of men and women was stirred at once, for everyheart was in the cheer, and in an instant, courtiers though they were, the King was forgotten, the time, the place, and the cry went up all atonce, full, long and loud, shaming the one that had gone before it. King Philip's hands strained at the arms of his great chair, and he halfrose, as if to command silence; and Don John, suddenly pale, had halfrisen, too, stretching out his open hand in a gesture of deprecation, while the Queen watched him with timidly admiring eyes, and the darkPrincess of Eboli's dusky lids drooped to hide her own, for she waswatching him also, but with other thoughts. For a few seconds longer, the cheers followed each other, and then they died away to a comparativesilence. The dwarf rocked himself, his head between his knees, at DonJohn's feet. "God save the Fool!" he cried softly, mimicking the cheer, and he seemedto shake all over, as he sat huddled together, swinging himself to andfro. But no one noticed what he said, for the King had risen to his feet assoon as there was silence. He spoke in a muffled tone that made hiswords hard to understand, and those who knew him best saw that he wasvery angry. The Princess of Eboli's red lips curled scornfully as shelistened, and unnoticed she exchanged a meaning glance with AntonioPerez; for he and she were allies, and often of late they had talkedlong together, and had drawn sharp comparisons between the King and hisbrother, and the plan they had made was to destroy the King and to crownDon John of Austria in his place; but the woman's plot was deeper, andboth were equally determined that Don John should not marry withouttheir consent, and that if he did, his marriage should not hold, unless, as was probable, his young wife should fall ill and die of a sicknessunknown to physicians. All had risen with the King, and he addressed Don John amidst the mostprofound silence. "My brother, " he said, "your friends have taken upon themselvesunnecessarily to use the words we would have used, and to express to youtheir enthusiasm for your success in a manner unknown at the court ofSpain. Our one voice, rendering you the thanks that are your due, canhardly give you great satisfaction after what you have heard just now. Yet we presume that the praise of others cannot altogether take theplace of your sovereign's at such a moment, and we formally thank youfor the admirable performance of the task entrusted to you, promisingthat before long your services shall be required for an even morearduous undertaking. It is not in our power to confer upon you anypersonal distinction or public office higher than you already hold, asour brother, and as High Admiral of Spain; but we trust the day is notfar distant when a marriage befitting your rank may place you on a levelwith kings. " Don John had moved a step forward from his place and stood before theKing, who, at the end of his short speech, put his long arms over hisbrother's shoulders, and proceeded to embrace him in a formal manner byapplying one cheek to his and solemnly kissing the air behind Don John'shead, a process which the latter imitated as nearly as he could. Thecourt looked on in silence at the ceremony, ill satisfied with Philip'scold words. The King drew back, and Don John returned to his place. Ashe reached it the dwarf jester made a ceremonious obeisance and handedhim a glove which he had dropped as he came forward. As he took it hefelt that it contained a letter, which made a slight sound when his handcrumpled it inside the glove. Annoyed by the fool's persistence, DonJohn's eyes hardened as he looked at the crooked face, and almostimperceptibly he shook his head. But the dwarf was as grave as he, andslightly bent his own, clasping his hands in a gesture of supplication. Don John reflected that the matter must be one of importance this time, as Adonis would not otherwise have incurred the risk of passing theletter to him under the eyes of the King and the whole court. Then followed the long and tedious procession of the court past theroyal pair, who remained seated, while all the rest stood up, includingDon John himself, to whom a master of ceremonies presented the personsunknown to him, and who were by far the more numerous. To the men, oldand young, great or insignificant, he gave his hand with frankcordiality. To the women he courteously bowed his head. A full hourpassed before it was over, and still he grasped the glove with thecrumpled letter in his hand, while the dwarf stood at a little distance, watching in case it should fall; and as the Duchess Alvarez and thePrincess of Eboli presented the ladies of Madrid to the young Queen, thePrincess often looked at Don John and often at the jester from beneathher half-dropped lids. But she did not make a single mistake of namesnor of etiquette, though her mind was much preoccupied with othermatters. The Queen was timidly gracious to every one; but Philip's face wasgloomy, and his fixed eyes hardly seemed to see the faces of thecourtiers as they passed before him, nor did he open his lips to addressa word to any of them, though some were old and faithful servants of hisown and of his father's. In his manner, in his silence, in the formality of the ceremony, therewas the whole spirit of the Spanish dominion. It was sombrelymagnificent, and it was gravely cruel; it adhered to the forms ofsovereignty as rigidly as to the outward practices of religion; itspower extended to the ends of the world, and the most remote countriessent their homage and obeisance to its head; and beneath the darksplendour that surrounded its gloomy sovereigns there was passion andhatred and intrigue. Beside Don John of Austria stood Antonio Perez, andunder the same roof with Dolores de Mendoza dwelt Ana de la Cerda, Princess of Eboli, and in the midst of them all Miguel de Antona, theKing's fool. * * * * * CHAPTER VII When the ceremony was over, and every one on the platform and steps ofthe throne moved a little in order to make way for the royal personages, making a slight momentary confusion, Adonis crept up behind Don John, and softly touched his sleeve to attract his attention. Don John lookedround quickly, and was annoyed to see the dwarf there. He did not noticethe fact that Doņa Ana de la Cerda was watching them both, lookingsideways without turning her head. "It is a matter of importance, " said the jester, in a low voice. "Readit before supper if you can. " Don John looked at him a moment, and turned away without answering, oreven making a sign that he understood. The dwarf met Doņa Ana's eyes, and grew slowly pale, till his face was a yellow mask; for he fearedher. The door on the other side of the throne was opened, and the King andQueen, followed by Don John, and preceded by the Master of Ceremonies, went out. The dwarf, who was privileged, went after them with hisstrange, rolling step, his long arms hanging down and swingingirregularly, as if they did not belong to his body, but were onlystuffed things that hung loose from his shoulders. As on all such state occasions, there were separate suppers, in separateapartments, one for the King, and one for the ministers of state and thehigh courtiers; thirdly, a vast collation was spread in a hall on theother side of the throne room for the many nobles who were but guests atthe court and held no office nor had any special privileges. It was thecustom at that time that the supper should last an hour, after which allreëntered the throne room to dance, except the King and Queen, whoeither retired to the royal apartments, or came back for a short timeand remained standing on the floor of the hall, in order to conversewith a few of the grandees and ambassadors. The royal party supped in a sombre room of oval shape, dark withtapestries and splendid with gold. The King and Queen sat side by side, and Don John was placed opposite them at the table, of which the shapeand outline corresponded on a small scale with those of the room. Fouror five gentlemen, whose office it was, served the royal couple, receiving the dishes and wines from the hands of the chief butler; andhe, with two other servants in state liveries, waited on Don John. Everything was most exactly ordered according to the unchangeable rulesof the most formal court in Europe, not even excepting that of Rome. Philip sat in gloomy silence, eating nothing, but occasionally drinkinga little Tokay wine, brought with infinite precaution from Hungary toMadrid. As be said nothing, neither the Queen nor Don John could speak, it being ordained that the King must be the first to open his lips. TheQueen, however, being young and of a good constitution in spite of heralmost delicate appearance, began to taste everything that was setbefore her, glancing timidly at her husband, who took no notice of her, or pretended not to do so. Don John, soldier-like, made a sparing supperof the first thing that was offered to him, and then sat silentlywatching the other two. He understood very well that his brother wishedto see him in private, and was annoyed that the Queen should make themeal last longer than necessary. The dwarf understood also, and smiledto himself in the corner where he stood waiting in case the King shouldwish to be amused, which on that particular evening seemed far fromlikely. But sometimes he turned pale and his lips twisted a little as ifhe were suffering great pain; for Don John had not yet read the letterthat was hidden in his glove; and Adonis saw in the dark corners of theroom the Princess of Eboli's cruel half-closed eyes, and he fancied heheard her deep voice, that almost always spoke very sweetly, telling himagain and again that if Don John did not read her letter before he metthe King alone that night, Adonis should before very long cease to becourt jester, and indeed cease to be anything at all that 'eats anddrinks and sleeps and wears a coat'--as Dante had said. What Doņa Anasaid she would do, was as good as done already, both then and for nineyears from that time, but thereafter she paid for all her deeds, andmore too. But this history is not concerned with those matters, beingonly the story of what happened in one night at the old Alcazar ofMadrid. King Philip sat a little bent in his chair, apparently staring at apoint in space, and not opening his lips except to drink. But hispresence filled the shadowy room, his large and yellowish face seemed tobe all visible from every part of it, and his still eyes dominatedeverything and every one, except his brother. It was as if thepossession of some supernatural and evil being were stealing slowly uponall who were there; as if a monstrous spider sat absolutely motionlessin the midst of its web, drawing everything within reach to itself bythe unnatural fascination of its lidless sight--as if the gentlemen inwaiting were but helpless flies, circling nearer and nearer, to becaught at last in the meshes, and the Queen a bright butterfly, and DonJohn a white moth, already taken and soon to be devoured. The dwarfthought of this in his corner, and his blood was chilled, for threequeens lay in their tombs in three dim cathedrals, and she who sat attable was the fourth who had supped with the royal Spider in his web. Adonis watched him, and the penetrating fear he had long known crept allthrough him like the chill that shakes a man before a marsh fever, sothat he had to set his teeth with all his might, lest they shouldchatter audibly. As he looked, he fancied that in the light of the waxentorches the King's face turned by degrees to an ashy grey, and then moreslowly to a shadowy yellow again, as he had seen a spider's ugly bodychange colour when the flies came nearer, and change again when one wasentangled in the threads. He thought that the faces of all the people inthe room changed, too, and that he saw in them the look that only nearand certain death can bring, which is in the eyes of him who goes outwith bound hands, at dawn, amongst other men who will see the rising sunshine on his dead face. That fear came on the dwarf sometimes, and hedreaded always lest at that moment the King should call to him and bidhim sing or play with words. But this had never happened yet. There wereothers in the room, also, who knew something of that same terror, thoughin a less degree, perhaps because they knew Philip less well than thejester, who was almost always near him. But Don John sat quietly in hisplace, no more realizing that there could be danger than if he had beencharging the Moors at the head of his cavalry, or fighting a man hand tohand with drawn swords. But still the fear grew, and even the gentlemen and the servantswondered, for it had never happened that the King had not at last brokenthe silence at supper, so that all guessed trouble near at hand, andperil for themselves. The Queen grew nervous and ceased to eat. Shelooked from Philip to Don John, and more than once seemed about tospeak, but recollected herself and checked the words. Her hand shook andher thin young nostrils quivered now and then. Evil was gathering in theair, and she felt it approaching, though she could not tell whence itcame. A sort of tension took possession of every one, like what peoplefeel in southern countries when the southeast wind blows, or when, almost without warning, the fresh sea-breeze dies away to a dead calmand the blackness rises like a tide of pitch among the mountains of thecoast, sending up enormous clouds above it to the pale sky, and lyingquite still below; and the air grows lurid quickly, and heavy to breatheand sultry, till the tempest breaks in lightning and-thunder anddrenching rain. In the midst of the brewing storm the dwarf saw only the Spider in itsweb, illuminated by the unearthly glare of his own fear, and with it thefrightened butterfly and the beautiful silver moth, that had neverdreamed of danger. He shrank against the hangings, pressing backwardstill he hurt his crooked back against the stone wall behind thetapestry, and could have shrieked with fear had not a greater fear madehim dumb. He felt that the King was going to speak to him, and that heshould not be able to answer him. A horrible thought suddenly seizedhim, and he fancied that the King had seen him slip the letter into DonJohn's glove, and would ask for it, and take it, and read it--and thatwould be the end. Thrills of torment ran through him, and he knew how itmust feel to lie bound on the rack and to hear the executioner's handson the wheel, ready to turn it again at the judge's word. He had seen aman tortured once, and remembered his face. He was sure that the Kingmust have seen the letter, and that meant torment and death, and theKing was angry also because the court had cheered Don John. It wastreason, and he knew it--yet it would have been certain death, too, torefuse to obey Doņa Ana. There was destruction on either side, and hecould not escape. Don John had not read the writing yet, and if the Kingasked for it, he would probably give it to him without a thought, unopened, for he was far too simple to imagine that any one could accusehim of a treasonable thought, and too boyishly frank to fancy that hisbrother could be jealous of him--above all, he was too modest to supposethat there were thousands who would have risked their lives to set himon the throne of Spain. He would therefore give the King the letterunopened, unless, believing it to be a love message from some foolishwoman, he chose to tear it up unread. The wretched jester knew thateither would mean his own disgrace and death, and he quivered with agonyfrom head to foot. The lights moved up and down before his sight, the air grew heavier, theroyal Spider took gigantic proportions, and its motionless eyes werelurid with evil It was about to turn to him; he felt it turning already, and knew that it saw him in his corner, and meant to draw him to it, very slowly. In a moment he should fall to the floor a senseless heap, out of deadly fear--it would be well if his fear really killed him, buthe could not even hope for that. His hands gripped the hangings on eachside of him as he shrank and crushed his deformity against the wall. Surely the King was taming his head. Yes--he was right. He felt hisshort hair rising on his scalp and unearthly sounds screamed in hisears. The terrible eyes were upon him now, but he could not move hand orfoot--if he had been nailed to the wall to die, he could not have beenso helpless. Philip eyed him with cold curiosity, for it was not an illusion, and hewas really looking steadily at the dwarf. After a long time, hisprotruding lower lip moved two or three times before he spoke. Thejester should have come forward at his first glance, to answer anyquestion asked him. Instead, his colourless lips were parted and tightlydrawn back, and his teeth were chattering, do what he could to closethem. The Queen and Don John followed the King's gaze and looked at thedwarf in surprise, for his agony was painfully visible. "He looks as if he were in an ague, " observed Philip, as though he werewatching a sick dog. He had spoken at last, and the fear of silence was removed. An audiblesigh of relief was heard in the room. "Poor man!" exclaimed the Queen. "I am afraid he is very ill!" "It is more like--" began Don John, and then he checked himself, for hehad been on the point of saying that the dwarfs fit looked more likephysical fear than illness, for he had more than once seen men afraid ofdeath; but he remembered the letter in his glove and thought the wordsmight rouse Philip's suspicions. "What was your Serene Highness about to say?" enquired the King, speaking coldly, and laying stress on the formal title which he hadhimself given Don John the right to use. "As your Majesty says, it is very like the chill of a fever, " repliedDon John. But it was already passing, for Adonis was not a natural coward, and theshort conversation of the royal personages had broken the spell thatheld him, or had at least diminished its power. When he had entered theroom he had been quite sure that no one except the Princess had seen himslip the letter into Don John's glove. That quieting belief began toreturn, his jaw became steady, and he relaxed his hold on thetapestries, and even advanced half a step towards the table. "And now he seems better, " said the King, in evident surprise. "Whatsort of illness is this, Fool? If you cannot explain it, you shall besent to bed, and the physicians shall practise experiments upon yourvile body, until they find out what your complaint is, for theadvancement of their learning. " "They would advance me more than their science, Sire, " answered Adonis, in a voice that still quaked with past fear, "for they would send me toparadise at once and learn nothing that they wished to know. " "That is probable, " observed Don John, thoughtfully, for he had littlebelief in medicine generally, and none at all in the present case. "May it please your Majesty, " said Adonis, taking heart a little, "thereare musk melons on the table. " "Well, what of that?" asked the King. "The sight of melons on your Majesty's table almost kills me, " answeredthe dwarf. "Are you so fond of them that you cannot bear to see them? You shallhave a dozen and be made to eat them all. That will cure your abominablegreediness. " "Provided that the King had none himself, I would eat all the rest, until I died of a surfeit of melons like your Majesty's great-grandsireof glorious and happy memory, the Emperor Maximilian. " Philip turned visibly pale, for he feared illness and death as few havefeared either. "Why has no one ever told me that?" he asked in a muffled and angryvoice, looking round the room, so that the gentlemen and servants shrankback a little. No one answered his question, for though the fact was true, it had beenlong forgotten, and it would have been hard for any of those present torealize that the King would fear a danger so far removed. But the dwarfknew him well. "Let there be no more melons, " said Philip, rising abruptly, and stillpale. Don John had suppressed a smile, and was taken unawares when the Kingrose, so that in standing up instantly, as was necessary according tothe rules, his gloves slipped from his knees, where he had kept themduring supper, to the floor, and a moment passed before he realized thatthey were not in his hand. He was still in his place, for the King hadnot yet left his own, being engaged in saying a Latin grace in a lowtone, He crossed himself devoutly, and an instant later Don John stoopeddown and picked up what he had dropped. Philip could not but notice theaction, and his suspicions were instantly roused. "What have you found?" he asked sharply, his eyes fixing themselvesagain. "My gloves, Sire. I dropped them. " "And are gloves such precious possessions that Don John of Austria muststoop to pick them up himself?" Adonis began to tremble again, and all his fear returned, so that healmost staggered against the wall. The Queen looked on in surprise, forshe had not been Philip's wife many months. Don John was unconcerned, and laughed in reply to the question. "It chances that after long campaigning these are the only new whitegloves Don John of Austria possesses, " he answered lightly. "Let me see them, " said the King, extending his hand, and smilingsuddenly. With some deliberation Don John presented one of the gloves to hisbrother, who took it and pretended to examine it critically, stillsmiling. He turned it over several times, while Adonis looked on, gasping for breath, but unnoticed. "The other, " said Philip calmly. Adonis tried to suppress a groan, and his eyes were fixed on Don John'sface. Would he refuse? Would he try to extract the letter from the gloveunder his brother's eyes? Would he give it up? Don John did none of those things, and there was not the least change ofcolour in his cheek. Without any attempt at concealment he took theletter from its hiding-place, and held out the empty glove with hisother hand. The King drew back, and his face grew very grey and shadowywith anger. "What have you in your other hand?" he asked in a voice indistinct withpassion. "A lady's letter, Sire, " replied Don John, unmoved. "Give it to me at once!" "That, your Majesty, is a request I will not grant to any gentleman inSpain. " He undid a button of his close-fitting doublet, thrust the letter intothe opening and fastened the button again, before the King could speak. The dwarf's heart almost stood still with joy, --he could have crawled toDon John's feet to kiss the dust from his shoes. The Queen smilednervously, between fear of the one man and admiration for the other. "Your Serene Highness, " answered Philip, with a frightful stare, "is thefirst gentleman of Spain who has disobeyed his sovereign. " "May I be the last, your Majesty, " said Don John, with a courtly gesturewhich showed well enough that he had no intention of changing his mind. The King turned from him coldly and spoke to Adonis, who had almost gothis courage back a second time. "You gave my message to his Highness, Fool?" he asked, controlling hisvoice, but not quite steadying it to a natural tone. "Yes, Sire. " "Go and tell Don Antonio Perez to come at once to me in my ownapartments. " The dwarf bent till his crooked back was high above his head, and hestepped backwards towards the door through which the servants hadentered and gone out. When he had disappeared, Philip turned and, as ifnothing had happened, gave his hand to the Queen to lead her away withall the prescribed courtesy that was her due. The servants opened widethe door, two gentlemen placed themselves on each side of it, the chiefgentleman in waiting went before, and the royal couple passed out, followed at a little distance by Don John, who walked unconcernedly, swinging his right glove carelessly in his hand as he went. The fourgentlemen walked last. In the hall beyond, Mendoza was in waiting withthe guards. A little while after they were all gone, Adonis came back from hiserrand, with his rolling step, and searched for the other glove on thefloor, where the King had dropped it. He found it there at once and hidit in his doubtlet. No one was in the room, for the servants haddisappeared as soon as they could. The dwarf went quickly to Don John'splace, took a Venetian goblet full of untasted wine that stood there anddrank it at a draught. Then he patted himself comfortably with his otherhand and looked thoughtfully at the slices of musk melon that lay in thegolden dish flanked by other dishes full of late grapes and pears. "God bless the Emperor Maximilian!" he said in a devout tone. "Since hecould not live for ever, it was a special grace of Providence that hisdeath should be by melons. " Then he went away again, and softly closed the door behind him, afterlooking back once more to be sure that no one was there after all, andperhaps, as people sometimes do on leaving a place where they haveescaped a great danger, fixing its details unconsciously in his memory, with something almost akin to gratitude, as if the lifeless things hadrun the risk with them and thus earned their lasting friendship. Thusevery man who has been to sea knows how, when his vessel has been hoveto in a storm for many hours, perhaps during more than one day, within afew miles of the same spot, the sea there grows familiar to him as alandscape to a landsman, so that when the force of the gale is broken atlast and the sea subsides to a long swell, and the ship is wore to thewind and can lay her course once more, he looks astern at the grey waterhe has learned to know so well and feels that he should know it again ifhe passed that way, and he leaves it with a faint sensation of regret. So Adonis, the jester, left the King's supper-room that night, devoutlythanking Heaven that the Emperor Maximilian had died of eating too manymelons more than a hundred and fifty years ago. Meanwhile, the King had left the Queen at the door of her apartments, and had dismissed Don John in angry silence by a gesture only, as hewent on to his study. And when there, he sent away his gentlemen andbade that no one should disturb him, and that only Don Antonio Perez, the new favourite, should be admitted. The supper had scarcely lastedhalf an hour, and it was still early in the evening when he foundhimself alone and was able to reflect upon what had happened, and uponwhat it would be best to do to rid himself of his brother, the hero andidol of Spain. He did not admit that Don John of Austria could be allowed to live on, unmolested, as if he had not openly refused to obey an express commandand as if he were not secretly plotting to get possession of the throne. That was impossible. During more than two years, Don John's popularity, not only with the people, but with the army, which was a much moreserious matter, had been steadily growing; and with it and even fasterthan it, the King's jealousy and hatred had grown also, till it hadbecome a matter of common discussion and jest among the soldiers whentheir officers were out of hearing. But though it was without real cause, it was not without apparentfoundation. As Philip slowly paced the floor of his most private room, with awkward, ungainly steps, stumbling more than once against a cushionthat lay before his great armchair, he saw clearly before him the wholedimensions of that power to which he had unwillingly raised his brother. The time had been short, but the means used had been great, for they hadbeen intended to be means of destruction, and the result was tremendouswhen they turned against him who used them. Philip was old enough tohave been Don John's father, and he remembered how indifferent he hadbeen to the graceful boy of twelve, whom they called Juan Quixada, whenhe had been brought to the old court at Valladolid and acknowledged as ason of the Emperor Charles. Though he was his brother, Philip had noteven granted him the privilege of living in the palace then, and hadsmiled at the idea that he should be addressed as "Serene Highness. "Even as a boy, he had been impatient to fight; and Philip remembered howhe was always practising with the sword or performing wild feats ofskill and strength upon half-broken horses, except when he was kept tohis books by Doņa Magdalena Quixada, the only person in the world whomhe ever obeyed without question. Every one had loved the boy from thefirst, and Philip's jealousy had begun from that; for he, who was lovedby none and feared by all, craved popularity and common affection, andwas filled with bitter resentment against the world that obeyed him butrefused him what he most desired. Little more than ten years had passed since the boy had come, and he hadneither died a natural death nor fallen in battle, and was grown up toyoung manhood, and was by far the greatest man in Spain. He had beentreated as an inferior, the people had set him up as a god. He had beensent out to command expeditions that be might fail and be disgraced; buthe had shown deeper wisdom than his elders, and had come back coveredwith honour; and now he had been commanded to fight out the final battleof Spain with the Moriscoes, in the hope that he might die in the fight, since he could not be dishonoured, and instead he had returned intriumph, having utterly subdued the fiercest warriors in Europe, to reapthe ripe harvest of his military glory at an age when other men were inthe leading-strings of war's school, and to be acclaimed a hero as wellas a favourite by a court that could hardly raise a voice to cheer forits own King. Ten years had done all that. Ten more, or even five, mightdo the rest. The boy could not be without ambition, and there could beno ambition for him of which the object should be less than a throne. And yet no word had been breathed against him, --his young reputation wascharmed, as his life was. In vain Philip had bidden Antonio Perez andthe Princess of Eboli use all their wits and skill to prove that he wasplotting to seize the crown. They answered that he loved a girl of thecourt, Mendoza's daughter, and that besides war, for war's sake, hecared for nothing in the world but Dolores and his adopted mother. They spoke the truth, for they had reason to know it, having used everymeans in their power to find out whether he could be induced to quarrelwith Philip and enter upon a civil war, which could have had but oneissue, since all Spain would have risen to proclaim him king. He hadbeen tempted by questions, and led into discussions in which it seemedcertain that he must give them some hope. But they and their agents lostheart before the insuperable obstacle of the young prince's loyalty. Itwas simple, unaffected, and without exaggeration. He never drew hissword and kissed the blade, and swore by the Blessed Virgin to give hislast drop of blood for his sovereign and his country. He never madesolemn vows to accomplish ends that looked impossible. But when thecharge sounded, he pressed his steel cap a little lower upon his brow, and settled himself in the saddle without any words and rode at deathlike the devil incarnate; and then men followed him, and the impossiblewas done, and that was all. Or he could wait and watch, and manoeuvrefor weeks, until he had his foe in his hand, with a patience that wouldhave failed his officers and his men, had they not seen him always readyand cheerful, and fully sure that although he might fail twenty times todrive the foe into the pen, he should most certainly succeed in theend, --as he always did. Philip paced the chamber in deep and angry thought. If at that momentany one had offered to rid him of his brother, the reward would havebeen ready, and worth a murderer's taking. But the King had longcherished the scheme of marrying Don John to Queen Mary ofScotland, --whose marriage with Bothwell could easily be annulled--inorder that his presumptuous ambition might be satisfied, and at the sametime that he might make of his new kingdom a powerful ally of Spainagainst Elizabeth of England. It was for this reason that he had longdetermined to prevent his brother's marriage with Maria Dolores deMendoza. Perez and Doņa Ana de la Cerda, on the other hand, feared thatif Don John were allowed to marry the girl he so devotedly loved, hewould forget everything for her, give up campaigning, and settle to theinsignificance of a thoroughly happy man. For they knew the world wellfrom their own point of view. Happiness is often like sadness, for itparalyzes those to whose lot it falls; but pain and danger rouse man'sstrength of mind and body. Yet though the King and his treacherous favourite had diametricallyopposite intentions, a similar thought had crossed the minds of both, even before Don John had ridden up to the palace gate late on thatafternoon, from his last camping ground outside the city walls. Both hadreasoned that whoever was to influence a man so straightforward andfearless must have in his power and keeping the person for whom Don Johnwould make the greatest sacrifice of his life; and that person, as bothknew, was Dolores herself. Yet when Antonio Perez entered Philip'sstudy, neither had guessed the other's thought. * * * * * CHAPTER VIII The court had been still at supper when Adonis had summoned Don AntonioPerez to the King, and the Secretary, as he was usually called, had beenobliged to excuse his sudden departure by explaining that the King hadsent for him unexpectedly. He was not even able to exchange a word withDoņa Ana, who was seated at another of the three long tables and at somedistance from him. She understood, however, and looked after himanxiously. His leaving was not signal for the others, but it caused alittle stir which unhinged the solemn formality of the supper. TheAmbassador of the Holy Roman Empire presently protested that he wassuffering from an unbearable headache, and the Princess of Eboli, nextto whom he was seated, begged him not to stand upon ceremony, sincePerez was gone from the room, but to order his coach at once; she foundit hot, she said, and would be glad to escape. The two rose together, and others followed their example, until the few who would have stayedlonger were constrained to imitate the majority. When Mendoza, relievedat last from his duty, went towards the supper-room to take the placethat was kept for him at one of the tables, he met Doņa Ana in theprivate corridor through which the officers and ladies of the householdpassed to the state apartments. He stood still, surprised to see herthere. "The supper is over, " she said, stopping also, and trying to scrutinizethe hard old face by the dim light of the lamps. "May I have a word withyou, General? Let us walk together to your apartments. " "It is far, Madam, " observed Mendoza, who suspected at once that shewished to see Dolores. "I shall be glad to walk a little, and breathe the air, " she answered. "Your corridor has arches open to the air, I remember. " She began towalk, and he was obliged to accompany her. "Yes, " she continuedindifferently, "we have had such changeable weather to-day! This morningit almost snowed, then it rained, then it, began to freeze, and now itfeels like summer! I hope Dolores has not taken cold? Is she ill? Shewas not at court before supper. " "The weather is indeed very changeable, " replied the General, who didnot know what to say, and considered it beneath his dignity to lieexcept by order of the King. "Yes--yes, I was saying so, was I not? But Dolores--is she ill? Pleasetell me. " The Princess spoke almost anxiously. "No, Madam, my daughters are well, so far as I know. " "But then, my dear General, it is strange that you should not have sentan excuse for Dolores' not appearing. That is the rule, you know. May Iask why you ventured to break it?" Her tone grew harder by degrees. "It was very sudden, " said Mendoza, trying to put her off. "I hope thatyour Grace will excuse my daughter. " "What was sudden?" enquired Doņa Ana coldly. "You say she was not takenill. " "Her--her not coming to court. " Mendoza hesitated and pulled at his greybeard as they went along. "She fully intended to come, " he added, withperfect truth. Doņa Ana walked more slowly, glancing sideways at his face, though shecould hardly see it except when they passed by a lamp, for he was verytall, and she was short, though exquisitely proportioned. "I do not understand, " she said, in a clear, metallic voice. "I have aright to an explanation, for it is quite impossible to give the ladiesof the court who live in the palace full liberty to attend upon theQueen or not, as they please. You will be singularly fortunate if DonAntonio Perez does not mention the matter to the King. " Mendoza was silent, but the words had their effect upon him, and a veryunpleasant one, for they contained a threat. "You see, " continued the Princess, pausing as they reached a flight ofsteps which they would have to ascend, "every one acknowledges theimportance of your services, and that you have been very poorly rewardedfor them. But that is in a degree your own fault, for you have refusedto make friends when you might, and you have little interest with theKing. " "I know it, " said the old soldier, rather bitterly. "Princess, " hecontinued, without giving her time to say more, "this is a privatematter, which concerns only me and my daughter. I entreat you tooverlook the irregularity and not to question me further. I will serveyou in any way in my power--" "You cannot serve me in any way, " answered Doņa Ana cruelly. "I amtrying to help you, " she added, with a sudden change of tone. "You see, my dear General, you are no longer young. At your age, with your nameand your past services, you should have been a grandee and a rich man. You have thrown away your opportunities of advancement, and you havecontented yourself with an office which is highly honourable--but poorlypaid, is it not? And there are younger men who court it for the honouralone, and who are willing to be served by their friends. " "Who is my successor?" asked Mendoza, bravely controlling his voicethough he felt that he was ruined. The skilful and cruel woman began to mount the steps in silence, inorder to let him suffer a few moments, before she answered. Reaching thetop, she spoke, and her voice was soft and kind. "No one, " she answered, "and there is nothing to prevent you fromkeeping your post as long as you like, even if you become infirm andhave to appoint a deputy--but if there were any serious cause ofcomplaint, like this extraordinary behaviour of Dolores--why, perhaps--" She paused to give her words weight, for she knew their value. "Madam, " said Mendoza, "the matter I keep from you does not touch myhonour, and you may know it, so far as that is concerned. But it is oneof which I entreat you not to force me to speak. " Doņa Ana softly passed her arm through his. "I am not used to walking so fast, " she said, by way of explanation. "But, my dear Mendoza, " she went on, pressing his arm a little, "you donot think that I shall let what you tell me go further and reach any oneelse--do you? How can I be of any use to you, if you have no confidencein me? Are we not relatives? You must treat me as I treat you. " Mendoza wished that he could. "Madam, " he said almost roughly, "I have shut my daughter up in her ownroom and bolted the door, and to-morrow I intend to send her to aconvent, and there she shall stay until she changes her mind, for I willnot change mine" "Oh!" ejaculated Doņa Ana, with a long intonation, as if grasping theposition of affairs by degrees. "I understand, " she said, after a longtime. "But then you and I are of the same opinion, my dear friend. Letus talk about this. " Mendoza did not wish to talk of the matter at all, and said nothing, asthey slowly advanced. They had at last reached the passage that ended athis door, and he slackened his pace still more, obliging his companion, whose arm was still in his, to keep pace with him. The moonlight nolonger shone in straight through the open embrasures, and there was adim twilight in the corridor. "You do not wish Dolores to marry Don John of Austria, then, " said thePrincess presently, in very low tones. "Then the King is on your side, and so am I. But I should like to know your reason for objecting to sucha very great marriage. " "Simple enough, Madam. Whenever it should please his Majesty's policy tomarry his brother to a royal personage, such as Queen Mary of Scotland, the first marriage would be proved null and void, because the King wouldcommand that it should be so, and my daughter would be a dishonouredwoman, fit for nothing but a convent. " "Do you call that dishonour?" asked the Princess thoughtfully. "Even ifthat happened, you know that Don John would probably not abandonDolores. He would keep her near him--and provide for her generously--" "Madam!" cried the brave old soldier, interrupting her in sudden andgenerous anger, "neither man nor woman shall tell me that my daughtercould ever fall to that!" She saw that she had made a mistake, and pressed his arm soothingly. "Pray, do not be angry with me, my dear friend. I was thinking what theworld would say--no, let me speak! I am quite of your opinion thatDolores should be kept from seeing Don John, even by quiet force ifnecessary, for they will certainly be married at the very firstopportunity they can find. But you cannot do such things violently, youknow. You will make a scandal. You cannot take your daughter away fromcourt suddenly and shut her up in a convent without doing her a greatinjury. Do you not see that? People will not understand that you willnot let her marry Don John--I mean that most people would find it hardto believe. Yes, the world is bad, I know; what can one do? The worldwould say--promise me that you will not be angry, dear General! You canguess what the world would say. "' "I see--I see!" exclaimed the old man, in sudden terror for hisdaughter's good name. "How wise you are!" "Yes, " answered Doņa Ana, stopping at ten paces from the door, "I amwise, for I am obliged to be. Now, if instead of locking Dolores intoher room two or three hours ago, you had come to me, and told me thetruth, and put her under my protection, for our common good, I wouldhave made it quite impossible for her to exchange a word with Don John, and I would have taken such good care of her that instead of gossipingabout her, the world would have said that she was high in favour, andwould have begun to pay court to her. You know that I have the power todo that. " "How very wise you are!" exclaimed Mendoza again, with more emphasis. "Very well. Will you let me take her with me now, my dear friend? I willconsole her a little, for I daresay she has been crying all alone in herroom, poor girl, and I can keep her with me till Don John goes toVillagarcia. Then we shall see. " Old Mendoza was a very simple-hearted man, as brave men often are, and asingularly spotless life spent chiefly in war and austere devotion hadleft him more than ignorant of the ways of the world. He had fewfriends, chiefly old comrades of his own age who did not live in thepalace, and he detested gossip. Had he known what the woman was withwhom he was speaking, he would have risked Dolores' life rather thangive her into the keeping of Doņa Ana. But to him, the latter was simplythe wife of old Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, the Minister of State, and shewas the head of the Queen's household. No one would have thought ofrepeating the story of a court intrigue to Mendoza, but it was also truethat every one feared Doņa Ana, whose power was boundless, and no onewished to be heard speaking ill of her. To him, therefore, herproposition seemed both wise and kind. "I am very grateful, " he said, with some emotion, for he believed thatshe was helping him to save his fortune and his honour, as was perhapsreally the case, though she would have helped him to lose both withequally persuasive skill could his ruin have served her. "Will you comein with me, Princess?" he asked, beginning to move towards the door. "Yes. Take me to her room and leave me with her. " "Indeed, I would rather not see her myself this evening, " said Mendoza, feeling his anger still not very far from the surface. "You will be ableto speak more wisely than I should. " "I daresay, " answered Doņa Ana thoughtfully. "If you went with me toher, there might be angry words again, and that would make it muchharder for me. If you will leave me at the door of her rooms, and thengo away, I will promise to manage the rest. You are not sorry that youhave told me, now, are you, my dear friend?" "I am most grateful to you. I shall do all I can to be of service toyou, even though you said that it was not in my power to serve you. " "I was annoyed, " said Doņa Ana sweetly. "I did not mean it--pleaseforgive me. " They reached the door, and as she withdrew her hand from his arm, hetook it and ceremoniously kissed her gloved fingers, while she smiledgraciously. Then he knocked three times, and presently the shuffling ofEudaldo's slippers was heard within, and the old servant openedsleepily. On seeing the Princess enter first, he stiffened himself in amilitary fashion, for he had been a soldier and had fought under Mendozawhen both were younger. "Eudaldo, " said the General, in the stern tone he always used whengiving orders, "her Excellency the Princess of Eboli will take DoņaDolores to her own apartments this evening. Tell the maid to followlater with whatever my daughter needs, and do you accompany the ladieswith a candle. " But at this Doņa Ana protested strongly. There was moonlight, there werelamps, there was light everywhere, she said. She needed no one. Mendoza, who had no man-servant in the house but Eudaldo, and eked out his meagreestablishment by making use of his halberdiers when he needed any one, yielded after very little persuasion. "Open the door of my daughter's apartments, " he said to Eudaldo. "Madam, " he said, turning to the Princess, "I have the honour to wishyou good-night. I am your Grace's most obedient servant. I must returnto my duty. " "Good-night, my dear friend, " answered Doņa Ana, nodding graciously. Mendoza bowed low, and went out again, Eudaldo closing the door behindhim. He would not be at liberty until the last of the grandees had gonehome, and the time he had consumed in accompanying the Princess was justwhat he could have spared for his supper. She gave a short sigh ofrelief as she heard his spurred heels and long sword on the stonepavement. He was gone, leaving Dolores in her power, and she meant touse that power to the utmost. Eudaldo shuffled silently across the hall, to the other door, and shefollowed him. He drew the bolt. "Wait here, " she said quietly. "I wish to see Doņa Dolores alone. " "Her ladyship is in the farther room, Excellency, " said the servant, bowing and standing back. She entered and closed the door, and Eudaldo returned to his big chair, to doze until she should come out. She had not taken two steps in the dim room, when a shadow flittedbetween her and the lamp, and it was almost instantly extinguished. Sheuttered an exclamation of surprise and stood still. Anywhere save inMendoza's house, she would have run back and tried to open the door asquickly as possible, in fear of her life, for she had many enemies, andwas constantly on her guard. But she guessed that the shadowy figure shehad seen was Dolores. She spoke, without hesitation, in a gentle voice. "Dolores! Are you there?" she asked. A moment later she felt a small hand on her arm. "Who is it?" asked a whisper, which might have come from Dolores' lipsfor all Doņa Ana could tell. She had forgotten the existence of Inez, whom she had rarely seen, andnever noticed, though she knew that Mendoza had a blind daughter. "It is I--the Princess of Eboli, " she answered in the same gentle tone. "Hush! Whisper to me. " "Your father has gone back to his duty, my dear--you need not beafraid. " "Yes, but Eudaldo is outside--he hears everything when he is not asleep. What is it, Princess? Why are you here?" "I wish to talk with you a little, " replied Doņa Ana, whispering now, toplease the girl. "Can we not get a light? Why did you put out the lamp?I thought you were in another room. " "I was frightened. I did not know who you were. We can talk in the dark, if you do not mind. I will lead you to a chair. I know just whereeverything is in this room. " The Princess suffered herself to be led a few steps, and presently shefelt herself gently pushed into a seat. She was surprised, but realizingthe girl's fear of her father, she thought it best to humour her. So farInez had said nothing that could lead her visitor to suppose that shewas not Dolores. Intimate as the devoted sisters were, Inez knew almostas much of the Princess as Dolores herself; the two girls were of thesame height, and so long as the conversation was carried on in whispers, there was no possibility of detection by speech alone. The quick-wittedblind girl reflected that it was strange if Doņa Ana had not seenDolores, who must have been with the court the whole evening, and shefeared some harm. That being the case, her first impulse was to help hersister if possible, but so long as she was a prisoner in Dolores' place, she could do nothing, and she resolved that the Princess should help herto escape. Doņa Ana began to speak quickly and fluently in the dark. She said thatshe knew the girl's position, and had long known how tenderly she lovedDon John of Austria, and was loved by him. She sympathized deeply withthem both, and meant to do all in her power to help them. Then she toldhow she had missed Dolores at court that night. Inez started involuntarily and drew her breath quickly, but Doņa Anathought it natural that Dolores should give some expression to thedisappointment she must have felt at being shut up a prisoner on such anoccasion, when all the court was assembled to greet the man she loved. Then the Princess went on to tell how she had met Mendoza and had comewith him, and how with great difficulty she had learned the truth, andhad undertaken Dolores' care for a few days; and how Mendoza had beensatisfied, never suspecting that she really sympathized with the lovers. That was a state secret, but of course Dolores must know it. The Kingprivately desired the marriage, she said, because he was jealous of hisbrother and wished that he would tire of winning battles and livequietly, as happy men do. "Don John will tell you, when you see him, " she continued. "I sent himtwo letters this evening. The first he burned unopened, because hethought it was a love letter, but he has read the second by this time. He had it before supper. " "What did you write to him?" asked Inez, whispering low. "He will tell you. The substance was this: If he would only be prudent, and consent to wait two days, and not attempt to see you alone, whichwould make a scandal, and injure you, too, if any one knew it, the Kingwould arrange everything at his own pleasure, and your father would givehis consent. You have not seen Don John since he arrived, have you?" Sheasked the question anxiously. "Oh no!" answered the blind girl, with conviction. "I have not seen him. I wish to Heaven I had!" "I am glad of that, " whispered the Princess. "But if you will come withme to my apartments, and stay with me till matters are arranged--well--Iwill not promise, because it might be dangerous, but perhaps you may seehim for a moment. " "Really? Do you think that is possible?" In the dark Inez was smilingsadly. "Perhaps. He might come to see me, for instance, or my husband, and Icould leave you together a moment. " "That would be heaven!" And the whisper came from the heart. "Then come with me now, my dear, and I will do my best, " answered thePrincess. "Indeed I will! But will you wait one moment while I dress? I am in myold frock--it is hardly fit to be seen. " This was quite true; but Inez had reflected that dressed as she was shecould not pass Eudaldo and be taken by him for her sister, even with ahood over her head. The clothes Dolores had worn before putting on hercourt dress were in her room, and Dolores' hood was there, too. Beforethe Princess could answer, Inez was gone, closing the door of thebedroom behind her. Doņa Ana, a little taken by surprise again, was fainto wait where she was, in the dark, at the risk of hurting herselfagainst the furniture. Then it struck her that Dolores must be dressingin the dark, for no light had come from the door as it was opened andshut. She remembered the blind sister then, and she wondered idlywhether those who lived continually with the blind learned from them tomove easily in the dark and to do everything without a light. Thequestion did not interest her much, but while she was thinking of it thedoor opened again. A skirt and a bodice are soon changed. In a momentshe felt her hand taken, and she rose to her feet. "I am ready, Princess. I will open the door if you will come with me. Ihave covered my head and face, " she added carelessly, though alwayswhispering, "because I am afraid of the night air. " "I was going to advise you to do it in any case, my dear. It is just aswell that neither of us should be recognized by any one in the corridorsso far from my apartments. " The door opened and let in what seemed a flood of light by comparisonwith the darkness. The Princess went forward, and Eudaldo got upon hislegs as quickly as he could to let the two ladies out, without lookingat them as they crossed the hall. Inez followed her companion's footfallexactly, keeping one step behind her by ear, and just pausing beforepassing out. The old servant saw Dolores' dress and Dolores' hood, whichhe expected to see, and no more suspected anything than he had when, ashe supposed, Inez, had gone out earlier. But Inez herself had a far more difficult part to perform than hersister's. Dolores had gone out alone, and no one had watched her beyondthe door, and Dolores had eyes, and could easily enough pretend that shecould not see. It was another matter to be blind and to play at seeing, with a clever woman like the Princess at one's elbow, ready to detectthe slightest hesitation. Besides, though she had got out of thepredicament in which it had been necessary to place her, it was quiteimpossible to foresee what might happen when the Princess discoveredthat she had been deceived, and that catastrophe must happen sooner orlater, and might occur at any moment. The Princess walked quickly, too, with a gliding, noiseless step that was hard to follow. Fortunately Inezwas expected to keep to the left of a superior like her companion, andwas accustomed to taking that side when she went anywhere alone in thepalace. That made it easier, but trouble might come at one of the shortflights of steps down and up which they would have to pass to reach thePrincess's apartments. And then, once there, discovery must come, to acertainty, and then, she knew not what. She had not run the risk for the sake of being shut up again. She hadgot out by a trick in order to help her sister, if she could find her, and in order to be at liberty the first thing necessary was to elude hercompanion. To go to the door of her apartments would be fatal, but shehad not had time to think what she should do. She thought now, with allthe concentration of her ingenuity. One chance presented itself to hermind at once. They most pass the pillar behind which was the concealedentrance to the Moorish gallery above the throne room, and it was not atall likely that Doņa Ana should know of its existence, for she nevercame to that part of the palace, and if Inez lagged a little way behind, before they reached the spot, she could slip noiselessly behind thepillar and disappear. She could always trust herself not to attractattention when she had to open and shut a door. The Princess spoke rarely, making little remarks now and then thathardly required an answer, but to which Inez answered in monosyllables, speaking in a low voice through the thick veil she had drawn over hermantle under her hood, on pretence of fearing the cold. She thought it alittle safer to speak aloud in that way, lest her companion shouldwonder at her total silence. She knew exactly where she was, for she touched each corner as shepassed, and counted her steps between one well-known point and the next, and she allowed the Princess to gain a little as they neared the lastturning before reaching the place where she meant to make the attempt. She hoped in this way, by walking quite noiselessly, and then stoppingsuddenly just before she reached the pillar, to gain half a dozen paces, and the Princess would take three more before she stopped also. Inez hadnoticed that most people take at least three steps before they stop, ifany one calls them suddenly when they are walking fast. It seems to needas much to balance the body when its speed is checked. She noticedeverything that could be heard. She grew nervous. It seemed to her that her companion was walking moreslowly, as if not wishing to leave her any distance behind. Shequickened her own pace again, fearing that she had excited suspicion. Then she heard the Princess stop suddenly, and she had no choice but todo the same. Her heart began to beat painfully, as she saw her chanceslipping from her. She waited for Doņa Ana to speak, wondering what wasthe matter. "I have mistaken the way, " said the Princess, in a tone of annoyance. "Ido not know where I am. We had better go back and turn down the mainstaircase, even if we meet some one. You see, I never come to this partof the palace. " "I think we are on the right corridor, " said Inez nervously. "Let me goas far as the corner. There is a light there, and I can tell you in amoment. " In her anxiety to seem to see, she had forgotten for the momentto muffle her voice in her veil. They went on rapidly, and the Doņa Ana did what most people do when acompanion offers to examine the way, --she stood still a moment andhesitated, looking after the girl, and then followed her with the slowstep with which a person walks who is certain of having to turn back. Inez walked lightly to the corner, hardly touching the wall, turned bythe corner, and was out of sight in a moment. The Princess walkedfaster, for though she believed that Dolores trusted her, it seemedfoolish to give the girl a chance. She reached the corner, where therewas a lamp, --and she saw that the dim corridor was empty to the veryend. * * * * * CHAPTER IX The Princess was far from suspecting, even then, that she had beendeceived about her companion's identity as well as tricked at the last, when Inez escaped from her. She would have laughed at the idea that anyblind person could have moved as confidently as Inez, or couldafterwards have run the length of the next corridor in what had seemedbut an instant, for she did not know of the niche behind the pillar, andthere were pilasters all along, built into the wall. The construction ofthe high, springing vault that covered the whole throne room requiredthem for its solidity, and only the one under the centre of the arch wasbuilt as a detached pillar, in order to give access to the gallery. Seenfrom either end of the passage, it looked exactly like the rest, and fewpersons would have noticed that it differed from them, even in passingit. Doņa Ana stood looking in the direction she supposed the girl to havetaken. An angry flush rose in her cheek, she bit her lips till theyalmost bled, and at last she stamped once before she turned away, sothat her little slipper sent a sharp echo along the corridor. Pursuitwas out of the question, of course, though she could run like a deer;some one might meet her at any turning, and in an hour the whole palacewould know that she had been seen running at full speed after someunknown person. It would be bad enough if she were recognized walkingalone at night at a distance from her own apartments. She drew her veilover her face so closely that she could hardly see her way, and began toretrace her steps towards the principal staircase, pondering as to whatshe should say to Mendoza when he discovered that she had allowed hisdaughter to escape. She was a woman of manlike intelligence and noteasily unbalanced by a single reverse, however, and before she had gonefar her mind began to work clearly. Dolores, she reasoned, would do oneof two things. She would either go straight to Don John's apartments, wait for him, and then tell him her story, in the hope that he wouldprotect her, or she would go to the Duchess Alvarez and seek protectionthere. Under no circumstances would she go down to the throne roomwithout her court dress, for her mere appearance there, dressed as shewas, would produce the most profound astonishment, and could do her nopossible good. And as for her going to the Duchess, that was impossible, too. If she had run away from Doņa Ana, she had done so because the ideaof not seeing Don John for two days was intolerable, and she meant totry and see him at once. The Duchess was in all probability with theQueen, in the latter's private apartments, as Dolores would know. On thewhole, it seemed far more likely that she had done the rashest thingthat had suggested itself to her, and had gone directly to the man sheloved, --a man powerful enough to protect her against all comers, at thepresent time, and quite capable of facing even the King's displeasure. But the whole object of Doņa Ana's manoeuvre had been to get possessionof Dolores' person, as a means of strongly influencing Don John'sactions, in order thus to lead him into a false position from which heshould not be able to escape without a serious quarrel with King Philip, which would be the first step towards the execution of the plotelaborated by Doņa Ana and Perez together. Anything which could producean open difference between the brothers would serve to produce twoparties in Spain, of which the one that would take Don John's side wouldbe by far the stronger. His power would be suddenly much increased, anorganized agitation would be made throughout the country to set him onthe throne, and his popularity, like Cæsar's, would grow still more, when he refused the crown, as he would most certainly do. But just thenKing Philip would die suddenly of a fever, or a cold, or an indigestion, as the conspirators thought best. There would be no direct male heir tothe throne but Don John himself, the acknowledged son of the EmperorCharles; and even Don John would then be made to see that he could onlyserve his country by ruling it, since it cried out for his rule andwould have no other. It was a hard and dangerous thing to lead KingPhilip; it would be an easy matter to direct King John. An honest andunsuspicious soldier would be but as a child in such skilful hands. DoņaAna and Perez would rule Spain as they pleased, and by and by Don Johnshould be chosen Emperor also by the Electors of the Holy Roman Empire, and the conspirators would rule the world, as Charles the Fifth hadruled it. There was no limit to their ambition, and no scruple wouldstand between them and any crime, and the stake was high and worth manyrisks. The Princess walked slowly, weighing in the balance all there was tolose or gain. When she reached the head of the main staircase, she hadnot yet altogether decided how to act, and lest she should meet some oneshe returned, and walked up and down the lonely corridor nearly aquarter of an hour, in deep thought. Suddenly a plan of action flashedupon her, and she went quickly on her way, to act at once. Don John, meanwhile, had read the letter she had sent him by the dwarfjester. When the King had retired into his own apartments, Don Johnfound himself unexpectedly alone. Mendoza and the guard had filed intothe antechamber, the gentlemen in waiting, being temporarily at liberty, went to the room leading out of it on one side, which was appropriatedto their use. The sentries were set at the King's door, and Mendozamarched his halberdiers out again and off to their quarters, while theservants disappeared, and the hero of the day was left to himself. Hesmiled at his own surprise, recollecting that he should have ordered hisown attendants to be in waiting after the supper, whereas he haddismissed them until midnight. He turned on his heel and walked away to find a quiet place where hemight read the paper which had suddenly become of such importance, andpaused at a Moorish niche, where Philip had caused a sacred picture tobe placed, and before which a hanging silver lamp shed a clear light. The small sheet of paper contained but little writing. There were half adozen sentences in a clear hand, without any signature--it was what hassince then come to be called an anonymous letter. But it containedneither any threat, nor any evidence of spite; it set forth in plainlanguage that if, as the writer supposed, Don John wished to marryDolores de Mendoza, it was as necessary for her personal safety as forthe accomplishment of his desires, that he should make no attempt to seeher for at least two days, and that, if he would accept this advice, heshould have the support of every noble and minister at court, includingthe very highest, with the certainty that no further hindrance would beset in his way; it added that the letter he had burned had contained thesame words, and that the two flowers had been intended to serve as asignal which it was now too late to use. It would be sufficient if hetold the bearer of the present letter that he agreed to take the adviceit contained. His assent in that way would, of course, be taken by thewriter to mean that he promised, on his word. That was all. He did not like the last sentence, for it placed him in an awkwardposition, as a man of honour, since he had already seen Dolores, andtherefore could not under any circumstances agree to take advicecontrary to which he had already acted. The most he could now say to thedwarf would be that he could give no answer and would act as carefullyas possible. For the rest, the letter contained nothing treasonable, andwas not at all what he had expected and believed it to be. It appearedto be written in a friendly spirit, and with the exception of his ownbrother and Mendoza, he was not aware that he had an enemy in Spain, inwhich he was almost right. Nevertheless, bold and frank as he was bynature, he knew enough of real warfare to distrust appearances. Thewriter was attached to the King's person, or the letter might have beencomposed, and even written in an assumed hand, by the King himself, forPhilip was not above using the methods of a common conspirator. Thelimitation of time set upon his prudence was strange, too. If he had notseen her and agreed to the terms, he would have supposed that Doloreswas being kept out of his way during those two days, whereas in thattime it would be possible to send her very far from Madrid, or to placeher secretly in a convent where it would be impossible to find her. Itflashed upon him that in shutting up Dolores that evening Mendoza hadbeen obeying the King's secret orders, as well as in telling her thatshe was to be taken to Las Huelgas at dawn. No one but Philip could havewritten the letter--only the dwarf's fear of Philip's displeasure couldhave made him so anxious that it should be read at once. It was all asclear as daylight now, and the King and Mendoza were acting together. The first letter had been brought by a woman, who must have got outthrough the window of the study, which was so low that she could almosthave stepped from it to the terrace without springing. She had watcheduntil the officers and the servants had gone out and the way was clear. Nothing could have been simpler or easier. He would have burnt the letter at the lamp before the picture, had henot feared that some one might see him do it, and he folded it again andthrust it back under his doublet. His face was grave as he turned away, for the position, as he understood it, was a very desperate one. He hadmeant to send Dolores to Villagarcia, but it was almost impossible thatsuch a matter should remain unknown, and in the face of the King'spersonal opposition, it would probably ruin Quixada and his wife. He, onhis side, might send Dolores to a convent, under an assumed name, andtake her out again before she was found, and marry her. But that wouldbe hard, too, for no places were more directly under the sovereign'scontrol than convents and monasteries. Somewhere she must go, for shecould not possibly remain concealed in his study more than three or fourhours. Suddenly he fancied that she might be in danger even now. The woman whohad brought the first letter had of course left the window unfastened. She, or the King, or any one, might get in by that way, and Dolores wasalone. They might have taken her away already. He cursed himself for nothaving looked to see that the window was bolted. The man who had wongreat battles felt a chill at his heart, and he walked at the best ofhis speed, careless whether he met any one or not. But no place is moredeserted than the more distant parts of a royal palace when there is agreat assembly in the state apartments. He met no one on his way, andentered his own door alone. Ten minutes had not elapsed since the Kinghad left the supper-room, and it was almost at that moment that Doņa Anamet Mendoza. Dolores started to her feet as she heard his step in the next room andthen the key in the lock, and as he entered her hands clasped themselvesround his neck, and her eyes looked into his. He was very pale when hesaw her at last, for the belief that she had been stolen away had grownwith his speed, till it was an intolerable certainty. "What is it? What has happened?" she cried anxiously. "Why are you sowhite? Are you ill?" "I was frightened, " he said simply. "I was afraid you were gone. Lookhere!" He led her to the window, and drew the curtain to one side. The cool airrushed in, for the bolts were unfastened, and the window was ajar. Heclosed it and fastened it securely, and they both came back. "The woman got out that way, " he said, in explanation. "I understand itall now--and some one might have come back. " He told her quietly what had happened, and showed her the letter, whichshe read slowly to the end before she gave it back to him. "Then the other was not a love letter, after all, " she said, with alittle laugh that had more of relief in it than amusement, though shedid not know it herself. "No, " he answered gravely. "I wish I had read it. I should at least haveshut the window before leaving you!" Careless of any danger to herself, she sat looking up into his anxiousface, her clasped hands lying in his and quite covered by them, as hestood beside her. There was not a trace of fear in her own face, norindeed of any feeling but perfect love and confidence. Under the gaze ofher deep grey eyes his expression relaxed for a moment, and grew likehers, so that it would have been hard to say which trusted the other themore. "What does anything matter, since we are together now?" she asked. "I amwith you, can anything happen to me?" "Not while I am alive, " he answered, but the look of anxiety for herreturned at once. "You cannot stay here. " "No--you will take me away. I am ready--" "I do not mean that. You cannot stay in this room, nor in my apartments. The King is coming here in a few minutes. I cannot tell what he maydo--he may insist on seeing whether any one is here, listening, for heis very suspicious, and he only comes here because he does not eventrust his own apartments. He may wish to open the door--" "I will lock it on the inside. You can say that it is locked, and thatyou have not the key. If he calls men to open it, I will escape by thewindow, and hide in the old sentry-box. He will not stay talking withyou till morning!" She laughed, and he saw that she was right, simply because there was noother place where she could be even as safe as where she was. He slowlynodded as she spoke. "You see, " she cried, with another little laugh of happy satisfaction, "you must keep me here whether you will or not! You are reallyafraid--frightened like a boy! You! How men would stare if they couldsee you afraid!" "It is true, " he answered, with a faint smile. "But I will give you courage!" she said. "The King cannot come yet. Perez can only have just gone to him, you say. They will talk at leasthalf an hour, and it is very likely that Perez will persuade him not tocome at all, because he is angry with you. Perhaps Perez will comeinstead, and he will be very smooth and flattering, and bring messagesof reconciliation, and beg to make peace. He is very clever, but I donot like his face. He makes me think of a beautiful black fox! Even ifthe King comes himself, we have more than half an hour. You can stay alittle while with me--then go into your room and sit down and read, asif you were waiting for him. You can read my letter over, and I will sithere and say all the things I wrote, over and over again, and you willknow that I am saying them--it will be almost as if I were with you, andcould say them quite close to you--like this--I love you!" She had drawn his hand gently down to her while she was speaking, andshe whispered the last words into his ear with a delicate little kissthat sent a thrill straight to his heart. "You are not afraid any more now, are you?" she asked, as she let himgo, and he straightened himself suddenly as a man drawing back fromsomething he both fears and loves. He opened and shut his hands quickly two or three times, as some nervousmen do, as if trying to shake them clear from a spell, or an influence. Then he began to walk up and down, talking to her. "I am at my wit's end, " he said, speaking fast and not looking at herface, as he turned and turned again. "I cannot send you toVillagarcia--there are things that neither you nor I could do, even foreach other, things you would not have me do for you, Dolores. It wouldbe ruin and disgrace to my adopted mother and Quixada--it might beworse, for the King can call anything he pleases high treason. It isimpossible to take you there without some one knowing it--can I carryyou in my arms? There are grooms, coachmen, servants, who will tellanything under examination--under torture! How can I send you there?" "I would not go, " answered Dolores quietly. "I cannot send you to a convent, either, " he went on, for he had takenher answer for granted, as lovers do who trust each other. "You would befound in a day, for the King knows everything. There is only one place, where I am master--" He stopped short, and grew very pale again, looking at the wall, butseeing something very far away. "Where?" asked Dolores. "Take me there! Oh, take me where you aremaster--where there is no king but you, where we can be together all ourlives, and no one can come between us!" He stood motionless, staring at the wall, contemplating in amazement thevastness of the temptation that arose before him. Dolores could notunderstand, but she did what a loving women does when the man she lovesseems to be in a great distress. She came and stood beside him, passingone arm through his and pressing it tenderly, without a word. There aretimes when a man needs only that to comfort him and give him strength. But even a woman does not always know them. Very slowly he turned to her, almost as if he were trying to resist hereyes and could not. He took his arm from hers and his hands framed herface softly, and pushed the gold hair gently back on her forehead. Butshe grew frightened by degrees, for there was a look in his eyes she hadnever seen there, and that had never been in them before, neither inlove nor in battle. His hands were quite cold, and his face was like abeautiful marble, but there was an evil something in it, as in a fallenangel's, a defiance of God, an irresistible strength to do harm, aterror such as no man would dare to meet. "You are worth it, " he said in a tone so different from his naturalvoice that Dolores started, and would have drawn back from him, butcould not, for his hands held her, shaking a little fiercely. "What? What is it?" she asked, growing more and more frightened--halfbelieving that he was going mad. "You are worth it, " he repeated. "I tell you, you are worth that, andmuch more, and the world, and all the world holds for me, and all earthand heaven besides. You do not know how I love you--you can neverguess--" Her eyes grew tender again, and her hands went up and pressed his thatstill framed her face. "As I love you--dear love!" she answered, wondering, but happy. "No--not now. I love you more. You cannot guess--you shall see what Iwill do for your sake, and then you will understand. " He uttered an incoherent exclamation, and his eyes dazzled her as heseized her in his arms and pressed her to him so that she could havecried out. And suddenly he kissed her, roughly, almost cruelly, as if hemeant to hurt her, and knew that he could. She struggled in his arms, inan unknown terror of him, and her senses reeled. Then all at once, he let her go, and turned from her quickly, leavingher half fainting, so that she leaned against the wall and pressed hercheek to the rough hanging. She felt a storm of tears, that she couldnot understand, rising in her heart and eyes and throat. He had crossedthe room, getting as far as he could from her, and stood there, turnedto the wall, his arms bent against it and his face buried in his sleeve. He breathed hard, and spoke as if to himself in broken words. "Worth it? My God! What are you not worth?" There was such a ring of agony and struggling in his voice that Doloresforgot herself and stood up listening, suddenly filled with anxiety forhim again. He was surely going mad. She would have gone to him again, forgetting her terror that was barely past, the woman's instinct to helpthe suffering man overruling everything else. It was for his sake thatshe stayed where she was, lest if she touched him he should lose hissenses altogether. "Oh, there is one place, where I am master and lord!" he was saying. "There is one thing to do--one thing--" "What is the thing?" she asked very gently. "Why are you suffering so?Where is the place?" He turned suddenly, as he would have turned in his saddle in battle at atrumpet call, straight and strong, with fixed eyes and set lips, thatspoke deliberately. "There is Granada, " he said. "Do you understand now?" "No, " she answered timidly. "I do not understand. Granada? Why there? Itis so far away--" He laughed harshly. "You do not understand? Yes, Granada is far away--far enough to beanother kingdom--so far that John of Austria is master there--so farthat with his army at his back he can be not only its master, but itsKing? Do you understand now? Do you see what I will do for your sake?" He made one step towards her, and she was very white. "I will take you, and go back to-morrow. Do you think the Moors are notmen, because I beat them? I tell you that if I set up my standard inGranada and call them to me, they will follow me--if I lead them to thegate of Madrid. Yes--and so will more than half the Spanish army, if Iwill! But I do not want that--it is not the kingdom--what should I carefor that? Could I not have taken it and held it? It is for you, dearlove--for your sake only--that we may have a world of our own--a kingdomin which you are queen! Let there be war--why should I care? I will setthe world ablaze and let it burn to its own ashes, but I will not letthem take you from me, neither now, nor ever, while I am alive!" He came quickly towards her now, and she could not draw back, for thewall was behind her. But she thrust out her hands against him to keephim off. The gesture stopped him, just when he would have taken her inhis arms. "No, no!" she cried vehemently. "You must not say such things, you mustnot think such thoughts! You are beside yourself, and you will drive memad, too!" "But it will be so easy--you shall see--" She cut his words short. "It must not be easy, it must not be possible, it must not be at all! Doyou believe that I love you and that I would let you do such deeds? Oh, no! That would not be love at all--it would be hate, it would be treasonto you, and worse treason than yours against your brother!" The fierce light was sinking from his face. He had folded his arms andstood very still, listening to her. "You!" she cried, with rising energy. "You, the brave soldier, thespotless man, the very soul of honour made flesh and blood! You, whohave but just come back in triumph from fighting your King'senemies--you against whom no living being has ever dared to breathe aslander or a slighting word. Oh, no, no, no, no! I could not bear thatyou should betray your faith and your country and yourself, and becalled traitor for my sake! Not for ten lives of mine shall you ruinyours. And not because I might love you less if you had done that deed. God help me! I think I should love you if you committed any crime! Theshame is the more to me--I know it. I am only a woman! But rather thanlet my love ruin you, make a traitor of you and lose you in this worldand the next, my soul shall go first--life, soul, honour, everything!You shall not do it! You think that you love me more than I love you, but you do not. For to save you as you are, I love you so dearly that Iwill leave you--leave you to honour, leave you to your King, leave youto the undying glory of the life you have lived, and will live, inmemory of my love!" The splendid words rang from her lips like a voice from heaven, and hereyes were divinely lightened. For they looked up, and not at him, calling Heaven to witness that she would keep her promise. As her openhand unconsciously went out, he took it tenderly, and felt her fingerssoftly closing on his own, as if she would lift him to himself again, and to the dear light of her own thoughts. There was silence for amoment. "You are better and wiser than I, " he said, and his tone told her thatthe madness was past. "And you know that I am right? You see that I must leave you, to saveyou from me?" "Leave me--now?" he cried. "You only said that--you meant me tounderstand--you did not mean that you would leave me now?" "I do mean it, " she said, in a great effort. "It is all I can do, toshow you how I love you. As long as I am in your life you will be indanger--you will never be safe from yourself--I see it all now! I standbetween you and all the world would give you--I will not stand betweenyou and honour!" She was breaking down, fight as she would against the pain. He could saynothing, for he could not believe that she really was in earnest. "I must!" she exclaimed suddenly. "It is all I can do for you--it is mylife--take it!" The tears broke from her eyes, but she held her head high, and let themfall unheeded. "Take it!" she repeated. "It is all I have to give for yours and yourhonour. Good-by--oh, love, I love you so dearly! Once more, before Igo--" She almost, fell into his arms as she buried her face on his shoulderand clasped his throat as she was wont. He kissed her hair gently, andfrom time to time her whole frame shook with the sobs she was chokingdown. "It kills me, " she said in a broken voice. "I cannot--I thought I was sostrong! Oh, I am the most miserable living woman in the world!" She broke away from him wildly and threw herself upon a chair, turningfrom him to its cushion and hiding her face in her hands, choking, pressing the furious tears back upon her eyes, shaking from head tofoot. "You cannot go! You cannot!" he cried, falling on his knees beside herand trying to take her hands in his. "Dolores--look at me! I will doanything--promise anything--you will believe me! Listen, love--I giveyou my word--I swear before God--" "No--swear nothing--" she said, between the sobs that broke her voice. "But I will!" he insisted, drawing her hands down till she looked athim. "I swear upon my honour that I will never raise my hand against theKing--that I will defend him, and fight for him, and be loyal to him, whatever he may do to me--and that even for you, I will never strike ablow in battle nor speak a word in peace that is not all honourable, through and through, --even as I have fought and spoken until now!" As she listened to his words her weeping subsided, and her tearful eyestook light and life again. She drew him close, and kissed him on theforehead. "I am so glad--so happy!" she cried softly. "I should never have hadstrength to really say good-by!" * * * * * CHAPTER X Don John smoothed her golden hair. Never since he had known that heloved her, had she seemed so beautiful as then, and his thought tried tohold her as she was, that she might in memory be always the same. Therewas colour in her cheeks, a soft flush of happiness that destroyed alltraces of her tears, so that they only left her grey eyes dark andtender under the long wet lashes. "It was a cruel dream, dear love! It was not true!" Finding him again, her voice was low, and sweet with joy. He smiled, too, and his own eyes were quiet and young, now that thetempest had passed away, almost out of recollection. It had raged butfor a few moments, but in that time both he and she had lived and lovedas it were through years, and their love had grown better and braver. She knew that his word was enough, and that he would die rather thanbreak it; but though she had called herself weak, and had seemed tobreak down in despair, she would have left him for ever rather thanbelieve that he was still in danger through her. She did not again askherself whether her sudden resolution had been all for his sake, and hadnot formed itself because she dreaded to think of being bound to one whobetrayed his country. She knew it and needed no further self-questioningto satisfy her. If such a man could have committed crimes, she wouldhave hated them, not him, she would have pardoned him, not them, shewould still have laid her hand in his before the whole world, though itshould mean shame and infamy, because she loved him and would alwayslove him, and could never have left him for her own sake, come all thatmight. She had said it was a shame to her that she would have loved himstill; yet if it had been so, she would have gloried in being shamed forhis sake, for even then her love might have brought him back from thedepths of evil and made him again for her in truth what he had onceseemed to the whole world. She could have done that, and if in the endshe had saved him she would have counted the price of her name as verylittle to set against his salvation from himself. She would have giventhat and much more, for her love, as she would freely give all for himand even for his memory, if he were dead, and if by some unimaginablecircumstances her ruin before the world could keep his name spotless, and his glory unsullied. For there is nothing that a true-hearted lovingwoman will not give and do for him she loves and believes and trusts;and though she will give the greatest thing last of all, she will giveit in the end, if it can save him from infamy and destruction. For it isthe woman's glory to give, as it is the man's to use strength in thehour of battle and gentleness in the day of peace, and to follow honouralways. "Forget it all, " answered Don John presently. "Forget it, dear, andforgive me for it all. " "I can forget it, because it was only a dream, " she said, "and I havenothing to forgive. Listen to me. If it were true--even if I believedthat we had not been dreaming, you and I, could I have anything toforgive you? What?" "The mere thought that I could betray a trust, turn against my sovereignand ruin my country, " he answered bravely, and a blush of honest shamerose in his boyish cheeks. "It was for me, " said Dolores. That should explain all, her heart said. But he was not satisfied, andbeing a man he began to insist. "Not even for you should I have thought of it, " he said. "And there isthe thought to forgive, if nothing else. " "No--you are wrong, love. Because it was for me, it does not need myforgiveness. It is different--you do not understand yet. It is I whoshould have never forgiven myself on earth nor expected pardonhereafter, if I had let myself be the cause of such deeds, if I had letmy love stand between you and honour. Do you see?" "I see, " he answered. "You are very brave and kind and good. I did notknow that a woman could be like you. " "A woman could be anything--for you--dare anything, do anything, sacrifice anything! Did I not tell you so, long ago? You only halfbelieved me, dear--perhaps you do not quite believe me now--" "Indeed, indeed I do, with all my soul! I believe you as I love you, asI believe in your love--" "Yes. Tell me that you do--and tell me that you love me! It is so goodto hear, now that the bad dream is gone. " "Shall I tell you?" He smiled, playing with her hand. "How can I? Thereare so few words in which to say so much. But I will tell you this--Iwould give my word for you. Does that sound little? You should know, foryou know at what price you would have saved my honour a while ago. Ibelieve in you so truly that I would stake my word, and my honour, andmy Christian oath upon your faith, and promise for you before God or manthat you will always love me as you do to-day. " "You may pledge all three. I will, and I will give you all I have thatis not God's--and if that is not enough, I will give my soul for yours, if I may, to suffer in your stead. " She spoke quietly enough, but there was a little quaver of trueearnestness in her voice, that made each word a solemn promise. "And besides that, " she added, "you see how I trust you. " She smiled again as she looked at him, and knew how safe she was, farsafer now than when she had first come with him to the door. Somethingtold her that he had mastered himself--she would not have wished tothink that she had ruled him? it was enough if she had shown him theway, and had helped him. He pressed her hand to his cheek and lookeddown thoughtfully, wishing that he could find such simple words thatcould say so much, but not trusting himself to speak. For though, inlove, a man speaks first, he always finds the least to say of love whenit has strongest hold of him; but a woman has words then, true andtender, that come from her heart unsought. Yet by and by, if love is notenduring, so that both tire of it, the man plays the better comedy, because he has the greater strength, and sometimes what he says has theold ring in it, because it is so well said, and the woman smiles andwonders that his love should have lasted longer than hers, and desiringthe illusion, she finds old phrases again; yet there is no life in them, because when love is dead she thinks of herself, and instead, it wasonly of him she thought in the good days when her heart used to beat atthe sound of his footfall, and the light grew dim and unsteady as shefelt his kiss. But the love of these two was not born to tire; andbecause he was so young, and knew the world little, save at his sword'spoint, he was ashamed that he could not speak of love as well as she. "Find words for me, " he said, "and I will say them, for yours are betterthan mine. " "Say, 'I love you, dear, ' very softly and gently--not roughly, as yousometimes do. I want to hear it gently now, that, and nothing else. " She turned a little, leaning towards him, her face near his, her eyesquiet and warm, and she took his hands and held them together before heras if he were her prisoner--and indeed she meant that he should notsuddenly take her in his arms, as he often did. "I love you, dear, " he repeated, smiling, and pretending to be verydocile. "That is not quite the way, " she said, with a girlish laugh. "Say itagain--quite as softly, but more tenderly! You must be very much inearnest, you know, but you must not be in the least violent. " Shelaughed again. "It is like teaching a young lion, " she added. "He mayeat you up at any moment, instead of obeying you. Tell me, you have alittle lion that follows you like a dog when you are in your camp, haveyou not? You have not told me about him yet. How did you teach him?" "I did not try to make him say 'I love you, dear, '" answered Don John, laughing in his turn. As he spoke a distant sound caught his ear, and the smile vanished fromhis face, for though he heard only the far off rumbling of a coach inthe great court, it recalled him to reality. "We are playing with life and death, " he said suddenly. "It is late, theKing may be here at any moment, and we have decided nothing. " He rose. "Is it late?" asked Dolores, passing her hand over her eyes dreamily. "Ihad forgotten--it seems so short. Give me the key on my side of thedoor--we had decided that, you know. Go and sit down in your room, as weagreed. Shall you read my letter again, love? It may be half an hoarstill before the King comes. When he is gone, we shall have all thenight in which to decide, and the nights are very long now. Oh, I hateto lose one minute of you! What shall you say to the King?" "I do not know what he may say to me, " answered Don John. "Listen andyou shall hear--I would rather know that you hear everything I say. Itwill be as if I were speaking before you, and of course I should tellyou everything the King says. He will speak of you, I think. " "Indeed, it would be hard not to listen, " said Dolores. "I should haveto stop my ears, for one cannot help hearing every word that is said inthe next room. Do you know? I heard you ask for your white shoes! Ihardly dared to breathe for fear the servants should find out that I washere. " "So much the better then. Sit in this chair near the door. But becareful to make no noise, for the King is very suspicious. " "I know. Do not be afraid; I will be as quiet as a mouse. Go, love, go!It is time--oh, how I hate to let you leave me! You will be careful? Youwill not be angry at what he says? You would be wiser if you knew I werenot hearing everything; you will want to defend me if he says the leastword you do not like, but let him say what he will! Anything is betterthan an open quarrel between you and the King! Promise me to be verymoderate in what you say, and very patient. Remember that he is theKing!" "And my brother, " said Don John, with some bitterness. "Do not fear. Youknow what I have promised you. I will bear anything he may say thatconcerns me as well as I can, but if he says anything slighting ofyou--" "But he may--that is the danger. Promise me not to be angry--" "How can I promise that, if he insults you?" "No, I did not mean that exactly. Promise that you will not forgeteverything and raise your hand against him. You see I know you would. " "No, I will not raise my hand against him. That was in the promise Imade you. And as for being angry, I will do my best to keep my temper. " "I know you will. Now you must go. Good-by, love! Good-by, for a littlewhile. " "For such a little time shall we say good-by? I hate the word; it makesme think of the day when I left you last. " "How can I tell what may happen to you when you are out of my sight?"asked Dolores. "And what is 'good-by' but a blessing each prays for theother? That is all it means. It does not mean that we part for long, love. Why, I would say it for an hour! Good-by, dear love, good-by!" She put up her face to kiss him, and it was so full of trust andhappiness that the word lost all the bitterness it has gathered throughages of partings, and seemed, what she said it was, a loving blessing. Yet she said it very tenderly, for it was hard to let him go even forless than an hour. He said it, too, to please her; but yet the syllablescame mournfully, as if they meant a world more than hers, and the soundof them half frightened her, so that she was sorry she had asked him forthe word. "Not so!" she cried, in quick alarm. "You are not keeping anything fromme? You are only going to the next room to meet the King--are you sure?" "That is all. You see, the word frightened you. It seems such a sad wordto me--I will not say it again. " He kissed her gently, as if to soothe her fear, and then he opened thedoor and set the key in the lock on the inside. Then when he wasoutside, he lingered a moment, and their lips met once more without aword, and they nodded and smiled to one another a last time, and heclosed the door and heard her lock it. When she was alone, she turned away as if he were gone from heraltogether instead of being in the next room, where she could hear himmoving now and then, as he placed his chair near the light to read andarranged the candlesticks on the table. Then he went to the other doorand opened it and opened the one beyond upon the terrace, and she knewthat he was looking out to see if any one were there. But presently hecame back and sat down, and she distinctly heard the rustle of thestrong writing-paper as he unfolded a letter. It was hers. He was goingto read it, as they had agreed. So she sat down where she could look at the door, and she tried to forceher eyes to see through it, to make him feel that she was watching him, that she came near him and stood beside him, and softly read the wordsfor him, but without looking at them, because she knew them all byheart. But it was not the same as if she had seen him, and it was veryhard to be shut off from his sight by an impenetrable piece of wood, tolose all the moments that might pass before the King chose to come. Another hour might pass. No one could even tell whether he would come atall after he had consulted with Antonio Perez. The skilful favouritedesired a quarrel between his master and Don John with all his heart, but he was not ready for it yet. He must have possession of Doloresfirst and hide her safely; and when the quarrel came, Don John shouldbelieve that the King had stolen her and imprisoned her, and that shewas treated ill; and for the woman he loved, Don John would tear downthe walls of Madrid, if need be, and if at the last he found her dead, there would be no harm done, thought Perez, and Don John would hate hisbrother even to death, and all Spain would cry out in sympathy andhorror. But all this Dolores could neither know nor even suspect. Sheonly felt sure that the King and Perez were even now consulting togetherto hinder her marriage with Don John, and that Perez might persuade theKing not to see his brother that night. It was almost intolerable to think that she might wait there for hours, wasting the minutes for which she would have given drops of blood. Surely they both were overcautious. The door could be left open, so thatthey could talk, and at the first sound without, she could lock it againand sit down. That would be quite as safe. She rose and was almost in the act of opening the door again when shestopped and hesitated. It was possible that at any moment the King mightbe at the door; for though she could hear every sound that came from thenext room, the thick curtains that hid the window effectually shut outall sound from without. It struck her that she could go to the window, however, and look out. Yet a ray of light might betray her presence inthe room to any one outside, and if she drew aside the curtain the lightwould shine out upon the terrace. She listened at Don John's door, andpresently she heard him turn her letter in his hand, and all her heartwent out to him, and she stood noiselessly kissing the panels and sayingover again in her heart that she loved him more than any words couldtell. If she could only see out of the window and assure herself that noone was coming yet, there would be time to go to him again, for onemoment only, and say the words once more. Then she sat down and told herself how foolish she was. She had beenseparated from him for many long and empty months, and now she had beenwith him and talked long with him twice in leas than three hours, andyet she could not bear that he should be out of her sight five minuteswithout wishing to risk everything to see him again. She tried to laughat herself, repeating over and over again that she was very, veryfoolish, and that she should have a just contempt for any woman whocould be as foolish as she. For some moments she sat still, staring atthe wall. In the thought of him that filled her heart and soul and mind, she sawthat her own life had begun when he had first spoken to her, and shefelt that it would end with the last good-by, because if he should dieor cease to love her, there would be nothing more to live for. Her earlygirlhood seemed dim and far away, dull and lifeless, as if it had notbeen hers at all, and had no connection with the present. She sawherself in the past, as she could not see herself now, and the child sheremembered seemed not herself but another--a fair-haired girl living inthe gloomy old house in Valladolid, with her blind sister and an oldmaiden cousin of her father's, who had offered to bring up the two andto teach them, being a woman of some learning, and who fulfilled herpromise in such a conscientious and austere way as made their livessomething of a burden under her strict rule. But that was all forgottennow, and though she still lived in Valladolid she had probably changedbut little in the few years since Dolores had seen her; she was part ofthe past, a relic of something that had hardly ever had a realexistence, and which it was not at all necessary to remember. There wasone great light in the girl's simple existence, it had come all at once, and it was with her still. There was nothing dim nor dark nor forgottenabout the day when she had been presented at court by the DuchessAlvarez, and she had first seen Don John, and he had first seen her andhad spoken to her, when he had talked with the Duchess herself. At thefirst glance--and it was her first sight of the great world--she hadseen that of all the men in the great hall, there was no one at all likehim. She had no sooner looked into his face and cast her eyes upon hisslender figure, all in white then, as he was dressed to-night, than shebegan to compare him with the rest. She looked so quickly from one toanother that any one might have thought her to be anxiously searchingfor a friend in the crowd. But she had none then, and she was butassuring herself once, and for all her life, that the man she was tolove was immeasurably beyond all other men, though the others were thevery flower of Spain's young chivalry. Of course, as she told herself now, she had not loved him then, nor evenwhen she heard his voice speaking to her the first time and was almosttoo happy to understand his words. But she had remembered them. He hadasked her whether she lived in Madrid. She had told him that she livedin the Alcazar itself, since her father commanded the guards and had hisquarters in the palace. And then Don John had looked at her very fixedlyfor a moment, and had seemed pleased, for he smiled and said that hehoped he might see her often, and that if it were in his power to be ofuse to her father, he would do what he could. She was sure that she hadnot loved him then, though she had dreamed of his winning face and voiceand had thought of little else all the next day, and the day after that, with a sort of feverish longing to see him again, and had asked theDuchess Alvarez so many questions about him that the Duchess had smiledoddly, and had shaken her handsome young head a little, saying that itwas better not to think too much about Don John of Austria. Surely, shehad not loved him already, at first sight. But on the evening of thethird day, towards sunset, when she had been walking with Inez on adeserted terrace where no one but the two sisters ever went, Don Johnhad suddenly appeared, sauntering idly out with one of his gentlemen onhis left, as if he expected nothing at all; and he had seemed very muchsurprised to see her, and had bowed low, and somehow very soon, blindInez, who was little more than a child three years ago, was leading thegentleman about the terrace, to show him where the best roses grew, which she knew by their touch and smell, and Don John and Dolores wereseated on an old stone bench, talking earnestly together. Even toherself she admitted that she had loved him from that evening, andwhenever she thought of it she smelt the first scent of roses, and sawhis face with the blaze of the sunset in his eyes, and heard his voicesaying that he should come to the terrace again at that hour, in whichmatter he had kept his word as faithfully as he always did, andpresumably without any especial effort. So she had known him as hereally was, without the formalities of the court life, of which she washerself a somewhat insignificant part; and it was only when he said afew words to her before the other ladies that she took pains to say'your Highness' to him once or twice, and he called her 'Doņa Dolores, 'and enquired in a friendly manner about her father's health. But on theterrace they managed to talk without any such formal mode of address, and used no names at all for each other, until one day--but she wouldnot think of that now. If she let her memory run all its course, shecould not sit there with the door closed between him and her, forsomething stronger than she would force her to go and open it, and makesure he was there. This method, indeed, would be a very certain one, leaving no doubt whatever, but at the present moment it would be foolishto resort to it, and, perhaps, it would be dangerous, too. The past wasso beautiful and peaceful; she could think its history through manytimes up to that point, where thinking was sure to end suddenly insomething which was too present for memory and too well remembered notto be present. It came back to her so vividly that she left her seat again and went tothe curtained window, as if to get as far as possible from theirresistible attraction. Standing there she looked back and saw the keyin the lock. It was foolish, girlish, childish, at such a time, but shefelt that as long as it was there she should want to turn it. With asudden resolution and a smile that was for her own weakness, she went tothe door again, listened for footsteps, and then quietly took the keyfrom the lock. Instantly Don John was on the other side, calling to hersoftly. "What is it?" he asked. "For Heaven's sake do not come in, for I think Ihear him coming. " "No, " she answered through the panel. "I was afraid I should turn thekey, so I have taken it out. " She paused. "I love you!" she said, sothat he could hear, and she kissed the wood, where she thought his facemust be, just above her own. "I love you with all my heart!" he answered gently. "Hush, dear love, heis coming!" They were like two children, playing at a game; but they were playing onthe very verge of tragedy, playing at life with death at the door andthe safety of a great nation hanging in the balance. A moment later, Dolores heard Don John opening and shutting the otherdoors again, and then there were voices. She heard her father's namespoken in the King's unmistakable tones, at once harsh and muffled. Every word came to her from the other room, as if she were present. "Mendoza, " said Philip, "I have private matters to discuss with hisHighness. I desire you to wait before the entrance, on the terrace, andto let no one pass in, as we do not wish to be disturbed. " Her father did not speak, but she knew how he was bending a littlestiffly, before he went backwards through the open door. It closedbehind him, and the two brothers were alone. Dolores' heart beat alittle faster, and her face grew paler as she concentrated her attentionupon making no noise. If they could hear her as she heard them, a mererustling of her silk gown would be enough to betray her, and if then theKing bade her father take her with him, all would be over, for Don Johnwould certainly not use any violence to protect her. "This is your bedchamber, " said Philip's voice. He was evidently examining the room, as Don John had anticipated that hewould, for he was moving about. There was no mistaking his heavy stepsfor his brother's elastic tread. "There is no one behind the curtain, " said the King, by which it wasclear that he was making search for a possible concealed listener. Hewas by no means above such precautions. "And that door?" he said, with a question. "What is there?" Dolores' heart almost stood still, as she held her breath, and heard theclumsy footfall coming nearer. "It is locked, " said Don John, with undisturbed calm. "I have not thekey. I do not know where it is, --it is not here. " As Dolores had taken it from the lock, even the last statement was trueto the letter, and in spite of her anxiety she smiled as she heard it, but the next moment she trembled, for the King was trying the door, andit shook under his hand, as if it must fly open. "It is certainly locked, " he said, in a discontented tone. "But I do notlike locked doors, unless I know what is beyond them. " He crossed the room again and called out to Mendoza, who answered atonce. "Mendoza, come here with me. There is a door here, of which his Highnesshas not the key. Can you open it?" "I will try, your Majesty, " answered the General's hard voice. A moment later the panels shook violently under the old man's weight, for he was stronger than one might have thought, being lean and toughrather than muscular. Dolores took the moment when the noise was loudestand ran a few steps towards the window. Then the sounds ceased suddenly, and she stood still. "I cannot open it, your Majesty, " said Mendoza, in a disconsolate tone. "Then go and get the key, " answered the King almost angrily. * * * * * CHAPTER XI Inez remained hidden a quarter of an hour in the gallery over the throneroom, before she ventured to open the door noiselessly and listen forany sound that might come from the passage. She was quite safe there, aslong as she chose to remain, for the Princess had believed that she hadfled far beyond and was altogether out of reach of any one whose dignitywould not allow of running a race. It must be remembered that at thetime she entered the gallery Mendoza had returned to his duty below, andthat some time afterwards he had accompanied the King to Don John'sapartments, and had then been sent in search of the key to the lockeddoor. The blind girl was of course wholly ignorant of his whereabouts, andbelieved him to be in or about the throne room. Her instinct told herthat since Dolores had not gone to the court, as she had intended, withthe Duchess Alvarez, she must have made some last attempt to see DonJohn alone. In her perfect innocence such an idea seemed natural enoughto Inez, and it at first occurred to her that the two might havearranged to meet on the deserted terrace where they had spent so manyhours in former times. She went there first, finding her way with somelittle difficulty from the corridor where the gallery was, for theregion was not the one to which she was most accustomed, though therewas hardly a corner of the upper story where she had never been. Reaching the terrace, she went out and called softly, but there was noanswer, nor could she hear any sound. The night was not cold now, butthe breeze chilled her a little, and just then the melancholy cry of ascreech owl pierced the air, and she shivered and went in again. She would have gone to the Duchess Alvarez had she not been sure thatthe latter was below with the Queen, and even as it was, she would havetaken refuge in the Duchess's apartments with the women, and she mighthave learned something of Dolores there. But her touch reminded her thatshe was dressed in her sister's clothes, and that many questions mightbe asked her which it would be hard to answer. And again, it grew quiteclear to her that Dolores must be somewhere near Don John, perhapswaiting in some concealed corner until all should be quiet. It was morethan probable that he would get her out of the palace secretly duringthe night and send her to his adoptive mother at Villagarcia. She hadnot believed the Princess's words in the least, but she had notforgotten them, and had argued rightly enough to their real meaning. In the upper story all was still now. She and Dolores had known whereDon John was to be lodged in the palace nearly a month before he hadreturned, and they had been there more than once, when no one was on theterrace, and Dolores had made her touch the door and the six windows, three on each side of it. She could get there without difficulty, provided that no one stopped her. She went a little way in the right direction and then hesitated. Therewas more danger to Dolores than to herself if she should be recognized, and, after all, if Dolores was near Don John she was safer than shecould be anywhere else. Inez could not help her very much in any way ifshe found her there, and it would be hard to find her if she had metMendoza at first and if he had placed her in the keeping of a thirdperson. She imagined what his astonishment would have been had he foundthe real Dolores in her court dress a few moments after Inez had beendelivered over to the Princess disguised in Dolores' clothes, and shealmost smiled. But then a great loneliness and a sense of helplessnesscame over her, and she turned back and went out upon the desertedterrace again and sat down upon the old stone seat, listening for thescreech owl and the fluttering of the bats that flew aimlessly in andout, attracted by the light and then scared away by it again because themoon was at the full. Inez had never before then wandered about the palace at night, andthough darkness and daylight were one to her, there was something in theair that frightened her, and made her feel how really helpless she wasin spite of her almost superhuman hearing and her wonderful sense oftouch. It was very still--it was never so still by day. It seemed as ifpeople must be lying in wait for her, holding their breath lest sheshould hear even that. She had never felt blind before; she had never socompletely realized the difference between her life and the lives ofothers. By day, she could wander where she pleased on the upperstory--it was cheerful, familiar; now and then some one passed andperhaps spoke to her kindly, as every one did who knew her; and thenthere was the warm sunlight at the windows, and the cool breath of theliving day in the corridors. The sounds guided her, the sun warmed her, the air fanned her, the voices of the people made her feel that she wasone of them. But now, the place was like an empty church, full of tombsand silent as the dead that lay there. She felt horribly lonely, andcold, and miserable, and she would have given anything to be in bed inher own room. She could not go there. Eudaldo would not understand herreturn, after being told that she was to stay with the Princess, and shewould be obliged to give him some explanation. Then her voice wouldbetray her, and there would be terrible trouble. If only she had kepther own cloak to cover Dolores' frock, she could have gone back and theservant would have thought it quite natural Indeed, by this time hewould be expecting her. It would be almost better to go in after all, and tell him some story of her having mistaken her sister's skirt forher own, and beg him to say nothing. She could easily confuse him alittle so that he would not really understand--and then in a few minutesshe could be in her own room, safe and in bed, and far away from thedismal place where she was sitting and shivering as she listened to theowls. She rose and began to walk towards her father's quarters. But suddenlyshe felt that it was cowardly to go back without accomplishing the leastpart of her purpose, and without even finding out whether Dolores was insafety after all. There was but one chance of finding her, and that layin searching the neighbourhood of Don John's lodging. Without hesitatingany longer, she began to find her way thither at once. She determinedthat if she were stopped, either by her father or the Princess, shewould throw back her head and show her face at once. That would be thesafest way in the end. She reached Don John's windows unhindered at last. She had felt everycorner, and had been into the empty sentry-box; and once or twice, afterlistening a long time, she had called Dolores in a very low tone. Shelistened by the first window, and by the second and third, and at thedoor, and then beyond, till she came to the last. There were voicesthere, and her heart beat quickly for a moment. It was impossible todistinguish the words that were spoken, through the closed window andthe heavy curtains, but the mere tones told her that Don John andDolores were there together. That was enough for her, and she could goback to her room; for it seemed quite natural to her that her sistershould be in the keeping of the man she loved, --she was out of harm'sway and beyond their father's power, and that was all that wasnecessary. She would go back to her room at once, and explain the matterof her dress to Eudaldo as best she might. After all, why should he carewhat she wore or where she had been, or whether in the Princess'sapartments she had for some reason exchanged gowns with Dolores. Perhapshe would not even notice the dress at all. She meant to go at once, but she stood quite still, her hands resting onthe low sill of the window, while her forehead pressed against the coldround panes of glass. Something hurt her which she could not understand, as she tried to fancy the two beautiful young beings who werewithin, --for she knew what beauty they had, and Dolores had describedDon John to her as a young god. His voice came to her like strains ofvery distant sweet music, that connect themselves to an unknown melodyin the fancy of him who faintly hears. But Dolores was hearing everyword he said, and it was all for her; and Dolores not only heard, butsaw; and seeing and hearing, she was loved by the man who spoke to her, as dearly as she loved him. Then utter loneliness fell upon the blind girl as she leaned against thewindow. She had expected nothing, she had asked nothing, even in herheart; and she had less than nothing, since never on earth, nor inheaven hereafter, could Don John say a loving word to her. And yet shefelt that something had been taken from her and given to hersister, --something that was more to her than life, and dearer than thethought of sight to her blindness. She had taken what had not been givenher, in innocent girlish thoughts that were only dreams, and could hurtno one. He had always spoken gently to her, and touched her hand kindly;and many a time, sitting alone in the sun, she had set those words tothe well-remembered music of his voice, and she had let the memory ofhis light touch on her fingers thrill her strangely to the very quick. It had been but the reflection of a reflection in her darkness, whereinthe shadow of a shadow seemed as bright as day. It had been all she hadto make her feel that she was a part of the living, loving world shecould never see. Somehow she had unconsciously fancied that with alittle dreaming she could live happy in Dolores' happiness, as by aproxy, and she had never called it love, any more than she would havedared to hope for love in return. Yet it was that, and nothingelse, --the love that is so hopeless and starving, and yet so innocent, that it can draw the illusion of an airy nourishment from that which toanother nature would be the fountain of all jealousy and hatred. But now, without reason and without warning, even that was taken fromher, and in its place something burned that she did not know, save thatit was a bad thing, and made even blackness blacker. She heard theirvoices still. They were happy together, while she was alone outside, herforehead resting against the chill glass, and her hands half numb uponthe stone; and so it would always be hereafter. They would go, and takeher life with them, and she should be left behind, alone for ever; and agreat revolt against her fate rose quickly in her breast like a flamebefore the wind, and then, as if finding nothing to consume, sank downagain into its own ashes, and left her more lonely than before. Thevoices had ceased now, or else the lovers were speaking very low, fearing, perhaps, that some one might be listening at the window. IfInez had heard their words at first, she would have stopped her ears orgone to a distance, for the child knew what that sort of honour meant, and had done as much before. But the unformed sound had been good tohear, and she missed it. Perhaps they were sitting close and, hand inhand, reading all the sweet unsaid things in one another's eyes. Theremust be silent voices in eyes that could see, she thought. She tooklittle thought of the time, yet it seemed long to her since they hadspoken. Perhaps they had gone to another room. She moved to the nextwindow and listened there, but no sound came from within. Then she heardfootfalls, and one was her father's. Two men were coming out by thecorridor, and she had not time to reach the sentry-box. With her handsout before her, she went lightly away from the windows to the outer sideof the broad terrace, and cowered down by the balustrade as she ranagainst it, not knowing whether she was in the moonlight or the shade. She had crossed like a shadow and was crouching there before Mendoza andthe King came out. She knew by their steady tread, that ended at thedoor, that they had not noticed her; and as the door closed behind them, she ran back to the window again and listened, expecting to hear loudand angry words, for she could not doubt that the King and her fatherhad discovered that Dolores was there, and had come to take her away. The Princess must have told Mendoza that Dolores had escaped. But sheonly heard men's voices speaking in an ordinary tone, and she understoodthat Dolores was concealed. Almost at once, and to her dismay, she heardher father's step in the hall, and now she could neither pass the doornor run across the terrace again. A moment later the King called himfrom within. Instantly she slipped across to the other side, andlistened again. They were shaking a door, --they were in the very act offinding Dolores. Her heart hurt her. But then the noise stopped, as ifthey had given up the attempt, and presently she heard her father's stepagain. Thinking that he would remain in the hall until the King calledhim, --for she could not possibly guess what had happened, --she stoodquite still. The door opened without warning, and he was almost upon her before sheknew it. To hesitate an instant was out of the question, and for thesecond time that night she fled, running madly to the corridor, whichwas not ten steps from where she had been standing, and as she enteredit the light fell upon her from the swinging lamp, though she did notknow it. Old as he was, Mendoza sprang forward in pursuit when he saw her figurein the dimness, flying before him, but as she reached the light of thelamp he stopped himself, staggering one or two steps and then reelingagainst the wall. He had recognized Dolores' dress and hood, and therewas not the slightest doubt in his mind but that it was herself. In thatsame dress he had seen her in the late afternoon, she had been wearingit when he had locked her into the sitting-room, and, still clad in it, she must have come out with the Princess. And now she was running beforehim from Don John's lodging. Doubtless she had been in another room andhad slipped out while he was trying the door within. He passed his hand over his eyes and breathed hard as he leaned againstthe wall, for her appearance there could only mean one thing, and thatwas ruin to her and disgrace to his name--the very end of all things inhis life, in which all had been based upon his honour and every actionhad been a tribute to it. He was too much stunned to ask himself how the lovers had met, if therehad been any agreement between them, but the frightful conviction tookhold of him that this was not the first time, that long ago, before DonJohn had led the army to Granada, Dolores had found her way to that samedoor and had spent long hours with her lover when no one knew. Else shecould not have gone to him without agreement, at an instant's notice, onthe very night of his return. Despair took possession of the unhappy man from that moment. But thatthe King was with Don John, Mendoza would have gone back at that momentto kill his enemy and himself afterwards, if need be. He remembered hiserrand then. No doubt that was the very room where Dolores had beenconcealed, and she had escaped from it by some other way, of which herfather did not know. He was too dazed to think connectedly, but he hadthe King's commands to execute at once. He straightened himself with agreat effort, for the weight of his years had come upon him suddenly andbowed him like a burden. With the exertion of his will came the thirstfor the satisfaction of blood, and he saw that the sooner he returnedwith the key, the sooner he should be near his enemy. But the pulsescame and went in his throbbing temples, as when a man is almost spent ina struggle with death, and at first he walked uncertainly, as if he feltno ground under his feet. By the time he had gone a hundred yards he had recovered a sort ofmechanical self-possession, such as comes upon men at very desperatetimes, when they must not allow themselves to stop and think of what isbefore them. They were pictures, rather than thoughts, that formedthemselves in his brain as he went along, for he saw all the past yearsagain, from the day when his young wife had died, he being then alreadyin middle age, until that afternoon. One by one the years came back, andthe central figure in each was the fair-haired little child, growingsteadily to be a woman, all coming nearer and nearer to the end he hadseen but now, which was unutterable shame and disgrace, and beyond whichthere was nothing. He heard the baby voice again, and felt the littlehands upon his brow, and saw the serious grey eyes close to his own; andthen the girl, gravely lovely--and her far-off laugh that hardly everrippled through the room when he was there; and then the stealingsoftness of grown maidenhood, winning the features one by one, andbringing back from death to life the face he had loved best, and thevoice with long-forgotten tones that touched his soul's quick, anddimmed his sight with a mist, so that he grew hard and stern as hefought within him against the tenderness he loved and feared. All thishe saw and heard and felt again, knowing that each picture must end butin one way, in the one sight he had seen and that had told his shame--aguilty woman stealing by night from her lover's door. Not only that, either, for there was the almost certain knowledge that she had deceivedhim for years, and that while he had been fighting so hard to save herfrom what seemed but a show of marriage, she had been already lost tohim for ever and ruined beyond all hope of honesty. They were not thoughts, but pictures of the false and of the true, thatrose and glowed an instant and then sank like the inner darkness of hissoul, leaving only that last most terrible one of all behind them, burned into his eyes till death should put out their light and bid himrest at last, if he could rest even in heaven with such a memory. It was too much, and though he walked upright and gazed before him, hedid not know his way, and his feet took him to his own door instead ofon the King's errand. His hand was raised to knock before he understood, and it fell to his side in a helpless, hopeless way, when he saw wherehe was. Then he turned stiffly, as a man turns on parade, and gatheredhis strength and marched away with a measured tread. For the world andwhat it held he would not have entered his dwelling then, for he feltthat his daughter was there before him, and that if he once saw her facehe should not be able to hold his hand. He would not see her again onearth, lest he should take her life for what she had done. He was more aware of outward things after that, though he almostcommanded himself to do what he had to do, as he would have given ordersto one of his soldiers. He went to the chief steward's office anddemanded the key of the room in the King's name. But it was notforthcoming, and the fact that it could not be found strengthened hisconviction that Don John had it in his keeping. Yet, for the sake ofform, he insisted sternly, saying that the King was waiting for it eventhen. Servants were called and examined and threatened, but those whoknew anything about it unanimously declared that it had been left in thedoor, while those who knew nothing supported their fellow-servants bythe same unhesitating assertion, till Mendoza was convinced that he haddone enough, and turned his back on them all and went out with a greylook of despair on his face. He walked rapidly now, for he knew that he was going back to meet hisenemy, and he was trying not to think what he should do when he shouldsee Don John before him and at arm's length, but defended by the King'spresence from any sudden violence. He knew that in his heart there wasthe wild resolve to tell the truth before his master and then to takethe payment of blood with one thrust and destroy himself with the next, but though he was half mad with despair, he would not let the thoughtbecome a resolve. In his soldier's nature, high above everything elseand dominating his austere conscience of right and wrong, as well asevery other instinct of his heart, there was the respect of hissovereign and the loyalty to him at all costs, good or bad, which sentself out of sight where his duty to the King was concerned. * * * * * CHAPTER XII When he had sent away Mendoza, the King remained standing and began topace the floor, while Don John stood by the table watching him andwaiting for him to speak. It was clear that he was still angry, for hisanger, though sometimes suddenly roused, was very slow to reach itsheight, and slower still to subside; and when at last it had cooled, itgenerally left behind it an enduring hatred, such as could be satisfiedonly by the final destruction of the object that had caused it. Thatlasting hate was perhaps more dangerous than the sudden outburst hadbeen, but in moments of furious passion Philip was undoubtedly a man tobe feared. He was evidently not inclined to speak until he had ascertained that noone was listening in the next room, but as he looked from time to timeat Don John his still eyes seemed to grow almost yellow, and his lowerlip moved uneasily. He knew, perhaps, that Mendoza could not at oncefind the servant in whose keeping the key of the door was supposed tobe, and he grew impatient by quick degrees until his rising temper gotthe better of his caution. Don John instinctively drew himself up, as aman does who expects to be attacked. He was close to the table, andremained almost motionless during the discussion that followed, whilePhilip paced up and down, sometimes pausing before his brother for amoment, and then turning again to resume his walk. His voice was muffledalways, and was hard to hear; now and then it became thick andindistinct with rage, and he cleared his throat roughly, as if he wereangry with it, too. At first he maintained the outward forms of courtesyin words if not in tone, but long before his wrath had reached its finalclimax he forgot them altogether. "I had hoped to speak with you in privacy, on matters of greatimportance. It has pleased your Highness to make that impossible by yourextraordinary behaviour. " Don John raised his eyebrows a little incredulously, and answered withperfect calmness. "I do not recollect doing anything which should seem extraordinary toyour Majesty. " "You contradict me, " retorted Philip. "That is extraordinary enough, Ishould think. I am not aware that it is usual for subjects to contradictthe King. What have you to say in explanation?" "Nothing. The facts explain themselves well enough. " "We are not in camp, " said Philip. "Your Highness is not in commandhere, and I am not your subordinate. I desire you to remember whom youare addressing, for your words will be remembered. " "I never said anything which I wished another to forget, " answered DonJohn proudly. "Take care, then!" The King spoke sullenly, and turned away, for he wasslow at retort until he was greatly roused. Don John did not answer, for he had no wish to produce such a result, and moreover he was much more preoccupied by the serious question ofDolores' safety than by any other consideration. So far the King hadsaid nothing which, but for some derogation from his dignity, might nothave been said before any one, and Don John expected that he wouldmaintain the same tone until Mendoza returned. It was hard to predictwhat might happen then. In all probability Dolores would escape by thewindow and endeavour to hide herself in the empty sentry-box until theinterview was over. He could then bring her back in safety, but thediscussion promised to be long and stormy, and meanwhile she would be inconstant danger of discovery. But there was a worse possibility, noteven quite beyond the bounds of the probable. In his present mood, Philip, if he lost his temper altogether, would perhaps be capable ofplacing Don John under arrest. He was all powerful, he hated hisbrother, and he was very angry. His last words had been a menace, or hadsounded like one, and another word, when Mendoza returned, could put thethreat into execution. Don John reflected, if such thought could becalled reflection, upon the situation that must ensue, and upon theprobable fate of the woman he loved. He wondered whether she were stillin the room, for hearing that the door was to be opened, she might havethought it best to escape at once, while her father was absent from theterrace on his errand. If not, she could certainly go out by the windowas soon as she heard him coming back. It was clearly of the greatestimportance to prevent the King's anger from going any further. AntonioPerez had recognized the same truth from a very different point of view, and had spent nearly three-quarters of an hour in flattering his masterwith the consummate skill which he alone possessed. He believed that hehad succeeded when the King had dismissed him, saying that he would notsee Don John until the morning. Five minutes after Perez was gone, Philip was threading the corridors, completely disguised in a long blackcloak, with the ever-loyal Mendoza at his heels. It was not the firsttime that he had deceived his deceivers. He paced the room in silence after he had last spoken. As soon as DonJohn realized that his liberty might be endangered, he saw that he mustsay what he could in honour and justice to save himself from arrest, since nothing else could save Dolores. "I greatly regret having done anything to anger your Majesty, " he said, with quiet dignity. "I was placed in a very difficult position byunforeseen circumstances. If there had been time to reflect, I mighthave acted otherwise. " "Might have acted otherwise!" repeated Philip harshly. "I do not likethose words. You might have acted otherwise than to defy your sovereignbefore the Queen! I trusted you might, indeed!" He was silent again, his protruding lip working angrily, as if he hadtasted something he disliked. Don John's half apology had not beenreceived with much grace, but he saw no way open save to insist that itwas genuine. "It is certainly true that I have lived much in camps of late, " heanswered, "and that a camp is not a school of manners, any more than thehabit of commanding others accustoms a man to courtly submission. " "Precisely. You have learned to forget that you have a superior inSpain, or in the world. You already begin to affect the manners andspeech of a sovereign--you will soon claim the dignity of one, too, Ihave no doubt. The sooner we procure you a kingdom of your own, thebetter, for your Highness will before long become an element of discordin ours. " "Rather than that, " answered Don John, "I will live in retirement forthe rest of my life. " "We may require it of your Highness, " replied Philip, standing still andfacing his brother. "It may be necessary for our own safety that youshould spend some time at least in very close retirement--very!" Healmost laughed. "I should prefer that to the possibility of causing any disturbance inyour Majesty's kingdom. " Nothing could have been more gravely submissive than Don John's tone, but the King was apparently determined to rouse his anger. "Your deeds belie your words, " he retorted, beginning to walk again. "There is too much loyalty in what you say, and too much of a rebelliousspirit in what you do. The two do not agree together. You mock me. " "God forbid that!" cried Don John. "I desire no praise for what I mayhave done, but such as my deeds have been they have produced peace andsubmission in your Majesty's kingdom, and not rebellion--" "And is it because you have beaten a handful of ill-armed Moriscoes, inthe short space of two years, that the people follow you in throngswherever you go, shouting for you, singing your praises, bringingpetitions to you by hundreds, as if you were King--as if you were morethan that, a sort of god before whom every one must bow down? Am I sosimple as to believe that what you have done with such leisure is enoughto rouse all Spain, and to make the whole court break out into cries ofwonder and applause as soon as you appear? If you publicly defy me anddisobey me, do I not know that you believe yourself able to do so, andthink your power equal to mine? And how could that all be brought about, save by a party that is for you, by your secret agents everywhere, highand low, forever praising you and telling men, and women, too, of yourgraces, and your generosities, and your victories, and saying that it isa pity so good and brave a prince should be but a leader of the King'sarmies, and then contrasting the King himself with you, the cruel King, the grasping King, the scheming King, the King who has every fault thatis not found in Don John of Austria, the people's god! Is that peace andsubmission? Or is it the beginning of rebellion, and revolution, andcivil war, which is to set Don John of Austria on the throne of Spain, and send King Philip to another world as soon as all is ready?" Don John listened in amazement. It had never occurred to him any onecould believe him capable of the least of the deeds Philip wasattributing to him, and in spite of his resolution his anger began torise. Then, suddenly, as if cold water had been dashed in his face, heremembered that an hour had not passed since he had held Dolores in hisarms, swearing to do that of which he was now accused, and that herwords only had held him back. It all seemed monstrous now. As she hadsaid, it had been only a bad dream and he had wakened to himself again. Yet the thought of rebellion had more than crossed his mind, for in amoment it had taken possession of him and had seemed to change all hisnature from good to bad. In his own eyes he was rebuked, and he did notanswer at once. "You have nothing to say!" exclaimed Philip scornfully. "Is there anyreason why I should not try you for high treason?" Don John started at the words, but his anger was gone, and he thoughtonly of Dolores' safety in the near future. "Your Majesty is far too just to accuse an innocent man who has servedyou faithfully, " he answered. Philip stopped and looked at him curiously and long, trying to detectsome sign of anxiety if not of fear. He was accustomed to torture menwith words well enough, before he used other means, and he himself hadnot believed what he had said. It had been only an experiment tried on amere chance, and it had failed. At the root of his anger there was onlyjealousy and personal hatred of the brother who had every grace andcharm which he himself had not. "More kind than just, perhaps, " he said, with a slight change of tonetowards condescension. "I am willing to admit that I have no proofsagainst you, but the evidence of circumstances is not in your favour. Take care, for you are observed. You are too much before the world, tooimposing a figure to escape observation. " "My actions will bear it. I only beg that your Majesty will take accountof them rather than listen to such interpretation as may be put uponthem by other men. " "Other men do nothing but praise you, " said Philip bluntly. "Theiropinion of you is not worth having! I thought I had explained thatmatter sufficiently. You are the idol of the people, and as if that werenot enough, you are the darling of the court, besides being the women'sfavourite. That is too much for one man to be--take care, I say, takecare! Be at more pains for my favour, and at less trouble for yourpopularity. " "So far as that goes, " answered Don John, with some pride, "I think thatif men praise me it is because I have served the King as well as Icould, and with success. If your Majesty is not satisfied with what Ihave done, let me have more to do. I shall try to do even theimpossible. " "That will please the ladies, " retorted Philip, with a sneer. "You willbe overwhelmed with correspondence--your gloves will not hold it all" Don John did not answer, for it seemed wiser to let the King take thisground than return to his former position. "You will have plenty of agreeable occupation in time of peace. But itis better that you should be married soon, before you become soentangled with the ladies of Madrid as to make your marriageimpossible. " "Saving the last clause, " said Don John boldly, "I am altogether of yourMajesty's opinion. But I fear no entanglements here. " "No--you do not fear them. On the contrary, you live in them as if theywere your element. " "No man can say that, " answered Don John. "You contradict me again. Pray, if you have no entanglements, how comesit that you have a lady's letter in your glove?" "I cannot tell whether it was a lady's letter or a man's. " "Have you not read it?" "Yes. " "And you refused to show it to me on the ground that it was a woman'ssecret?" "I had not read it then. It was not signed, and it might well have beenwritten by a man. " Don John watched the King's face. It was for from improbable, hethought, that the King had caused it to be written, or had written ithimself, that he supposed his brother to have read it, and desired toregain possession of it as soon as possible. Philip seemed to hesitatewhether to continue his cross-examination or not, and he looked at thedoor leading into the antechamber, suddenly wondering why Mendoza hadnot returned. Then he began to speak again, but he did not wish, angrythough he was, to face alone a second refusal to deliver the document tohim. His dignity would have suffered too much. "The facts of the case are these, " he said, as if he were recapitulatingwhat had gone before in his mind. "It is my desire to marry you to thewidowed Queen of Scots, as you know. You are doing all you can to opposeme, and you have determined to marry the dowerless daughter of a poorsoldier. I am equally determined that you shall not disgrace yourself bysuch an alliance. " "Disgrace!" cried Don John loudly, almost before the word had passed theKing's lips, and he made half a step forward. "You are braver than Ithought you, if you dare use that word to me!" Philip stepped back, growing livid, and his hand was on his rapier. DonJohn was unarmed, but his sword lay on the table within his reach. Seeing the King afraid, he stepped back. "No, " he said scornfully, "I was mistaken. You are a coward. " He laughedas he glanced at Philip's hand, still on the hilt of his weapon andready to draw it. In the next room Dolores drew frightened breath, for the tones of thetwo men's voices had changed suddenly. Yet her heart had leapt for joywhen she had heard Don John's cry of anger at the King's insulting word. But Don John was right, for Philip was a coward at heart, and though heinwardly resolved that his brother should be placed under arrest as soonas Mendoza returned, his present instinct was not to rouse him further. He was indeed in danger, between his anger and his fear, for at anymoment he might speak some bitter word, accustomed as he was to theperpetual protection of his guards, but at the next his brother's handsmight be on his throat, for he had the coward's true instinct torecognize the man who was quite fearless. "You strangely forget yourself, " he said, with an appearance of dignity. "You spring forward as if you were going to grapple with me, and thenyou are surprised that I should be ready to defend myself. " "I barely moved a step from where I stand, " answered Don John, withprofound contempt. "I am unarmed, too. There lies my sword, on thetable. But since you are the King as well as my brother, I make allexcuses to your Majesty for having been the cause of your fright. " Dolores understood what had happened, as Don John meant that she should. She knew also that her position was growing more and more desperate anduntenable at every moment; yet she could not blame her lover for what hehad said. Even to save her, she would not have had him cringe to theKing and ask pardon for his hasty word and movement, still less couldshe have borne that he should not cry out in protest at a word thatinsulted her, though ever so lightly. "I do not desire to insist upon our kinship, " said Philip coldly. "If Ichose to acknowledge it when you were a boy, it was out of respect forthe memory of the Emperor. It was not in the expectation of being calledbrother by the son of a German burgher's daughter. " Don John did not wince, for the words, being literally true and withoutexaggeration, could hardly be treated as an insult, though they weremeant for one, and hurt him, as all reference to his real mother alwaysdid. "Yes, " he said, still scornfully. "I am the son of a German burgher'sdaughter, neither better nor worse. But I am your brother, for all that, and though I shall not forget that you are King and I am subject, whenwe are before the world, yet here, we are man and man, you and I, brother and brother, and there is neither King nor prince. But I shallnot hurt you, so you need fear nothing. I respect the brother far toolittle for that, and the sovereign too much. " There was a bad yellow light in Philip's face, and instead of walkingtowards Don John and away from him, as he had done hitherto, he began topace up and down, crossing and recrossing before him, from the foot ofthe great canopied bed to one of the curtained windows, keeping his eyesupon his brother almost all the time. "I warned you when I came here that your words should be remembered, " hesaid. "And your actions shall not be forgotten, either. There are safeplaces, even in Madrid, where you can live in the retirement you desireso much, even in total solitude. " "If it pleases your Majesty to imprison Don John of Austria, you havethe power. For my part, I shall make no resistance. " "Who shall, then?" asked the King angrily. "Do you expect that therewill be a general rising of the people to liberate you, or that therewill be a revolution within the palace, brought on by your party, whichshall force me to set you free for reasons of state? We are not in Paristhat you should expect the one, nor in Constantinople where the othermight be possible. We are in Spain, and I am master, and my will shallbe done, and no one shall cry out against it. I am too gentle with you, too kind! For the half of what you have said and done, Elizabeth ofEngland would have had your life to-morrow--yes, I consent to give you achance, the benefit of a doubt there is still in my thoughts about you, because justice shall not be offended and turned into an instrument ofrevenge. Yes--I am kind, I am clement. We shall see whether you can saveyourself. You shall have the chance. " "What chance is that?" asked Don John, growing very quiet, for he sawthe real danger near at hand again. "You shall have an opportunity of proving that a subject is at libertyto insult his sovereign, and that the King is not free to speak his mindto a subject. Can you prove that?" "I cannot. " "Then you can be convicted of high treason, " answered Philip, his evilmouth curling. "There are several methods of interrogating the accused, "he continued. "I daresay you have heard of them. " "Do you expect to frighten me by talking of torture?" asked Don John, with a smile at the implied suggestion. "Witnesses are also examined, " replied the King, his voice thickeningagain in anticipation of the effect he was going to produce upon the manwho would not fear him. "With them, even more painful methods are oftenemployed. Witnesses may be men or women, you know, my dear brother--" hepronounced the word with a sneer--"and among the many ladies of youracquaintance--" "There are very few. " "It will be the easier to find the two or three, or perhaps the onlyone, whom it will be necessary to interrogate--in your presence, mostprobably, and by torture. " "I was right to call you a coward, " said Don John, slowly turning paletill his face was almost as white as the white silks and satins of hisdoublet. "Will you give me the letter you were reading when I came here?" "No. " "Not to save yourself from the executioner's hands?" "No. " "Not to save--" Philip paused, and a frightful stare of hatred fixed hiseyes on his brother. "Will you give me that letter to save Dolores deMendoza from being torn piecemeal?" "Coward!" By instinct Don John's hand went to the hilt of his sheathed sword thistime, as he cried out in rage, and sprang forward. Even then he wouldhave remembered the promise he had given and would not have raised hishand to strike. But the first movement was enough, and Philip drew hisrapier in a flash of light, fearing for his life. Without waiting for anattack he made a furious pass at his brother's body. Don John's handwent out with the sheathed sword in a desperate attempt to parry thethrust, but the weapon was entangled in the belt that hung to it, andPhilip's lunge had been strong and quick as lightning. With a cry of anger Don John fell straight backwards, his feet seemingto slip from under him on the smooth marble pavement, and with his fall, as he threw out his hands to save himself, the sword flew high into theair, sheathed as it was, and landed far away. He lay at full length withone arm stretched out, and for a moment the hand twitched in quickspasms. Then it was quite still. At his feet stood Philip, his rapier in his hand, and blood on its finepoint. His eyes shone yellow in the candlelight, his jaw had dropped alittle, and he bent forwards, looking intently at the still, white face. He had longed for that moment ever since he had entered his brother'sroom, though even he himself had not guessed that he wanted hisbrother's life. There was not a sound in the room as he looked at whathe had done, and two or three drops of blood fell one by one, veryslowly, upon the marble. On the dazzling white of Don John's doubletthere was a small red stain. As Philip watched it, he thought it grewwider and brighter. Beyond the door, Dolores had fallen upon her knees, pressing her handsto her temples in an agony beyond thought or expression. Her fear hadrisen to terror while she listened to the last words that had beenexchanged, and the King's threat had chilled her blood like ice, thoughshe was brave. She had longed to cry out to Don John to give up herletter or the other, whichever the King wanted--she had almost tried toraise her voice, in spite of every other fear, when she had heard DonJohn's single word of scorn, and the quick footsteps, the drawing of therapier from its sheath, the desperate scuffle that had not lasted fiveseconds, and then the dull fall which meant that one was hurt. It could only be the King, --but that was terrible enough, --and yet, ifthe King had fallen, Don John would have come to the door the nextinstant. All was still in the room, but her terror made wild noises inher ears. The two men might have spoken now and she could not have heardthem, --nor the opening of a door, nor any ordinary sound. It was nolonger the fear of being heard, either, that made her silent. Her throatwas parched and her tongue paralyzed. She remembered suddenly that DonJohn had been unarmed, and how he had pointed out to Philip that hissword lay on the table. It was the King who had drawn his own, then, andhad killed his unarmed brother. She felt as if something heavy werestriking her head as the thoughts made broken words, and flashes oflight danced before her eyes. With her hands she tried to press feelingand reason and silence back into her brain that would not be quieted, but the certainty grew upon her that Don John was killed, and the tideof despair rose higher with every breath. The sensation came upon her that she was dying, then and there, of apain human nature could not endure, far beyond the torments Philip hadthreatened, and the thought was merciful, for she could not have livedan hour in such agony, --something would have broken before then. She wasdying, there, on her knees before the door beyond which her lover laysuddenly dead. It would be easy to die. In a moment more she would bewith him, for ever, and in peace. They would find her there, dead, andperhaps they would be merciful and bury her near him. But that wouldmatter little, since she should be with him always now. In the firstgrief that struck her, and bruised her, and numbed her as with materialblows, she had no tears, but there was a sort of choking fire in herthroat, and her eyes burned her like hot iron. She did not know how long she knelt, waiting for death. She was dying, and there was no time any more, nor any outward world, nor anything buther lover's dead body on the floor in the next room, and his soulwaiting for hers, waiting beside her for her to die also, that theymight go together. She was so sure now, that she was wondering dreamilywhy it took so long to die, seeing that death had taken him so quickly. Could one shaft be aimed so straight and could the next miss the mark?She shook all over, as a new dread seized her. She was not dying, --herlife clung too closely to her suffering body, her heart was too youngand strong to stand still in her breast for grief. She was to live, andbear that same pain a lifetime. She rocked herself gently on her knees, bowing her head almost to the floor. She was roused by the sound of her father's voice, and the words he wasspeaking sent a fresh shock of horror through her unutterable grief, forthey told her that Don John was dead, and then something else so strangethat she could not understand it. Philip had stood only a few moments, sword in hand, over his brother'sbody, staring down at his face, when the door opened. On the thresholdstood old Mendoza, half-stunned by the sight he saw. Philip heard, stoodup, and drew back as his eyes fell upon the old soldier. He knew thatMendoza, if no one else, knew the truth now, beyond any power of his toconceal it. His anger had subsided, and a sort of horror that couldnever be remorse, had come over him for what he had done. It must havebeen in his face, for Mendoza understood, and he came forward quicklyand knelt down upon the floor to listen for the beating of the heart, and to try whether there was any breath to dim the brightness of hispolished scabbard. Philip looked on in silence. Like many an old soldierMendoza had some little skill, but he saw the bright spot on the whitedoublet, and the still face and the hands relaxed, and there was neitherbreath nor beating of the heart to give hope. He rose silently, andshook his head. Still looking down he saw the red drops that had fallenupon the pavement from Philip's rapier, and looking at that, saw thatthe point was dark. With a gesture of excuse he took the sword from theKing's hand and wiped it quite dry and bright upon his own handkerchief, and gave it back to Philip, who sheathed it by his side, but neverspoke. Together the two looked at the body for a full minute and more, eachsilently debating what should be done with it. At last Mendoza raisedhis head, and there was a strange look in his old eyes and a sort of wangreatness came over his war-worn face. It was then that he spoke thewords Dolores heard. "I throw myself upon your Majesty's mercy! I have killed Don John ofAustria in a private quarrel, and he was unarmed. " Philip understood well enough, and a faint smile of satisfaction flittedthrough the shadows of his face. It was out of the question that theworld should ever know who had killed his brother, and he knew the manwho offered to sacrifice himself by bearing the blame of the deed. Mendoza would die, on the scaffold if need be, and it would be enoughfor him to know that his death saved his King. No word would ever passhis lips. The man's loyalty would bear any proof; he could feel horrorat the thought that Philip could have done such a deed, but the King'sname must be saved at all costs, and the King's divine right must besustained before the world. He felt no hesitation from the moment whenhe saw clearly how this must be done. To accuse some unknown murdererand let it be supposed that he had escaped would have been worse thanuseless; the court and half Spain knew of the King's jealousy of hisbrother, every one had seen that Philip had been very angry when thecourtiers had shouted for Don John; already the story of the quarrelabout the glove was being repeated from mouth to mouth in the throneroom, where the nobles had reassembled after supper. As soon as it wasknown that Don John was dead, it would be believed by every one in thepalace that the King had killed him or had caused him to be murdered. But if Mendoza took the blame upon himself, the court would believe him, for many knew of Dolores' love for Don John, and knew also how bitterlythe old soldier was opposed to their marriage, on the ground that itwould be no marriage at all, but his daughter's present ruin. There wasno one else in the palace who could accuse himself of the murder and whowould be believed to have done it without the King's orders, and Mendozaknew this, when he offered his life to shield Philip's honour. Philipknew it, too, and while he wondered at the old man's simple devotion, heaccepted it without protest, as his vast selfishness would havepermitted the destruction of all mankind, that it might be satisfied andfilled. He looked once more at the motionless body at his feet, and once more atthe faithful old man. Then he bent his head with condescending gravity, as if he were signifying his pleasure to receive kindly, for the giver'ssake, a gift of little value. "So be it, " he said slowly. Mendoza bowed his head, too, as if in thanks, and then taking up thelong dark cloak which the King had thrown off on entering, he put itupon Philip's shoulders, and went before him to the door. And Philipfollowed him without looking back, and both went out upon the terrace, leaving both doors ajar after them. They exchanged a few words more asthey walked slowly in the direction of the corridor. "It is necessary that your Majesty should return at once to the throneroom, as if nothing had happened, " said Mendoza. "Your Majesty should betalking unconcernedly with some ambassador or minister when the news isbrought that his Highness is dead. " "And who shall bring the news?" asked Philip calmly, as if he werespeaking to an indifferent person. "I will, Sire, " answered Mendoza firmly. "They will tear you in pieces before I can save you, " returned Philip, in a thoughtful tone. "So much the better. I shall die for my King, and your Majesty will bespared the difficulty of pardoning a deed which will be unpardonable inthe eyes of the whole world. " "That is true, " said the King meditatively. "But I do not wish you todie, Mendoza, " he added, as an afterthought. "You must escape to Franceor to England. " "I could not make my escape without your Majesty's help, and that wouldsoon be known. It would then be believed that I had done the deed byyour Majesty's orders, and no good end would have been gained. " "You may be right. You are a very brave man, Mendoza--the bravest I haveever known. I thank you. If it is possible to save you, you shall besaved. " "It will not be possible, " replied the soldier, in a low and steadyvoice. "If your Majesty will return at once to the throne room, it maybe soon over. Besides, it is growing late, and it must be done beforethe whole court. " They entered the corridor, and the King walked a few steps beforeMendoza, covering his head with the hood of his cloak lest any oneshould recognize him, and gradually increasing his distance as the oldman fell behind. Descending by a private staircase, Philip reëntered hisown apartments by a small door that gave access to his study withoutobliging him to pass through the antechamber, and by which he often cameand went unobserved. Alone in his innermost room, and divested of hishood and cloak, the King went to a Venetian mirror that stood upon apier table between the windows, and examined his face attentively. Not atrace of excitement or emotion was visible in the features he saw, buthis hair was a little disarranged, and he smoothed it carefully andadjusted it about his ears. From a silver box on the table he took alittle scented lozenge and put it into his mouth. No reasonable beingwould have suspected from his appearance that he had been moved tofurious anger and had done a murderous deed less than twenty minutesearlier. His still eyes were quite calm now, and the yellow gleam inthem had given place to their naturally uncertain colour. With a smileof admiration for his own extraordinary powers, he turned and left theroom. He was enjoying one of his rare moments of satisfaction, for therival he had long hated and was beginning to dread was never to stand inhis way again nor to rob him of the least of his attributes ofsovereignty. * * * * * CHAPTER XIII Dolores had not understood her father's words. All that was clear to herwas that Don John was dead and that his murderers were gone. Had therebeen danger still for herself, she could not have felt it; but there wasnone now as she laid her hand upon the key to enter the bedchamber. Atfirst the lock would not open, as it had been injured in some way bybeing so roughly shaken when Mendoza had tried it. But Dolores'desperate fingers wound themselves upon the key like little ropes ofwhite silk, slender but very strong, and she wrenched at the thingfuriously till it turned. The door flew open, and she stood motionless amoment on the threshold. Mendoza had said that Don John was dead, butshe had not quite believed it. He lay on his back as he had fallen, his feet towards her, his gracefullimbs relaxed, one arm beside him, the other thrown back beyond hishead, the colourless fingers just bent a little and showing the nervousbeauty of the hand. The beautiful young face was white as marble, andthe eyes were half open, very dark under the waxen lids. There was onelittle spot of scarlet on the white satin coat, near the left breast. Dolores saw it all in the bright light of the candles, and she neithermoved nor closed her fixed eyes as she gazed. She felt that she was atthe end of life; she stood still to see it all and to understand. Butthough she tried to think, it was as if she had no mind left, nocapacity for grasping any new thought, and no power to connect thosethat had disturbed her brain with the present that stared her in theface. An earthquake might have torn the world open under her feet atthat moment, swallowing up the old Alcazar with the living and the dead, and Dolores would have gone down to destruction as she stood, unconscious of her fate, her eyes fixed upon Don John's dead features, her own life already suspended and waiting to follow his. It seemed asif she might stand there till her horror should stop the beating of herown heart, unless something came to rouse her from the stupor she wasin. But gradually a change came over her face, her lids drooped andquivered, her face turned a little upward, and she grasped the doorpostwith one hand, lest she should reel and fall. Then, knowing that shecould stand no longer, instinct made a last effort upon her; itsinvisible power thrust her violently forward in a few swift steps, tillher strength broke all at once, and she fell and lay almost upon thebody of her lover, her face hidden upon his silent breast, one handseeking his hand, the other pressing his cold forehead. It was not probable that any one should find her there for a long time. The servants and gentlemen had been dismissed, and until it was knownthat Don John was dead, no one would come. Even if she could havethought at all, she would not have cared who saw her lying there; butthought was altogether gone now, and there was nothing left but theancient instinct of the primeval woman mourning her dead mate alone, with long-drawn, hopeless weeping and blinding tears. They came, too, when she had lain upon his breast a little while andwhen understanding had wholly ceased and given way to nature. Then herbody shook and her breast heaved strongly, almost throwing her upon herside as she lay, and sounds that were hardly human came from her lips;for the first dissolving of a woman's despair into tears is most likethe death agony of those who die young in their strength, when the limbsare wrung at the joints and the light breaks in the upturned eyes, whenthe bosom heaves and would take in the whole world at one breath, whenthe voice makes sounds of fear that are beyond words and worse to hearthan any words could be. Her weeping was wild at first, measureless and violent, broken by sharpcries that hurt her heart like jagged knives, then strangled to achoking silence again and again, as the merciless consciousness thatcould have killed, if it had prevailed, almost had her by the throat, but was forced back again with cruel pain by the young life that wouldnot die, though living was agony and death would have been as welcome asair. Then her loud grief subsided to a lower key, and her voice grew bydegrees monotonous and despairing as the turning tide on a quicksand, before bad weather, --not diminished, but deeper drawn within itself; andthe low moan came regularly with each breath, while the tears flowedsteadily. The first wild tempest had swept by, and the more enduringstorm followed in its track. So she lay a long time weeping; and then strong hands were upon her, lifting her up and dragging her away, without warning and without word. She did not understand, and she fancied herself in the arms of somesupernatural being of monstrous strength that was tearing her from whatwas left of life and love. She struggled senselessly, but she could findno foothold as she was swept through the open door. She gasped forbreath, as one does in bad dreams, and bodily fear almost reached herheart through its sevenfold armour of such grief as makes fearridiculous and turns mortal danger to an empty show. The time had seemedan age since she had fallen upon dead Don John--it had measured but ashort few minutes; it seemed as if she were being dragged the wholelength of the dim palace as the strong hands bore her along, yet she wasonly carried from the room to the terrace; and when her eyes could see, she knew that she was in the open air on a stone seat in the moonlight, the cool night breeze fanning her face, while a gentle hand supportedher head, --the same hand that had been so masterfully strong a momentearlier. A face she knew and did not dread, though it was unlike otherfaces, was just at the same height with her own, though the man wasstanding beside her and she was seated; and the moonlight made very softshadows in the ill-drawn features of the dwarf, so that his thin andtwisted lips were kind and his deep-set eyes were overflowing with humansympathy. When he understood that she saw him and was not fainting, hegently drew away his hand and let her head rest against the stoneparapet. She was dazed still, and the tears veiled her sight. He stood beforeher, as if guarding her, ready in case she should move and try to leavehim. His long arms hung by his sides, but not quite motionless, so thathe could have caught her instantly had she attempted to spring past him;and he was wise and guessed rightly what she would do. Her eyesbrightened suddenly, and she half rose before he held her again. "No, no!" she said desperately. "I must go to him--let me go--let me goback!" But his hands were on her shoulders in an instant, and she was in avise, forced back to her seat. "How dare you touch me!" she cried, in the furious anger of a womanbeside herself with grief. "How dare you lay hands on me!" she repeatedin a rising key, but struggling in vain against his greater strength. "You would have died, if I had left you there, " answered the jester. "And besides, the people will come soon, and they would have found youthere, lying on his body, and your good name would have gone forever. " "My name! What does a name matter? Or anything? Oh, let me go! No onemust touch him--no hands that do not love him must come near him--let meget up--let me go in again!" She tried to force the dwarf from her--she would have struck him, crushed him, thrown him from the terrace, if she could. She was strong, too, in her grief; but his vast arms were like iron bars, growing fromhis misshapen body. His face was very grave and kind, and his eyes moretender than they had ever been in his life. "No, " he said gently. "You must not go. By and by you shall see himagain, but not now. Do not try, for I am much stronger than you, and Iwill not let you go back into the room. " Then her strength relaxed, and she turned to the stone parapet, buryingher face in her crossed arms, and her tears came again. For this thejester was glad, knowing that tears quench the first white heat of suchsorrows as can burn out the soul and drive the brain raving mad, whenlife can bear the torture. He stood still before her, watching her andguarding her, but he felt that the worst was past, and that before verylong he could lead her away to a place of greater safety. He had indeedtaken her as far as he could from Don John's door, and out of sight ofit, where the long terrace turned to the westward, and where it was notlikely that any one should pass at that hour. It had been the impulse ofthe moment, and he himself had not recovered from the shock of findingDon John's body lifeless on the floor. He had known nothing of what hadhappened, but lurking in a corner to see the King pass on his way backfrom his brother's quarters, he had made sure that Don John was alone, and had gone to his apartment to find out, if he could, how matters hadfared, and whether he himself were in further danger or not. He meant toescape from the palace, or to take his own life, rather than be put tothe torture, if the King suspected him of being involved in aconspiracy. He was not a common coward, but he feared bodily pain asonly such sensitive organizations can, and the vision of the rack andthe boot had been before him since he had seen Philip's face at supper. Don John was kind, and would have warned him if he were in danger, andso all might have been well, and by flight or death he might haveescaped being torn limb from limb. So he had gone boldly in, and hadfound the door ajar and had entered the bedchamber, and when he had seenwhat was there, he would have fled at once, for his own safety, not onlybecause Don John's murder was sure to produce terrible trouble, and manyenquiries and trials, in the course of which he was almost sure to belost, but also for the more immediate reason that if he were seen nearthe body when it was discovered, he should certainly be put to thequestion ordinary and extraordinary for his evidence. But he was not a common coward, and in spite of his own pardonableterror, he thought first of the innocent girl whose name and fame wouldbe gone if she were found lying upon her murdered lover's body, and sofar as he could, he saved her before he thought of saving himself, though with infinite difficulty and against her will. Half paralyzed by her immeasurable grief, she lay against the parapet, and the great sobs came evenly, as if they were counted, shaking herfrom her head to her waist, and just leaving her a breathing spacebetween each one and the next. The jester felt that he could do nothing. So long as she had seemed unconscious, he had tried to help her a littleby supporting her head with his hand and arm, as tenderly as if she hadbeen his own child. So long as she did not know what he was doing, shewas only a human being in distress, and a woman, and deep down in thejester's nature there was a marvellous depth of pity for all things thatsuffered--the deeper and truer because his own sufferings in the worldwere great. But it was quite different now that she knew where she wasand recognized him. She was no longer a woman now, but a high-born lady, one of the Queen's maids of honour, a being infinitely far removed abovehis sphere, and whose hand he was not worthy to touch. He would havedared to be much more familiar with the King himself than with thisyoung girl whom fate had placed in his keeping for a moment. In themoonlight he watched her, and as he gazed upon her graceful figure andsmall head and slender, bending arms, it seemed to him that she had comedown from an altar to suffer in life, and that it had been almostsacrilege to lay his hands upon her shoulders and keep her from doingher own will. He almost wondered how he had found courage to be so roughand commanding. He was gentle of heart, though it was his trade to makesharp speeches, and there were wonderful delicacies of thought andfeeling far down in his suffering cripple's nature. "Come, " he said softly, when he had waited a long time, and when hethought she was growing more quiet. "You must let me take you away, DoņaMaria Dolores, for we cannot stay here. " "Take me back to him, " she answered. "Let me go back to him!" "No--to your father--I cannot take you to him. You will be safe there. " Dolores sprang to her feet before the dwarf could prevent her. "To my father? oh, no, no, no! Never, as long as I live! I will goanywhere, but not to him! Take your hands from me--do not touch me! I amnot strong, but I shall kill you if you try to take me to my father!" Her small hands grasped the dwarfs wrists and wrung them with desperateenergy, and she tried to push him away, so that she might pass him. Buthe resisted her quietly, planting himself in a position of resistance onhis short bowed legs, and opposing the whole strength of his great armsto her girlish violence. Her hands relaxed suddenly in despair. "Not to my father!" she pleaded, in a broken voice. "Oh, please, please--not to my father!" The jester did not fully understand, but he yielded, for he could notcarry her to Mendoza's apartments by force. "But what can I do to put you in a place of safety?" he asked, ingrowing distress. "You cannot stay here. " While he was speaking a light figure glided out from the shadows, withoutstretched hands, and a low voice called Dolores' name, trembling withterror and emotion. Dolores broke from the dwarf and clasped her sisterin her arms. "Is it true?" moaned Inez. "Is it true? Is he dead?" And her voicebroke. * * * * * CHAPTER XIV The courtiers had assembled again in the great throne room after supper, and the stately dancing, for which the court of Spain was even thenfamous throughout Europe, had begun. The orchestra was placed under thegreat arch of the central window on a small raised platform draped withvelvets and brocades that hung from a railing, high enough to concealthe musicians as they sat, though some of the instruments and the movingbows of the violins could be seen above it. The masked dancing, if it were dancing at all, which had been general inthe days of the Emperor Maximilian, and which had not yet gone out offashion altogether at the imperial court of Vienna, had long beenrelegated to the past in Spain, and the beautiful "pavane" dances, ofwhich awkward travesties survive in our day, had been introducedinstead. As now, the older ladies of the court withdrew to the sides ofthe hall, leaving the polished floor free for those who danced, and setsformed themselves in the order of their rank from the foot of the thronedais to the lower end. As now, too, the older and graver men congregatedtogether in outer rooms; and there gaming-tables were set out, and thenobles lost vast sums at games now long forgotten, by the expressauthorization of the pious Philip, who saw that everything which couldinjure the fortunes of the grandees must consolidate his own, bydepriving them of some of that immense wealth which was an ever-readyelement of revolution. He did everything in his power to promote theruin of the most powerful grandees in the kingdom by encouraging gamingand all imaginable forms of extravagance, and he looked with suspicionand displeasure upon those more prudent men who guarded their richescarefully, as their fathers had done before them. But these were few, for it was a part of a noble's dignity to lose enormous sums of moneywithout the slightest outward sign of emotion or annoyance. It had been announced that the King and Queen would not return aftersupper, and the magnificent gravity of the most formal court in theworld was a little relaxed when this was known. Between the strains ofmusic, the voices of the courtiers rose in unbroken conversation, andnow and then there was a ripple of fresh young laughter that echoedsweetly under the high Moorish vault, and died away just as it roseagain from below. Yet the dancing was a matter of state, and solemn enough, though it wasvery graceful. Magnificent young nobles in scarlet, in pale green, instraw colour, in tender shades of blue, all satin and silk and velvetand embroidery, led lovely women slowly forward with long and glidingsteps that kept perfect time to the music, and turned and went back, andwound mazy figures with the rest, under the waxen light of the waxentorches, and returned to their places with deep curtsies on the oneside, and sweeping obeisance on the other. The dresses of the women werericher by far with gold and silver, and pearls and other jewels, thanthose of the men, but were generally darker in tone, for that was thefashion then. Their skirts were straight and barely touched the floor, being made for a time when dancing was a part of court life, and whenevery one within certain limits of age was expected to dance well. Therewas no exaggeration of the ruffle then, nor had the awkward hoop skirtbeen introduced in Spain. Those were the earlier days of QueenElizabeth's reign, before Queen Mary was imprisoned; it was the time, indeed, when the rough Bothwell had lately carried her off and marriedher, after a fashion, with so little ceremony that Philip paid noattention to the marriage at all, and deliberately proposed to make herDon John's wife. The matter was freely talked of on that night by thenoble ladies of elder years who gossiped while they watched the dancing. That was indeed such a court as had not been seen before, nor was everseen again, whether one count beauty first, or riches and magnificence, or the marvel of splendid ceremony and the faultless grace of studiedmanners, or even the cool recklessness of great lords and ladies whocould lose a fortune at play, as if they were throwing a handful of cointo a beggar in the street. The Princess of Eboli stood a little apart from the rest, having justreturned to the ball-room, and her eyes searched for Dolores in thecrowd, though she scarcely expected to see her there. It would have beenalmost impossible for the girl to put on a court dress in so short atime, though since her father had allowed her to leave her room, shecould have gone back to dress if she had chosen. The Princess had rarelybeen at a loss in her evil life, and had seldom been baffled in anythingshe had undertaken, since that memorable occasion on which her husband, soon after her marriage, had forcibly shut her up in a convent forseveral months, in the vain hope of cooling her indomitable temper. Butnow she was nervous and uncertain of herself. Not only had Doloresescaped her, but Don John had disappeared also, and the Princess had notthe least doubt but that the two were somewhere together, and she wasvery far from being sure that they had not already left the palace. Antonio Perez had informed her that the King had promised not to see DonJohn that night, and for once she was foolish enough to believe theKing's word. Perez came up to her as she was debating what she shoulddo. She told him her thoughts, laughing gaily from time to time, as ifshe were telling him some very witty story, for she did not wish thosewho watched them to guess that the conversation was serious. Perezlaughed, too, and answered in low tones, with many gestures meant todeceive the court. "The King did not take my advice, " he said. "I had scarcely left him, when he went to Don John's apartments. " "How do you know that?" asked the Princess, with some anxiety. "He found the door of an inner room locked, and he sent Mendoza to findthe key. Fortunately for the old man's feelings it could not be found!He would have had an unpleasant surprise. " "Why?" "Because his daughter was in the room that was locked, " laughed Perez. "When? How? How long ago was that?" "Half an hour--not more. " "That is impossible. Half an hour ago Dolores de Mendoza was with me. " "Then there was another lady in the room. " Perez laughed again. "Bettertwo than one, " he added. "You are wrong, " said the Princess, and her face darkened. "Don John hasnot so much as deigned to look at any other woman these two years. " "You should know that best, " returned the Secretary, with a littlemalice in his smile. It was well known in the court that two or three years earlier, duringthe horrible intrigue that ended in the death of Don Carlos, thePrincess of Eboli had done her best to bring Don John of Austria to herfeet, and had failed notoriously, because he was already in love withDolores. She was angry now, and the rich colour came into her handsomedark face. "Don Antonio Perez, " she said, "take care! I have made you. I can alsounmake you. " Perez assumed an air of simple and innocent surprise, as if he werequite sure that he had said nothing to annoy her, still less to woundher deeply. He believed that she really loved him and that he could playwith her as if his own intelligence far surpassed hers. In the firstmatter he was right, but he was very much mistaken in the second. "I do not understand, " he said. "If I have done anything to offend you, pray forgive my ignorance, and believe in the unchanging devotion ofyour most faithful slave. " His dark eyes became very expressive as he bowed a little, with agraceful gesture of deprecation. The Princess laughed lightly, but therewas still a spark of annoyance in her look. "Why does Don John not come?" she asked impatiently. "We should havedanced together. Something must have happened--can you not find out?" Others were asking the same question in surprise, for it had beenexpected that Don John would enter immediately after the supper. Hisname was heard from end to end of the hall, in every conversation, wherever two or three persons were talking together. It was in the air, like his popularity, everywhere and in everything, and the expectationof his coming produced a sort of tension that was felt by every one. Themen grew more witty, the younger women's eyes brightened, though theyconstantly glanced towards the door of the state apartments by which DonJohn should enter, and as the men's conversation became more brilliantthe women paid less attention to it, for there was hardly one of themwho did not hope that Don John might notice her before the evening wasover, --there was not one who did not fancy herself a little in love withhim, as there was hardly a man there who would not have drawn his swordfor him and fought for him with all his heart. Many, though they darednot say so, secretly wished that some evil might befall Philip, and thathe might soon die childless, since he had destroyed his only son andonly heir, and that Don John might be King in his stead. The Princess ofEboli and Perez knew well enough that their plan would be popular, ifthey could ever bring it to maturity. The music swelled and softened, and rose again in those swaying strainsthat inspire an irresistible bodily longing for rhythmical motion, andwhich have infinite power to call up all manner of thoughts, passionate, gentle, hopeful, regretful, by turns. In the middle of the hall, morethan a hundred dancers moved, swayed, and glided in time with the sound, changed places, and touched hands in the measure, tripped forward andback and sideways, and met and parted again without pause, the coloursof their dresses mingling to rich unknown hues in the soft candlelight, as the figure brought many together, and separating into a hundredelements again, when the next steps scattered them again; the jewels inthe women's hair, the clasps of diamonds and precious stones at throat, and shoulder, and waist, all moved with an intricate motion, in orbitsthat crossed and recrossed in the tinted sea of silk, and flashed all atonce, as the returning burden of the music brought the dancers to standand turn at the same beat of the measure. Yet it was all unlike thesquare dancing of these days, which is either no dancing at all, but adisorderly walk, or else is so stiffly regular and awkward that it makesone think of a squad of recruits exercising on the drill ground. Therewas not a motion, then, that lacked grace, or ease, or a certain purposeof beauty, nor any, perhaps, that was not a phrase in the allegory oflove, from which all dancing is, and was, and always must be, drawn. Swift, slow, by turns, now languorous, now passionate, now full ofdelicious regret, singing love's triumph, breathing love's fire, sighingin love's despair, the dance and its music were one, so was sightintermingled with sound, and motion a part of both. And at each pause, lips parted and glance sought glance in the light, while hearts foundwords in the music that answered the language of love. Men laugh atdancing and love it, and women, too, and no one can tell where its charmis, but few have not felt it, or longed to feel it, and its beginningsare very far away in primeval humanity, beyond the reach of theory, unless instinct may explain all simply, as it well may. For light andgrace and sweet sound are things of beauty which last for ever, and loveis the source of the future and the explanation of the past; and thatwhich can bring into itself both love and melody, and grace and light, must needs be a spell to charm men and women. There was more than that in the air on that night, for Don John's returnhad set free that most intoxicating essence of victory, which turns to amad fire in the veins of a rejoicing people, making the least man ofthem feel himself a soldier, and a conqueror, and a sharer in undyingfame. They had loved him from a child, they had seen him outgrow them inbeauty, and skill, and courage, and they had loved him still the morefor being the better man; and now he had done a great deed, and hadfulfilled and overfilled their greatest expectations, and in an instanthe leapt from the favourite's place in their hearts to the hero's heighton the altar of their wonder, to be the young god of a nation that lovedhim. Not a man, on that night, but would have sworn that Don John wasbraver than Alexander, wiser than Charlemagne, greater than Cæsarhimself; not a man but would have drawn his sword to prove it on thebody of any who should dare to contradict him, --not a mother was there, who did not pray that her sons might be but ever so little like him, nogirl of Spain but dreamt she heard his soft voice speaking low in herear. Not often in the world's story has a man so young done such greatthings as he had done and was to do before his short life was ended;never, perhaps, was any man so honoured by his own people, so trusted, and so loved. They could talk only of him, wondering more and more that he stayed awayfrom them on such a night, yet sure that he would come, and join thedancing, for as he fought with a skill beyond that of other swordsmen, so he danced with the most surpassing grace. They longed to see him, tolook into his face, to hear his voice, perhaps to touch his hand; for hewas free of manner and gentle to all, and if he came he would go fromone to another, and remember each with royal memory, and find kind wordsfor every one. They wanted him among them, they felt a sort of tensedesire to see him again, and even to shout for him again, as the vulgarherd did in the streets, --as they themselves had done but an hour agowhen he had stood out beside the throne. And still the dancers dancedthrough the endless measures, laughing and talking at each pause, andrepeating his name till it was impossible not to hear it, wherever onemight be in the hall, and there was no one, old or young, who did notspeak it at least once in every five minutes. There was a sort ofintoxication in its very sound, and the more they heard it, the morethey wished to hear it, coupled with every word of praise that thelanguage possessed. From admiration they rose to enthusiasm, fromenthusiasm to a generous patriotic passion in which Spain was the worldand Don John was Spain, and all the rest of everything was but a dulland lifeless blank which could have no possible interest for naturalpeople. Young men, darkly flushed from dancing, swore that whenever Don Johnshould be next sent with an army, they would go, too, and win hisbattles and share in his immortal glory; and grand, grey men who worethe Golden Fleece, men who had seen great battles in the Emperor's day, stood together and talked of him, and praised God that Spain had anotherhero of the Austrian house, to strike terror to the heart of France, tohumble England at last, and to grasp what little of the world was notalready gathered in the hollow of Spain's vast hand. Antonio Perez and the Princess of Eboli parted and went among thecourtiers, listening to all that was to be heard and feeding the fire ofenthusiasm, and met again to exchange glances of satisfaction, for theywere well pleased with the direction matters were taking, and the talkgrew more free from minute to minute, till many, carried away by a forcethey could not understand and did not seek to question, were openlytalking of the succession to the throne, of Philip's apparent illhealth, and of the chance that they might before long be doing serviceto his Majesty King John. The music ceased again, and the couples dispersed about the hall, tocollect again in groups. There was a momentary lull in the talk, too, asoften happens when a dance is just over, and at that moment the greatdoor beside the throne was opened, with a noise that attracted theattention of all; and all believed that Don John was returning, whileall eyes were fixed upon the entrance to catch the first glimpse of him, and every one pronounced his name at once in short, glad tones ofsatisfaction. "Don John is coming! It is Don John of Austria! Don John is there!" It was almost a universal cry of welcome. An instant later a deadsilence followed as a chamberlain's clear voice announced the royalpresence, and King Philip advanced upon the platform of the throne. Forseveral seconds not a sound broke the stillness, and he came slowlyforward followed by half a dozen nobles in immediate attendance uponhim. But though he must have heard his brother's name in the generalchorus of voices as soon as the door had been thrown open, he seemed byno means disconcerted; on the contrary, he smiled almost affably, andhis eyes were less fixed than usual, as he looked about him withsomething like an air of satisfaction. As soon as it was clear that hemeant to descend the steps to the floor of the hall, the chief courtierscame forward, Ruy Gomez de Silva, Prince of Eboli, Alvarez de Toledo, the terrible Duke of Alva, the Dukes of Medina Sidonia and of Infantado, Don Antonio Perez the chief Secretary, the Ambassadors of QueenElizabeth of England and of France, and a dozen others, bowing so lowthat the plumes of their hats literally touched the floor beside them. "Why is there no dancing?" asked Philip, addressing Ruy Gomez, with asmile. The Minister explained that one of the dances was but just over. "Let there be more at once, " answered the King. "Let there be dancingand music without end to-night. We have good reason to keep the day withrejoicing, since the war is over, and Don John of Austria has come backin triumph. " The command was obeyed instantly, as Ruy Gomez made a sign to the leaderof the musicians, who was watching him intently in expectation of theorder. The King smiled again as the long strain broke the silence andthe conversation began again all through the hall, though in a far moresubdued tone than before, and with much more caution. Philip turned tothe English Ambassador. "It is a pity, " he said, "that my sister of England cannot be here withus on such a night as this. We saw no such sights in London in my day, my lord. " "There have been changes since then, Sire, " answered the Ambassador. "The Queen is very much inclined to magnificence and to greatentertainments, and does not hesitate to dance herself, being of a veryvital and pleasant temper. Nevertheless, your Majesty's court is by farthe most splendid in the world. " "There you are right, my lord!" exclaimed the King. "And for thatmatter, we have beauty also, such as is found nowhere else. " The Princess of Eboli was close by, waiting for him to speak to her, andhis eyes fixed themselves upon her face with a sort of cold andsnakelike admiration, to which she was well accustomed, but which evennow made her nervous. The Ambassador was not slow to take up the cue offlattery, for Englishmen still knew how to flatter in Elizabeth's day. "The inheritance of universal conquest, " he said, bowing and smiling tothe Princess. "Even the victories of Don John of Austria must yield tothat. " The Princess laughed carelessly. Had Perez spoken the words, she wouldhave frowned, but the King's eyes were watching her. "His Highness has fled from the field without striking a blow, " shesaid. "We have not seen him this evening. " As she spoke she met theKing's gaze with a look of enquiry. "Don John will be here presently, no doubt, " he said, as if answering aquestion. "Has he not been here at all since supper?" "No, Sire; though every one expected him to come at once. " "That is strange, " said Philip, with perfect self-possession. "He isfond of dancing, too--no one can dance better than he. Have you everknown a man so roundly gifted as my brother, my lord?" "A most admirable prince, " answered the Ambassador, gravely and withoutenthusiasm, for he feared that the King was about to speak of hisbrother's possible marriage with Queen Mary of Scots. "And a most affectionate and gentle nature, " said Philip, musing. "Iremember from the time when he was a boy that every one loved him andpraised him, and yet he is not spoiled. He is always the same. He is mybrother--how often have I wished for such a son! Well, he may yet beKing. Who should, if not he, when I am gone?" "Your Majesty need not anticipate such a frightful calamity!" cried thePrincess fervently, though she was at that moment weighing thecomparative advantage of several mortal diseases by which, in appearanceat least, his exit from the world might be accelerated. "Life is very uncertain, Princess, " observed the King. "My lord, " heturned to the English Ambassador again, "do you consider melonsindigestible in England? I have lately heard much against them. " "A melon is a poor thing, of a watery constitution, your Majesty, "replied the Ambassador glibly. "There can be but little sustenance in ahollow piece of water that is sucked from a marsh and enclosed in agreen rind. To tell the truth, I hear it ill spoken of by ourphysicians, but I cannot well speak of the matter, for I never ate onein my life, and please God I never will!" "Why not!" enquired the King, who took an extraordinary interest in thesubject. "You fear them, then! Yet you seem to be exceedingly strong andhealthy. " "Sire, I have sometimes drunk a little water for my stomach's sake, butI will not eat it. " The King smiled pleasantly. "How wise the English are!" he said. "We may yet learn much of them. " Philip turned away from the Ambassador and watched the dance in silence. The courtiers now stood in a wide half circle to the right and left ofhim as he faced the hall, and the dancers passed backwards and forwardsacross the open space. His slow eyes followed one figure without seeingthe rest. In the set nearest to him a beautiful girl was dancing withone of Don John's officers. She was of the rarest type of Andalusianbeauty, tall, pliant, and slenderly strong, with raven's-wing hair andsplendidly languorous eyes, her creamy cheek as smooth as velvet, and amouth like a small ripe fruit. As she moved she bent from the waist aseasily and naturally as a child, and every movement followed a new curveof beauty from her white throat to the small arched foot that dartedinto sight as she stepped forward now and then, to disappear instantlyunder the shadow of the gold-embroidered skirt. As she glanced towardsthe King, her shadowy lids half hid her eyes and the long black lashesalmost brushed her cheek. Philip could not look away from her. But suddenly there was a stir among the courtiers, and a shadow camebetween the King and the vision he was watching. He started a little, annoyed by the interruption and at being rudely reminded of what hadhappened half an hour earlier, for the shadow was cast by Mendoza, talland grim in his armour, his face as grey as his grey beard, and his eyeshard and fixed. Without bending, like a soldier on parade, he stoodthere, waiting by force of habit until Philip should speak to him. TheKing's brows bent together, and he almost unconsciously raised one handto signify that the music should cease. It stopped in the midst of abar, leaving the dancers at a standstill in their measure, and all themoving sea of light and colour and gleaming jewels was arrestedinstantly in its motion, while every look was turned towards the King. The change from sound to silence, from motion to immobility, was sosudden that every one was startled, as if some frightful accident hadhappened, or as if an earthquake had shaken the Alcazar to its deepfoundation. Mendoza's harsh voice spoke out alone in accents that were heard to theend of the hall. "Don John of Austria is dead! I, Mendoza, have killed him unarmed. " It was long before a sound was heard, before any man or woman in thehall had breath to utter a word. Philip's voice was heard first. "The man is mad, " he said, with undisturbed coolness. "See to him, Perez. " "No, no!" cried Mendoza. "I am not mad. I have killed Don John. Youshall find him in his room as he fell, with the wound in his breast. " One moment more the silence lasted, while Philip's stony face nevermoved. A single woman's shriek rang out first, long, ear-piercing, agonized, and then, without warning, a cry went up such as the old hallhad never heard before. It was a bad cry to hear, for it clamoured forblood to be shed for blood, and though it was not for him, Philip turnedlivid and shrank back a step. But Mendoza stood like a rock, waiting tobe taken. In another moment furious confusion filled the hall. From every side atonce rose women's cries, and the deep shouts of angry men, and high, clear yells of rage and hate. The men pushed past the ladies of thecourt to the front, and some came singly, but a serried rank moved upfrom behind, pushing the others before them. "Kill him! Kill him at the King's feet! Kill him where he stands!" And suddenly something made blue flashes of light high over the heads ofall; a rapier was out and wheeled in quick circles from a pliant wrist. An officer of Mendoza's guard had drawn it, and a dozen more were in theair in an instant, and then daggers by scores, keen, short, and strong, held high at arm's length, each shaking with the fury of the hand thatheld it. "Sangre! Sangre!" Some one had screamed out the wild cry of the Spanish soldiers--'Blood!Blood!'--and the young men took it up in a mad yell, as they pushedforwards furiously, while the few who stood in front tried to keep aspace open round the King and Mendoza. The old man never winced, and disdained to turn his head, though heheard the cry of death behind him, and the quick, soft sound of daggersdrawn from leathern sheaths, and the pressing of men who would be uponhim in another moment to tear him limb from limb with their knives. Tall old Ruy Gomez had stepped forwards to stem the tide of death, andbeside him the English Ambassador, quietly determined to see fair playor to be hurt himself in preventing murder. "Back!" thundered Ruy Gomez, in a voice that was heard. "Back, I say!Are you gentlemen of Spain, or are you executioners yourselves that youwould take this man's blood? Stand back!" "Sangre! Sangre!" echoed the hall. "Then take mine first!" shouted the brave old Prince, spreading hisshort cloak out behind him with his hands to cover Mendoza morecompletely. But still the crowd of splendid young nobles surged up to him, and backa little, out of sheer respect for his station and his old age, andforwards again, dagger in hand, with blazing eyes. "Sangre! Sangre! Sangre!" they cried, blind with fury. But meanwhile, the guards filed in, for the prudent Perez had hastenedto throw wide the doors and summon them. Weapons in hand and ready, theyformed a square round the King and Mendoza and Ruy Gomez, and at thesight of their steel caps and breastplates and long-tasselled halberds, the yells of the courtiers subsided a little and turned to deep cursesand execrations and oaths of vengeance. A high voice pierced the lowroar, keen and cutting as a knife, but no one knew whose it was, andPhilip almost reeled as he heard the words. "Remember Don Carlos! Don John of Austria is gone to join Don Carlos andQueen Isabel!" Again a deadly silence fell upon the multitude, and the King leaned onPerez' arm. Some woman's hate had bared the truth in a flash, and therewere hundreds of hands in the hall that were ready to take his lifeinstead of Mendoza's; and he knew it, and was afraid. * * * * * CHAPTER XV The agonized cry that had been first heard in the hall had come fromInez's lips. When she had fled from her father, she had regained herhiding-place in the gallery above the throne room. She would not go toher own room, for she felt that rest was out of the question whileDolores was in such danger; and yet there would have been no object ingoing to Don John's door again, to risk being caught by her father ormet by the King himself. She had therefore determined to let an hourpass before attempting another move. So she slipped into the galleryagain, and sat upon the little wooden bench that had been made for theMoorish women in old times; and she listened to the music and the soundof the dancers' feet far below, and to the hum of voices, in which sheoften distinguished the name of Don John. She had heard all, --the crieswhen it was thought that he was coming, the chamberlain's voiceannouncing the King, and then the change of key in the sounds that hadfollowed. Lastly, she had heard plainly every syllable of her father'sspeech, so that when she realized what it meant, she had shrieked aloud, and had fled from the gallery to find her sister if she could, to findDon John's body most certainly where it lay on the marble floor, withthe death wound at the breast. Her instinct--she could not have reasonedthen--told her that her father must have found the lovers together, andthat in sudden rage he had stabbed Don John, defenceless. Dolores' tears answered her sister's question well enough when the twogirls were clasped in one another's arms at last. There was not a doubtleft in the mind of either. Inez spoke first. She said that she hadhidden in the gallery. "Our father must have come in some time after the King, " she said, inbroken sentences, and almost choking. "Suddenly the music stopped. Icould hear every word. He said that he had done it, --that he hadmurdered Don John, --and then I ran here, for I was afraid he had killedyou, too. " "Would God he had!" cried Dolores. "Would to Heaven that I were deadbeside the man I love!" "And I!" moaned Inez pitifully, and she began to sob wildly, as Doloreshad sobbed at first. But Dolores was silent now, as if she had shed all her tears at once, and had none left. She held her sister in her arms, and soothed heralmost unconsciously, as if she had been a little child. But her ownthoughts were taking shape quickly, for she was strong; and after thefirst paroxysm of her grief, she saw the immediate future as clearly asthe present. When she spoke again she had the mastery of her voice, andit was clear and low. "You say that our father confessed before the whole court that he hadmurdered Don John?" she said, with a question. "What happened then? Didthe King speak? Was our father arrested? Can you remember?" "I only heard loud cries, " sobbed Inez. "I came to you--as quickly as Icould--I was afraid. " "We shall never see our father again--unless we see him on the morningwhen he is to die. " "Dolores! They will not kill him, too?" In sudden and greater fear thanbefore, Inez ceased sobbing. "He will die on the scaffold, " answered Dolores, in the same clear tone, as if she were speaking in a dream, or of things that did not come nearher. "There is no pardon possible. He will die to-morrow or the nextday. " The present truth stood out in all its frightful distinctness. Whoeverhad done the murder--since Mendoza had confessed it, he would be made todie for it, --of that she was sure. She could not have guessed what hadreally happened; and though the evidence of the sounds she had heardthrough the door would have gone to show that Philip had done the deedhimself, yet there had been no doubt about Mendoza's words, spoken tothe King alone over Don John's dead body, and repeated before the greatassembly in the ball-room. If she guessed at an explanation, it was thather father, entering the bedchamber during the quarrel, and supposingfrom what he saw that Don John was about to attack the King, had drawnand killed the Prince without hesitation. The only thing quite clear wasthat Mendoza was to suffer, and seemed strangely determined to suffer, for what he had or had not done. The dark shadow of the scaffold rosebefore Dolores' eyes. It had seemed impossible that she could be made to bear more than shehad borne that night, when she had fallen upon Don John's body to weepher heart out for her dead love. But she saw that there was more tobear, and dimly she guessed that there might be something for her to do. There was Inez first, and she must be cared for and placed in safety, for she was beside herself with grief. It was only on that afternoon bythe window that Dolores had guessed the blind girl's secret, which Inezherself hardly suspected even now, though she was half mad with griefand utterly broken-hearted. Dolores felt almost helpless, but she understood that she and her sisterwere henceforth to be more really alone in what remained of life than ifthey had been orphans from their earliest childhood. The vision of theconvent, that had been unbearable but an hour since, held all her hopeof peace and safety now, unless her father could be saved from his fateby some miracle of heaven. But that was impossible. He had given himselfup as if he were determined to die. He had been out of his mind, besidehimself, stark mad, in his fear that Don John might bring harm upon hisdaughter. That was why he had killed him--there could be no otherreason, unless he had guessed that she was in the locked room, and hadjudged her then and at once, and forever. The thought had not crossedher mind till then, and it was a new torture now, so that she shrankunder it as under a bodily blow; and her grasp tightened violently uponher sister's arm, rousing the half-fainting girl again to the fullconsciousness of pain. It was no wonder that Mendoza should have done such a deed, since he hadbelieved her ruined and lost to honour beyond salvation. That explainedall. He had guessed that she had been long with Don John, who had lockedher hastily into the inner room to hide her from the King. Had the Kingbeen Don John, had she loved Philip as she loved his brother, her fatherwould have killed his sovereign as unhesitatingly, and would havesuffered any death without flinching. She believed that, and there wasenough of his nature in herself to understand it. She was as innocent as the blind girl who lay in her arms, but suddenlyit flashed upon her that no one would believe it, since her own fatherwould not, and that her maiden honour and good name were gone for ever, gone with her dead lover, who alone could have cleared her before theworld. She cared little for the court now, but she cared tenfold moreearnestly for her father's thought of her, and she knew him and theterrible tenacity of his conviction when he believed himself to beright. He had proved that by what he had done. Since she understood all, she no longer doubted that he had killed Don John with the fullestintention, to avenge her, and almost knowing that she was withinhearing, as indeed she had been. He had taken a royal life in atonementfor her honour, but he was to give his own, and was to die a shamefuldeath on the scaffold, within a few hours, or, at the latest, within afew days, for her sake. Then she remembered how on that afternoon she had seen tears in hiseyes, and had heard the tremor in his voice when he had said that shewas everything to him, that she had been all his life since her motherhad died--he had proved that, too; and though he had killed the man sheloved, she shrank from herself again as she thought what he must havesuffered in her dishonour. For it was nothing else. There was neitherman nor woman nor girl in Spain who would believe her innocent againstsuch evidence. The world might have believed Don John, if he had lived, because the world had loved him and trusted him, and could never haveheard falsehood in his voice; but it would not believe her though shewere dying, and though she should swear upon the most sacred and truethings. The world would turn from her with an unbelieving laugh, and shewas to be left alone in her dishonour, and people would judge that shewas not even a fit companion for her blind sister in their solitude. TheKing would send her to Las Huelgas, or to some other distant convent ofa severe order, that she might wear out her useless life in grief andsilence and penance as quickly as possible. She bowed her head. It wastoo hard to bear. Inez was more quiet now, and the two sat side by side in mournfulsilence, leaning against the parapet. They had forgotten the dwarf, andhe had disappeared, waiting, perhaps, in the shadow at a distance, incase he might be of use to them. But if he was within hearing, they didnot see him. At last Inez spoke, almost in a whisper, as if she were inthe presence of the dead. "Were you there, dear?" she asked. "Did you see?" "I was in the next room, " Dolores answered. "I could not see, but Iheard. I heard him fall, " she added almost inaudibly, and choking. Inez shuddered and pressed nearer to her sister, leaning against her, but she did not begin to sob again. She was thinking. "Can we not help our father, at least?" she asked presently. "Is therenothing we can say, or do? We ought to help him if we can, Dolores--though he did it. " "I would save him with my life, if I could. God knows, I would! He wasmad when he struck the blow. He did it for my sake, because he thoughtDon John had ruined my good name. And we should have been married theday after to-morrow! God of heaven, have mercy!" Her grief took hold of her again, like a material power, shaking herfrom head to foot, and bowing her down upon herself and wringing herhands together, so that Inez, calmer than she, touched her gently andtried to comfort her without any words, for there were none to say, since nothing mattered now, and life was over at its very beginning. Little by little the sharp agony subsided to dull pain once more, andDolores sat upright. But Inez was thinking still, and even in her sorrowand fright she was gathering all her innocent ingenuity to her aid. "Is there no way?" she asked, speaking more to herself than to hersister. "Could we not say that we were there, that it was not our fatherbut some one else? Perhaps some one would believe us. If we told thejudges that we were quite, quite sure that he did not do it, do you notthink--but then, " she checked herself--"then it could only have been theKing. " "Only the King himself, " echoed Dolores, half unconsciously, and in adreamy tone. "That would be terrible, " said Inez. "But we could say that the King wasnot there, you know--that it was some one else, some one we did notknow--" Dolores rose abruptly from the seat and laid her hand upon the parapetsteadily, as if an unnatural strength had suddenly grown up in her. Inezwent on speaking, confusing herself in the details she was trying to puttogether to make a plan, and losing the thread of her idea as sheattempted to build up falsehoods, for she was truthful as their fatherwas. But Dolores did not hear her. "You can do nothing, child, " she said at last, in a firm tone. "But Imay. You have made me think of something that I may do--it is justpossible--it may help a little. Let me think. " Inez waited in silence for her to go on, and Dolores stood as motionlessas a statue, contemplating in thought the step she meant to take if itoffered the slightest hope of saving her father. The thought was worthyof her, but the sacrifice was great even then. She had not believed thatthe world still held anything with which she would not willingly part, but there was one thing yet. It might be taken from her, though herfather had slain Don John of Austria to save it, and was to die for ithimself. She could give it before she could be robbed of it, perhaps, and it might buy his life. She could still forfeit her good name of herown free will, and call herself what she was not. In words she couldgive her honour to the dead man, and the dead could not rise up and denyher nor refuse the gift. And it seemed to her that when the peopleshould hear her, they would believe her, seeing that it was her shame, ashame such as no maiden who had honour left would bear before the world. But it was hard to do. For honour was her last and only possession nowthat all was taken from her. It was not the so-called honour of society, either, based onlong-forgotten traditions, and depending on convention for itsbeing--not the sort of honour within which a man may ruin an honestwoman and suffer no retribution, but which decrees that he must take hisown life if he cannot pay a debt of play made on his promise to afriend, which allows him to lie like a cheat, but ordains that he mustgive or require satisfaction of blood for the imaginary insult of ahasty word--the honour which is to chivalry what black superstition isto the true Christian faith, which compares with real courage and truthand honesty, as an ape compares with a man. It was not that, and Doloresknew it, as every maiden knows it; for the honour of woman is the facton which the whole world turns, and has turned and will turn to the endof things; but what is called the honour of society has been a fictionthese many centuries, and though it came first of a high parentage, ofhonest thought wedded to brave deed, and though there are honourable menyet, these are for the most part the few who talk least loudly abouthonour's code, and the belief they hold has come to be a secret and apersecuted faith, at which the common gentleman thinks fit to laugh lestsome one should presume to measure him by it and should find himwanting. Dolores did not mean to hesitate, after she had decided what to do. Butshe could not avoid the struggle, and it was long and hard, though shesaw the end plainly before her and did not waver. Inez did notunderstand and kept silence while it lasted. It was only a word to say, but it was the word which would be repeatedagainst her as long as she lived, and which nothing she could ever sayor do afterwards could take back when it had once been spoken--it wouldleave the mark that a lifetime could not efface. But she meant to speakit. She could not see what her father would see, that he would ratherdie, justly or unjustly, than let his daughter be dishonoured before theworld. That was a part of a man's code, perhaps, but it should nothinder her from saving her father's life, or trying to, at whatevercost. What she was fighting against was something much harder tounderstand in herself. What could it matter now, that the world shouldthink her fallen from her maiden estate? The world was nothing to her, surely. It held nothing, it meant nothing, it was nothing. Her world hadbeen her lover, and he lay dead in his room. In heaven, he knew that shewas innocent, as he was himself, and he would see that she was going toaccuse herself that she might save her father. In heaven, he hadforgiven his murderer, and he would understand. As for the world andwhat it said, she knew that she must leave it instantly, and go from theconfession she was about to make to the convent where she was to die, and whence her spotless soul would soon be wafted away to join her truelover beyond the earth. There was no reason why she should find it hardto do, and yet it was harder than anything she had ever dreamed ofdoing. But she was fighting the deepest and strongest instinct ofwoman's nature, and the fight went hard. She fancied the scene, the court, the grey-haired nobles, the fair andhonourable women, the brave young soldiers, the thoughtless courtiers, the whole throng she was about to face, for she meant to speak beforethem all, and to her own shame. She was as white as marble, but when shethought of what was coming the blood sprang to her face and tingled inher forehead, and she felt her eyes fall and her proud head bend, as thestorm of humiliation descended upon her. She could hear beforehand thesounds that would follow her words, the sharp, short laugh of jealouswomen who hated her, the murmur of surprise among the men. Then the seaof faces would seem to rise and fall before her in waves, the lightswould dance, her cheeks would burn like flames, and she would growdizzy. That would be the end. Afterwards she could go out alone. Perhapsthe women would shrink from her, no man would be brave enough to leadher kindly from the room. Yet all that she would bear, for the mere hopeof saving her father. The worst, by far the worst and hardest to endure, would be something within herself, for which she had neither words nortrue understanding, but which was more real than anything she coulddefine, for it was in the very core of her heart and in the secret ofher soul, a sort of despairing shame of herself and a desolate longingfor something she could never recover. She closed her tired eyes and pressed her hand heavily upon the stonecoping of the parapet. It was the supreme effort, and when she lookeddown at Inez again she knew that she should live to the end of theordeal without wavering. "I am going down to the throne room, " she said, very quietly and gently. "You had better go to our apartment, dear, and wait for me there. I amgoing to try and save our father's life--do not ask me how. It will nottake long to say what I have to say, and then I will come to you. " Inez had risen now, and was standing beside her, laying a hand upon herarm. "Let me come, too, " she said. "I can help you, I am sure I can helpyou. " "No, " answered Dolores, with authority. "You cannot help me, dearest, and it would hurt you, and you must not come. " "Then I will stay here, " said Inez sorrowfully. "I shall be nearer tohim, " she added under her breath. "Stay here--yes. I will come back to you, and then--then we will go intogether, and say a prayer--his soul can hear us still--we will go andsay good-by to him--together. " Her voice was almost firm, and Inez could not see the agony in her whiteface. Then Dolores clasped her in her arms and kissed her forehead andher blind eyes very lovingly, and pressed her head to her own shouldersand patted it and smoothed the girl's dark hair. "I will come back, " she said, "and, Inez--you know the truth, mydarling. Whatever evil they may say of me after to-night, remember thatI have said it of myself for our father's sake, and that it is nottrue. " "No one will believe it, " answered Inez. "They will not believe anythingbad of you. " "Then our father must die. " Dolores kissed her once more and made her sit down, then turned and wentaway. She walked quickly along the corridors and descended the secondstaircase, to enter the throne room by the side door reserved for theofficers of the household and the maids of honour. She walked swiftly, her head erect, one hand holding the folds of her cloak pressed to herbosom, and the other, nervously clenched, and hanging down, as if shewere expecting to strike a blow. She reached the door, and for a moment her heart stopped beating, andher eyes closed. She heard many loud voices within, and she knew thatmost of the court must still be assembled. It was better that all theworld should hear her--even the King, if he were still there. She pushedthe door open and went in by the familiar way, letting the dark cloakthat covered her court dress fall to the ground as she passed thethreshold. Half a dozen young nobles, grouped near the entrance, madeway for her to pass. When they recognized her, their voices dropped suddenly, and they staredafter her in astonishment that she should appear at such a time. She wasdoubtless in ignorance of what had happened, they thought. As for thethrong in the hall, there was no restraint upon their talk now, andwords were spoken freely which would have been high treason half an hourearlier. There was the noise, the tension, the ceaseless talking, theexcited air, that belong to great palace revolutions. The press was closer near the steps of the throne, where the King andMendoza had stood, for after they had left the hall, surrounded andprotected by the guards, the courtiers had crowded upon one another, andthose near the further door and outside it in the outer apartments hadpressed in till there was scarcely standing room on the floor of thehall. Dolores found it hard to advance. Some made way for her with lowexclamations of surprise, but others, not looking to see who she was, offered a passive resistance to her movements. "Will you kindly let me pass?" she asked at last, in a gentle tone, "Iam Dolores de Mendoza. " At the name the group that barred her passage started and made way, andgoing through she came upon the Prince of Eboli, not far from the stepsof the throne. The English Ambassador, who meant to stay as long asthere was anything for him to observe, was still by the Prince's side. Dolores addressed the latter without hesitation. "Don Ruy Gomez, " she said, "I ask your help. My father is innocent, andI can prove it. But the court must hear me--every one must hear thetruth. Will you help me? Can you make them listen?" Ruy Gomez looked down at Dolores' pale and determined features incourteous astonishment. "I am at your service, " he answered. "But what are you going to say? Thecourt is in a dangerous mood to-night. " "I must speak to all, " said Dolores. "I am not afraid. What I have tosay cannot be said twice--not even if I had the strength. I can save myfather--" "Why not go to the King at once?" argued the Prince, who feared trouble. "For the love of God, help me to do as I wish!" Dolores grasped his arm, and spoke with an effort. "Let me tell them all, how I know that myfather is not guilty of the murder. After that take me to the King ifyou will. " She spoke very earnestly, and he no longer opposed her. He knew thetemper of the court well enough, and was sure that whatever provedMendoza innocent would be welcome just then, and though he was far tooloyal to wish the suspicion of the deed to be fixed upon the King, hewas too just not to desire Mendoza to be exculpated if he were innocent. "Come with me, " he said briefly, and he took Dolores by the hand, andled her up the first three steps of the platform, so that she could seeover the heads of all present. It was no time to think of court ceremonies or customs, for there wasdanger in the air. Ruy Gomez did not stop to make any long ceremony. Drawing himself up to his commanding height, he held up his white glovesat arm's length to attract the attention of the courtiers, and in a fewmoments there was silence. They seemed an hour of torture to Dolores. Ruy Gomez raised his voice. "Grandees! The daughter of Don Diego de Mendoza stands here at my sideto prove to you that he is innocent of Don John of Austria's death!" The words had hardly left his lips when a shout went up, like a ringingcheer. But again he raised his hand. "Hear Doņa Maria Dolores de Mendoza!" he cried. Then he stepped a little away from Dolores, and looked towards her. Shewas dead white, and her lips trembled. There was an almost glassy lookin her eyes, and still she pressed one hand to her bosom, and the otherhung by her side, the fingers twitching nervously against the folds ofher skirt. A few seconds passed before she could speak. "Grandees of Spain!" she began, and at the first words she foundstrength in her voice so that it reached the ends of the hall, clear andvibrating. The silence was intense, as she proceeded. "My father has accused himself of a fearful crime. He is innocent. Hewould no more have raised his hand against Don John of Austria thanagainst the King's own person. I cannot tell why he wishes to sacrificehis life by taking upon himself the guilt. But this I know. He did notdo the deed. You ask me how I know that, how I can prove it? I wasthere, I, Dolores de Mendoza, his daughter, was there unseen in mylover's chamber when he was murdered. While he was alive I gave him all, my heart, my soul, my maiden honour; and I was there to-night, and hadbeen with him long. But now that he is dead, I will pay for my father'slife with my dishonour. He must not die, for he is innocent. Grandees ofSpain, as you are men of honour, he must not die, for he is one of you, and this foul deed was not his. " She ceased, her lids drooped till her eyes were half closed and sheswayed a little as she stood. Roy Gomez made one long stride and heldher, for he thought she was fainting. But she bit her lips, and forcedher eyes to open and face the crowd again. "That is all, " she said in a low voice, but distinctly, "It is done. Iam a ruined woman. Help me to go out. " The old Prince gently led her down the steps. The silence had lastedlong after she had spoken, but people were beginning to talk again inlower tones. It was as she had foreseen it. She heard a scornful woman'slaugh, and as she passed along, she saw how the older ladies shrank fromher and how the young ones eyed her with a look of hard curiosity, as ifshe were some wild creature, dangerous to approach, though worth seeingfrom a distance. But the men pressed close to her as she passed, and she heard them telleach other that she was a brave woman who could dare to save her fatherby such means, and there were quick applauding words as she passed, andone said audibly that he could die for a girl who had such a true heart, and another answered that he would marry her if she could forget DonJohn. And they did not speak without respect, but in earnest, and out ofthe fulness of their admiration. At last she was at the door, and she paused to speak before going out. "Have I saved his life?" she asked, looking up to the old Prince's kindface. "Will they believe me?" "They believe you, " he answered. "But your father's life is in theKing's hands. You should go to his Majesty without wasting time. Shall Igo with you? He will see you, I think, if I ask it. " "Why should I tell the King?" asked Dolores. "He was there--he saw itall--he knows the truth. " She hardly realized what she was saying. * * * * * CHAPTER XVI Ruy Gomez was as loyal, in his way, as Mendoza himself, but his loyaltywas of a very different sort, for it was tempered by a diplomatic spiritwhich made it more serviceable on ordinary occasions, and its object wasaltogether a principle rather than a person. Mendoza could not conceiveof monarchy, in its abstract, without a concrete individualityrepresented by King Philip; but Ruy Gomez could not imagine the worldwithout the Spanish monarchy, though he was well able to gauge hissovereign's weaknesses and to deplore his crimes. He himself wassomewhat easily deceived, as good men often are, and it was he who hadgiven the King his new secretary, Antonio Perez; yet from the momentwhen Mendoza had announced Don John's death, he had been convinced thatthe deed had either been done by Philip himself or by his orders, andthat Mendoza had bravely sacrificed himself to shield his master. WhatDolores had said only confirmed his previous opinion, so far as herfather's innocence was at stake. As for her own confession, he believedit, and in spite of himself he could not help admiring the girl's heroiccourage. Dolores might have been in reality ten times worse than she hadchosen to represent herself; she would still have been a model of allvirtue compared with his own wife, though he did not know half of thePrincess's doings, and was certainly ignorant of her relations with theKing. He was not at all surprised when Dolores told him at the door thatPhilip knew the truth about the supposed murder, but he saw howdangerous it might be for Dolores to say as much to others of the court. She wished to go away alone, as she had come, but he insisted on goingwith her. "You must see his Majesty, " he said authoritatively. "I will try toarrange it at once. And I entreat you to be discreet, my dear, for yourfather's sake, if not for any other reason. You have said too muchalready. It was not wise of you, though it showed amazing courage. Youare your father's own daughter in that--he is one of the bravest men Iever knew in my life. " "It is easy to be brave when one is dead already!" said Dolores, in lowtones. "Courage, my dear, courage!" answered the old Prince, in a fatherlytone, as they went along. "You are not as brave as you think, since youtalk of death. Your life is not over yet. " "There is little left of it. I wish it were ended already. " She could hardly speak, for an inevitable and overwhelming reaction hadfollowed on the great effort she had made. She put out her hand andcaught her companion's arm for support. He led her quickly to the smallentrance of the King's apartments, by which it was his privilege to passin. They reached a small waiting-room where there were a few chairs anda marble table, on which two big wax candles were burning. Dolores sankinto a seat, and leaned back, closing her eyes, while Ruy Gomez wentinto the antechamber beyond and exchanged a few words with thechamberlain on duty. He came back almost immediately. "Your father is alone with the King, " he said. "We must wait. " Dolores scarcely heard what he said, and did not change her position noropen her eyes. The old man looked at her, sighed, and sat down near abrazier of wood coals, over which he slowly warmed his transparenthands, from time to time turning his rings slowly on his fingers, as ifto warm them, too. Outside, the chamberlain in attendance walked slowlyup and down, again and again passing the open door, through which heglanced at Dolores' face. The antechamber was little more than a short, broad corridor, and led to the King's study. This corridor had otherdoors, however, and it was through it that the King's private roomscommunicated with the hall of the royal apartments. As Ruy Gomez had learned, Mendoza was with Philip, but not alone. Theold officer was standing on one side of the room, erect and grave, andKing Philip sat opposite him, in a huge chair, his still eyes staring atthe fire that blazed in the vast chimney, and sent sudden flashes ofyellow through the calm atmosphere of light shed by a score of tallcandles. At a table on one side sat Antonio Perez, the Secretary. He wasprovided with writing-materials and appeared to be taking down theconversation as it proceeded. Philip asked a question from time to time, which Mendoza answered in a strange voice unlike his own, and betweenthe questions there were long intervals of silence. "You say that you had long entertained feelings of resentment againsthis Highness, " said the King, "You admit that, do you?" "I beg your Majesty's pardon. I did not say resentment. I said that Ihad long looked upon his Highness's passion for my daughter with greatanxiety. " "Is that what he said, Perez?" asked Philip, speaking to the Secretarywithout looking at him. "Read that. " "He said: I have long resented his Highness's admiration for mydaughter, " answered Perez, reading from his notes. "You see, " said the King. "You resented it. That is resentment. I wasright. Be careful, Mendoza, for your words may be used against youto-morrow. Say precisely what you mean, and nothing but what you mean. " Mendoza inclined his head rather proudly, for he detested Antonio Perez, and it appeared to him that the King was playing a sort of comedy forthe Secretary's benefit. It seemed an unworthy interlude in what wasreally a solemn tragedy. "Why did you resent his Highness's courtship of your daughter?" enquiredPhilip presently, continuing his cross-examination. "Because I never believed that there could be a real marriage, " answeredMendoza boldly. "I believed that my child must become the toy andplaything of Don John of Austria, or else that if his Highness marriedher, the marriage would soon be declared void, in order that he mightmarry a more important personage. " "Set that down, " said the King to Perez, in a sharp tone. "Set that downexactly. It is important. " He waited till the Secretary's pen stoppedbefore he went on. His next question came suddenly. "How could a marriage consecrated by our holy religion ever be declarednull and void?" "Easily enough, if your Majesty wished it, " answered Mendozaunguardedly, for his temper was slowly heating. "Write down that answer, Perez. In other words, Mendoza, you think thatI have no respect for the sacrament of marriage, which I would at anytime cause to be revoked to suit my political purposes. Is that what youthink?" "I did not say that, Sire. I said that even if Don John married mydaughter--" "I know quite well what you said, " interrupted the King suavely. "Perezhas got every word of it on paper. " The Secretary's bad black eyes looked up from his writing, and he slowlynodded as he looked at Mendoza. He understood the situation perfectly, though the soldier was far too honourable to suspect the truth. "I have confessed publicly that I killed Don John defenceless, " he said, in rough tones. "Is not that enough?" "Oh, no!" Philip almost smiled, "That is not enough. We must also knowwhy you committed such on abominable crime. You do not seem tounderstand that in taking your evidence here myself, I am sparing youthe indignity of an examination before a tribunal, and under torture--inall probability. You ought to be very grateful, my dear Mendoza. " "I thank your Majesty, " said the brave old soldier coldly. "That is right. So we know that your hatred of his Highness was of longstanding, and you had probably determined some time ago that you wouldmurder him on his return. " The King paused a moment and then continued. "Do you deny that on this very afternoon you swore that if Don Johnattempted to see your daughter, you would kill him at once?" Mendoza was taken by surprise, and his haggard eyes opened wide as hestared at Philip. "You said that, did you not?" asked the King, insisting upon the point. "On your honour, did you say it?" "Yes, I said that, " answered Mendoza at last. "But how did your Majestyknow that I did?" The King's enormous under lip thrust itself forward, and two ugly linesof amusement were drawn in his colourless cheeks. His jaw moved slowly, as if he were biting something of which he found the taste agreeable. "I know everything, " he said slowly. "I am well served in my own house. Perez, be careful. Write down everything. We also know, I think, thatyour daughter met his Highness this evening. You no doubt found that outas others did. The girl is imprudent. Do you confess to knowing that thetwo had met this evening?" Mendoza ground his teeth as if he were suffering bodily torture. Hisbrows contracted, and as Perez looked up, he faced him with such a lookof hatred and anger that the Secretary could hot meet his eyes. The Kingwas a sacred and semi-divine personage, privileged to ask any questionhe chose and theoretically incapable of doing wrong, but it wasunbearable that this sleek black fox should have the right to hear Diegode Mendoza confess his daughter's dishonour. Antonio Perez was not anadventurer of low birth, as many have gratuitously supposed, for hisfather had held an honourable post at court before him; but he was veryfar from being the equal of one who, though poor and far removed fromthe head of his own family, bore one of the most noble names in Spain. "Let your Majesty dismiss Don Antonio Perez, " said Mendoza boldly. "Iwill then tell your Majesty all I know. " Perez smiled as he bent over his notes, for he knew what the answerwould be to such a demand. It came sharply. "It is not the privilege of a man convicted of murder to choose hishearers. Answer my questions or be silent. Do you confess that you knewof your daughter's meeting with Don John this evening?" Mendoza's lips set themselves tightly under his grey beard, and heuttered no sound. He interpreted the King's words literally. "Well, what have you to say?" "Nothing, Sire, since I have your Majesty's permission to be silent. " "It does not matter, " said Philip indifferently. "Note that he refusesto answer the question, Perez. Note that this is equivalent toconfessing the fact, since he would otherwise deny it. His silence is &reason, however, for allowing the case to go to the tribunal to beexamined in the usual way--the usual way, " he repeated, looking hard atMendoza and emphasizing the words strongly. "Since I do not deny the deed, I entreat your Majesty to let me sufferfor it quickly. I am ready to die, God knows. Let it be to-morrowmorning or to-night. Your Majesty need only sign the warrant for myexecution, which Don Antonio Perez has, no doubt, already prepared. " "Not at all, not at all, " answered the King, with horrible coolness. "Imean that you shall have a fair and open trial and every possibleopportunity of justifying yourself. There must be nothing secret aboutthis. So horrible a crime must be treated in the most public manner. Though it is very painful to me to refer to such a matter, you mustremember that after it had pleased Heaven, in its infinite justice, tobereave me of my unfortunate son, Don Carlos, the heir to the throne, there were not wanting ill-disposed and wicked persons who actually saidthat I had caused his life to be shortened by various inhuman cruelties. No, no! we cannot have too much publicity. Consider how terrible a thingit would be if any one should dare to suppose that my own brother hadbeen murdered with my consent! You should love your country too much notto fear such a result; for though you have murdered my brother in coldblood, I am too just to forget that you have proved your patriotismthrough a long and hitherto honourable career. It is my duty to see thatthe causes of your atrocious action are perfectly clear to my subjects, so that no doubt may exist even in the most prejudiced minds. Do youunderstand? I repeat that if I have condescended to examine you alone, Ihave done so only out of a merciful desire to spare an old soldier thesuffering and mortification of an examination by the tribunal that is tojudge you. Understand that. " "I understand that and much more besides, " answered Mendoza, in low andsavage tones. "It is not necessary that you should understand or think that youunderstand anything more than what I say, " returned the King coldly. "Atwhat time did you go to his Highness's apartments this evening?" "Your Majesty knows. " "I know nothing of it, " said the King, with the utmost calm. "You wereon duty after supper. You escorted me to my apartments afterwards. I hadalready sent for Perez, who came at once, and we remained here, busywith affairs, until I returned to the throne room, five minutes beforeyou came and confessed the murder; did we not, Perez?" "Most certainly, Sire, " answered the Secretary gravely. "Your Majestymust have been at work with me an hour, at least, before returning tothe throne room. " "And your Majesty did not go with me by the private staircase to DonJohn of Austria's apartment?" asked Mendoza, thunderstruck by theenormous falsehood. "With you?" cried the King, in admirably feigned astonishment. "Whatmadness is this? Do not write that down, Perez. I really believe the manis beside himself!" Mendoza groaned aloud, for he saw that he had been frightfully deceived. In his magnificent generosity, he had assumed the guilt of the crime, being ready and willing to die for it quickly to save the King fromblame and to put an end to his own miserable existence. But he hadexpected death quickly, mercifully, within a few hours. Had he suspectedwhat Philip had meant to do, --that he was to be publicly tried for amurder he had not committed, and held up to public hatred and ignominyfor days and perhaps weeks together, while a slow tribunal dragged outits endless procedure, --neither his loyalty nor his desire for deathcould have had power to bring his pride to such a sacrifice. And now hesaw that he was caught in a vise, and that no accusation he could bringagainst the King could save him, even if he were willing to resort tosuch a measure and so take back his word. There was no witness for himbut himself. Don John was dead, and the infamous Perez was ready toswear that Philip had not left the room in which they had been closetedtogether. There was not a living being to prove that Mendoza had notgone alone to Don John's apartments with the deliberate intention ofkilling him. He had, indeed, been to the chief steward's office insearch of a key, saying that the King desired to have it and waswaiting; but it would be said that he had used the King's authority totry and get the key for himself because he knew that his daughter washidden in the locked room. He had foolishly fancied that the King wouldsend for him and see him alone before he died, that his sovereign wouldthank him for the service that was costing his life, would embrace himand send him to his death for the good of Spain and the divine right ofmonarchy. Truly, he had been most bitterly deceived. "You said, " continued Philip mercilessly, "that you killed his Highnesswhen he was unarmed. Is that true?" "His Highness was unarmed, " said Mendoza, almost through his closedteeth, for he was suffering beyond words. "Unarmed, " repeated the King, nodding to Perez, who wrote rapidly. "Youmight have given him a chance for his life. It would have been moresoldier-like. Had you any words before you drew upon him? Was there anyquarrel?" "None. We did not speak to each other. " Mendoza tried to make Philipmeet his eyes, but the King would not look at him. "There was no altercation, " said the King, looking at Perez. "Thatproves that the murder was premeditated. Put it down--it is veryimportant. You could hardly have stabbed him in the back, I suppose. Hemust have turned when he heard you enter. Where was the wound?" "The wound that killed his Highness will be found near the heart. " "Cruel!" Philip looked down at his own hands, and he shook his head verysadly. "Cruel, most cruel, " he repeated in a low tone. "I admit that it was a very cruel deed, " said Mendoza, looking at himfixedly. "In that, your Majesty is right. " "Did you see your daughter before or after you had committed themurder?" asked the King calmly. "I have not seen my daughter since the murder was committed. " "But you saw her before? Be careful, Perez. Write down every word. Yousay that you saw your daughter before you did it. " "I did not say that, " answered Mendoza firmly. "It makes very little difference, " said the King, "If you had seen herwith his Highness, the murder would have seemed less cold-blooded, thatis all. There would then have been something like a natural provocationfor it. " There was a low sound, as of some one scratching at the door. That wasthe usual way of asking admittance to the King's room on very urgentmatters. Perez rose instantly, the King nodded to him, and he went tothe door. On opening, someone handed him a folded paper on a goldsalver. He brought it to Philip, dropped on one knee very ceremoniously, and presented it. Philip took the note and opened it, and Perez returnedto his seat at once. The King unfolded the small sheet carefully. The room was so full oflight that he could read it when he sat, without moving. His eyesfollowed the lines quickly to the end, and returned to the beginning, and he read the missive again more carefully. Not the slightest changeof expression was visible in his face, as he folded the paper neatlyagain in the exact shape in which he had received it. Then he remainedsilent a few moments. Perez held his pen ready to write, moving itmechanically now and then as if he were writing in the air, and staringat the fire, absorbed in his own thoughts, though his ear was on thealert. "You refuse to admit that you found your daughter and Don John together, then?" The King spoke with an interrogation. "I did not find them together, " answered Mendoza. "I have said so. " Hewas becoming exasperated under the protracted cross-examination. "You have not said so. My memory is very good, but if it should fail wehave everything written down. I believe you merely refused to answerwhen I asked if you knew of their meeting--which meant that you did knowof it. Is that it, Perez?" "Exactly so, Sire. " The Secretary had already found the place among hisnotes. "Do you persistently refuse to admit that you had positive evidence ofyour daughter's guilt before the murder?" "I will not admit that, Sire, for it would not be true. " "Your daughter has given her evidence since, " said the King, holding upthe folded note, and fixing his eyes at last on his victim's face. If itwere possible, Mendoza turned more ashy pale than before, and he startedperceptibly at the King's words. "I shall never believe that!" he cried in a voice which neverthelessbetrayed his terror for his child. "A few moments before this note was written, " said Philip calmly, "yourdaughter entered the throne room, and addressed the court, standing uponthe steps of the throne--a very improper proceeding and one which RuyGomez should not have allowed. Your daughter Dolores--is that the girl'sname? Yes. Your daughter Dolores, amidst the most profound silence, confessed that she--it is so monstrous that I can hardly bring myself tosay it--that she had yielded to the importunities of his late Highness, that she was with him in his room a long time this evening, and that, infact, she was actually in his bedchamber when he was murdered. " "It is a lie!" cried Mendoza vehemently. "It is an abominable lie--shewas not in the room!" "She has said that she was, " answered Philip. "You can hardly suppose agirl capable of inventing such damning evidence against herself, evenfor the sake of saving her own father. She added that his Highness wasnot killed by you. But that is puerile. She evidently saw you do it, andhas boldly confessed that she was in the room--hidden somewhere, perhaps, since you absolutely refuse to admit that you saw her there. Itis quite clear that you found the two together and that you killed hisHighness before your daughter's eyes. Why not admit that, Mendoza? Itmakes you seem a little less cold-blooded. The provocation was great--" "She was not there, " protested Mendoza, interrupting the King, for hehardly knew what he was doing. "She was there, since she confesses to have been in the room. I do nottolerate interruption when I am speaking. She was there, and herevidence will be considered. Even if you did not see her, how can you besure that your daughter was not there? Did you search the room? Did youlook behind the curtains?" "I did not. " The stern old man seemed to shrink bodily under thefrightful humiliation to which he was subjected. "Very well, then you cannot swear that she was not in the room. But youdid not see her there. Then I am sorry to say that there can have beenno extenuating circumstances. You entered his Highness's bedchamber, youdid not even speak to him, you drew your sword and you killed him. Allthis shows that you went there fully determined to commit the crime. Butwith regard to its motive, this strange confession of your daughter'smakes that quite clear. She had been extremely imprudent with Don John, you were aware of the fact, and you revenged yourself in the most brutalway. Such vengeance never can produce any but the most fatal results. You yourself must die, in the first place, a degrading and painful deathon the scaffold, and you die leaving behind you a ruined girl, who mustbury herself in a convent and never be seen by her worldly equals again. And besides that, you have deprived your King of a beloved brother, andSpain of her most brilliant general. Could anything be worse?" "Yes. There are worse things than that, your Majesty, and worse thingshave been done. It would have been a thousand times worse if I had donethe deed and cast the blame of it on a man so devoted to me that hewould bear the guilt in my stead, and a hundred thousand times worse ifI had then held up that man to the execration of mankind, and torturedhim with every distortion of evidence which great falsehoods can putupon a little truth. That would indeed have been far worse than anythingI have done. God may find forgiveness for murderers, but there is onlyhell for traitors, and the hell of hells is the place of men who betraytheir friends. " "His mind is unsettled, I fear, " said the King, speaking to Perez. "These are signs of madness. " "Indeed I fear so, Sire, " answered the smooth Secretary, shaking hishead solemnly. "He does not know what he says. " "I am not mad, and I know what I am saying, for I am a man under thehand of death. " Mendoza's eyes glared at the King savagely as he spoke, and then at Perez, but neither could look at him, for neither dared tomeet his gaze. "As for this confession my daughter has made, I do notbelieve in it. But if she has said these things, you might have let medie without the bitterness of knowing them, since that was in yourpower. And God knows that I have staked my life freely for your Majestyand for Spain these many years, and would again if I had it to loseinstead of having thrown it away. And God knows, too, that for what Ihave done, be it good or bad, I will bear whatsoever your Majesty shallchoose to say to me alone in the way of reproach. But as I am a dyingman I will not forgive that scribbler there for having seen a Spanishgentleman's honour torn to rags, and an old soldier's last humiliation, and I pray Heaven with my dying breath, that he may some day betormented as he has seen me tormented, and worse, till he shall cry outfor mercy--as I will not!" The cruelly injured man's prayer was answered eight years from that day, and even now Perez turned slowly pale as he heard the words, for theywere spoken with all the vehemence of a dying man's curse. But Philipwas unmoved. He was probably not making Mendoza suffer merely for thepleasure of watching his pain, though others' suffering seems always tohave caused him a sort of morbid satisfaction. What he desired most wasto establish a logical reason for which Mendoza might have committed thecrime, lest in the absence of sound evidence he himself should besuspected of having instigated it. He had no intention whatever ofallowing Mendoza to be subjected to torture during the trial that was toensue. On the contrary, he intended to prepare all the evidence for thejudges and to prevent Mendoza from saying anything in self-defence. Tothat end it was necessary that the facts elicited should be clearlyconnected from first cause to final effect, and by the skill of AntonioPerez in writing down only the words which contributed to that end, theKing's purpose was now accomplished. He heard every word of Mendoza'simprecation and thought it proper to rebuke him for speaking so freely. "You forget yourself, sir, " he said coldly. "Don Antonio Perez is myprivate Secretary, and you must respect him. While you belonged to thecourt his position was higher and more important than your own; now thatyou stand convicted of an outrageous murder in cold blood, you need notforget that he is an innocent man. I have done, Mendoza. You will notsee me again, for you will be kept in confinement until your trial, which can only have one issue. Come here. " He sat upright in his chair and held out his hand, while Mendozaapproached with unsteady steps, and knelt upon one knee, as was thecustom. "I am not unforgiving, " said the King. "Forgiveness is a very beautifulChristian virtue, which we are taught to exercise from our earliestchildhood. You have cut off my dearly loved brother in the flower of hisyouth, but you shall not die believing that I bear you any malice. Sofar as I am able, I freely forgive you for what you have done, and intoken I give you my hand, that you may have that comfort at the last. " With incredible calmness Philip took Mendoza's hand as he spoke, held itfor a moment in his, and pressed it almost warmly at the last words. Theold man's loyalty to his sovereign had been a devotion almost amountingto real adoration, and bitterly as he had suffered throughout theterrible interview, he well-nigh forgot every suffering as he felt thepressure of the royal fingers. In an instant he had told himself that ithad all been but a play, necessary to deceive Perez, and to clear theKing from suspicion before the world, and that in this sense theunbearable agony he had borne had served his sovereign. He forgot allfor a moment, and bending his iron-grey head, he kissed the thin andyellow hand fervently, and looked up to Philip's cold face and felt thatthere were tears of gratitude in his own eyes, of gratitude at beingallowed to leave the world he hated with the certainty that his deathwas to serve his sovereign idol. "I shall be faithful to your Majesty until the end, " he said simply, asthe King withdrew his fingers, and he rose to his feet. The King nodded slowly, and his stony look watched Mendoza with a sortof fixed curiosity. Even he had not known that such men lived. "Call the guards to the door, Perez, " he said coldly. "Tell the officerto take Don Diego Mendoza to the west tower for to-night, and to treathim with every consideration. " Perez obeyed. A detachment of halberdiers with an officer were stationedin the short, broad corridor that led to the room where Dolores waswaiting. Perez gave the lieutenant his orders. Mendoza walked backwards to the door from the King's presence, makingthree low bows as he went. At the door he turned, taking no notice ofthe Secretary, marched out with head erect, and gave himself up to thesoldiers. * * * * * CHAPTER XVII The halberdiers closed round their old chief, but did not press uponhim. Three went before him, three behind, and one walked on each side, and the lieutenant led the little detachment. The men were too muchaccustomed to seeing courtiers in the extremes of favour and disfavourto be much surprised at the arrest of Mendoza, and they felt no greatsympathy for him. He had always been too rigidly exacting for theirtaste, and they longed for a younger commander who should devote moretime to his own pleasure and less to inspecting uniforms and findingfault with details. Yet Mendoza had been a very just man, and hepossessed the eminently military bearing and temper which always imposethemselves on soldiers. At the present moment, too, they were moreinclined to pity him than to treat him roughly, for if they did notguess what had really taken place, they were quite sure that Don John ofAustria had been murdered by the King's orders, like Don Carlos andQueen Isabel and a fair number of other unfortunate persons; and if theKing had chosen Mendoza to do the deed, the soldiers thought that he wasprobably not meant to suffer for it in the end, and that before long hewould be restored to his command. It would, therefore, be the better forthem, later, if they showed him a certain deference in his misfortune. Besides, they had heard Antonio Perez tell their officer that Mendozawas to be treated with every consideration. They marched in time, with heavy tread and the swinging gait to rightand left that is natural to a soldier who carries for a weapon a longhalberd with a very heavy head. Mendoza was as tall as any of them, andkept their step, holding his head high. He was bareheaded, but wasotherwise still in the complete uniform he wore when on duty on stateoccasions. The corridor, which seemed short on account of its breadth and incomparison with the great size of the halls in the palace, was somethirty paces long and lighted by a number of chandeliers that hung fromthe painted vault. The party reached the door of the waiting room andhalted a moment, while one of the King's footmen opened the doors wide. Don Ruy Gomez and Dolores were waiting within. The servant passedrapidly through to open the doors beyond. Ruy Gomez stood up and drewhis chair aside, somewhat surprised at the entrance of the soldiers, whorarely passed that way. Dolores opened her eyes at the sound ofmarching, but in the uncertain light of the candles she did not at firstsee Mendoza, half hidden as he was by the men who guarded him. She paidlittle attention, for she was accustomed to seeing such detachments ofhalberdiers marching through the corridors when the sentries wererelieved, and as she had never been in the King's apartments she was notsurprised by the sudden appearance of the soldiers, as her companionwas. But as the latter made way for them he lifted his hat, which as aGrandee he wore even in the King's presence, and he bent his headcourteously as Mendoza went by. He hoped that Dolores would not see herfather, but his own recognition of the prisoner had attracted herattention. She sprang to her feet with a cry. Mendoza turned his headand saw her before she could reach him, for she was moving forward. Hestood still, and the soldiers halted instinctively and parted beforeher, for they all knew their commander's daughter. "Father!" she cried, and she tried to take his hand. But he pushed her away and turned his face resolutely towards the doorbefore him. "Close up! Forward--march!" he said, in his harsh tone of command. The men obeyed, gently forcing Dolores aside. They made two stepsforward, but Ruy Gomez stopped them by a gesture, standing in their wayand raising one hand, while he laid the other on the young lieutenant'sshoulder. Ruy Gomez was one of the greatest personages in Spain; he wasthe majorduomo of the palace, and had almost unlimited authority. Butthe officer had his orders directly from the King and felt bound tocarry them out to the letter. "His Majesty has directed me to convey Don Diego de Mendoza to the westtower without delay, " he said. "I beg your Excellency to let usproceed. " Ruy Gomez still held him by the shoulder with a gentle pressure. "That I will not, " he said firmly; "and if you are blamed for being slowin the execution of your duty, say that Ruy Gomez de Silva hindered you, and fear nothing. It is not right that father and daughter should partas these two are parting. " "I have nothing to say to my daughter, " said Mendoza harshly; but thewords seemed to hurt him. "Don Diego, " answered Ruy Gomez, "the deed of which you have accusedyourself is as much worse than anything your child has done as hatred isworse than love. By the right of mere humanity I take upon myself to saythat you shall be left here a while with your daughter, that you maytake leave of one another. " He turned to the officer. "Withdraw yourmen, sir, " he said. "Wait at the door. You have my word for the securityof your prisoner, and my authority for what you do. I will call you whenit is time. " He spoke in a tone that admitted of no refusal, and he was obeyed. Theofficers and the men filed out, and Ruy Gomez closed the door afterthem. He himself recrossed the room and went out by the other way intothe broad corridor. He meant to wait there. His orders had been carriedout so quickly that Mendoza found himself alone with Dolores, almost asby a surprise. In his desperate mood he resented what Ruy Gomez haddone, as an interference in his family affairs, and he bent his bushybrows together as he stood facing Dolores, with folded arms. Four hourshad not passed since they had last spoken together alone in his owndwelling; there was a lifetime of tragedy between that moment and this. Dolores had not spoken since he had pushed her away. She stood beside achair, resting one hand upon it, dead white, with the dark shadow ofpain under her eyes, her lips almost colourless, but firm, and evenlyclosed. There were lines of suffering in her young face that looked asif they never could be effaced. It seemed to her that the worst conflictof all was raging in her heart as she watched her father's face, waitingfor the sound of his voice; and as for him, he would rather have goneback to the King's presence to be tormented under the eyes of AntonioPerez than stand there, forced to see her and speak to her. In his eyes, in the light of what he had been told, she was a ruined and shamelesswoman, who had deceived him day in, day out, for more than two years. And to her, so far as she could understand, he was the condemnedmurderer of the man she had so innocently and truly loved. But yet, shehad a doubt, and for that possibility, she had cast her good name to thewinds in the hope of saving his life. At one moment, in a vision ofdread, she saw his armed hand striking at her lover--at the next shefelt that he could never have struck the blow, and that there was anunsolved mystery behind it all. Never were two innocent human beings soutterly deceived, each about the other. "Father, " she said, at last, in a trembling tone, "can you not speak tome, if I can find heart to hear you?" "What can we two say to each other?" he asked sternly. "Why did you stopme? I am ready to die for killing the man who ruined you. I am glad. Whyshould I say anything to you, and what words can you have for me? I hopeyour end may come quickly, with such peace as you can find from yourshame at the last. That is what I wish for you, and it is a good wish, for you have made death on the scaffold look easy to me, so that I longfor it. Do you understand?" "Condemned to death!" she cried out, almost incoherently, before he hadfinished speaking. "But they cannot condemn you--I have told them that Iwas there--that it was not you--they must believe me--O God of mercy!" "They believe you--yes. They believe that I found you together andkilled him. I shall be tried by judges, but I am condemned beforehand, and I must die. " He spoke calmly enough. "Your mad confession before thecourt only made my conviction more certain, " he said. "It gave thereason for the deed--and it burned away the last doubt I had. If theyare slow in trying me, you will have been before the executioner, for hewill find me dead--by your hand. You might have spared me that--andspared yourself. You still had the remnant of a good name, and yourlover being dead, you might have worn the rag of your honour still. Youhave chosen to throw it away, and let me know my full disgrace before Idie a disgraceful death. And yet you wish to speak to me. Do you expectmy blessing?" Dolores had lost the power of speech. Passing her hand now and thenacross her forehead, as though trying to brush away a material veil, shestood half paralyzed, staring wildly at him while he spoke. But when shesaw him turn away from her towards the door, as if he would go out andleave her there, her strength was loosed from the spell, and she sprangbefore him and caught his wrists with her hands. "I am as innocent as when my mother bore me, " she said, and her lowvoice rang with the truth. "I told the lie to save your life. Do youbelieve me now?" He gazed at her with haggard eyes for many moments before he spoke. "How can it be true?" he asked, but his voice shook in his throat. "Youwere there--I saw you leave his room--" "No, that you never saw!" she cried, well knowing how impossible it was, since she had been locked in till after he had gone away. "I saw your dress--not this one--what you wore this afternoon. " "Not this one? I put on this court dress before I got out of the room inwhich you had locked me up. Inez helped me--I pretended that I was she, and wore her cloak, and slipped away, and I have not been back again. You did not see me. " Mendoza passed his hand over his eyes and drew back from her. If whatshe said were true, the strongest link was gone from the chain of factsby which he had argued so much sorrow and shame. Forgetting himself andhis own near fate, he looked at the court dress she wore, and a mereglance convinced him that it was not the one he had seen. "But--" he was suddenly confused--"but why did you need to disguiseyourself? I left the Princess of Eboli with you, and I gave herpermission to take you away to stay with her. You needed no disguise. " "I never saw her. She must have found Inez in the room. I was gone longbefore that. " "Gone--where?" Mendoza was fast losing the thread of it all--in hisconfusion of ideas he grasped the clue of his chief sorrow, which wasfar beyond any thought for himself. "But if you are innocent--pray Godyou may be, as you say--how is it possible--oh, no! I cannot believeit--I cannot! No woman could do that--no innocent girl could stand outbefore a multitude of men and women, and say what you said--" "I hoped to save your life. I had the strength. I did it. " Her clear grey eyes looked into his, and his doubt began to break awaybefore the truth. "Make me believe it!" he cried, his voice breaking. "Oh, God! Make mebelieve it before I die!" "It is true, " she cried, in a low, strong voice that carried belief tohis breast in spite of such reasoning as still had some power over him. "It is true, and you shall believe it; and if you will not, the man youhave killed, the man I loved and trusted, the dead man who knows thewhole truth as I know it, will come back from the dead to prove ittrue--for I swear it upon his soul in heaven, and upon yours and minethat will not be long on earth--as I will swear it in the hour of yourdeath and mine, since we must die!" He could not take his eyes from hers that held him, and suddenly in thepure depths he seemed to see her soul facing him without fear, and heknew that what she said was true, and his tortured heart leapt up at thegood certainty. "I believe you, my child, " he said at last, and then his grey lids halfclosed over his eyes and he bent down to her, and put his arm round her. But she shuddered at the touch of his right hand, and though she knewthat he was a condemned man, and that she might never see him again, shecould not bear to receive his parting kiss upon her forehead. "Oh, father, why did you kill him?" she asked, turning her head away andmoving to escape from his hold. But Mendoza did not answer. His arm dropped by his side, and his facegrew white and stony. She was asking him to give up the King's secret, to keep which he was giving his life. He felt that it would be treasonto tell even her. And besides, she would not keep the secret--what womancould, what daughter would? It must go out of the world with him, if itwas to be safe. He glanced at her and saw her face ravaged by an hour'sgrief. Yet she would not mourn Don John the less if she knew whose handhad done the deed. It could make but a little difference to her, thoughto himself that difference would be great, if she knew that he diedinnocent. And then began a struggle fierce and grim, that tore his soul andwounded his heart as no death agony could have hurt him. Since he hadjudged her unjustly, since it had all been a hideous dream, since shewas still the child that had been all in all to him throughout her life, since all was changed, he did not wish to die, he bore the dead man nohatred, it was no soothing satisfaction to his outraged heart to knowhim dead of a sword wound in the breast, far away in the room where theyhad left him, there was no fierce regret that he had not driven thethrust himself. The man was as innocent as the innocent girl, and hehimself, as innocent as both, was to be led out to die to shield theKing--no more. His life was to be taken for that only, and he no longerset its value at naught nor wished it over. He was the mere scapegoat, to suffer for his master's crime, since crime it was and nothing better. And since he was willing to bear the punishment, or since there was nowno escape from it, had he not at least the human right to proclaim hisinnocence to the only being he really loved? It would be monstrous todeny it. What could she do, after all, even if she knew the truth?Nothing. No one would dare to believe her if she accused the King. Shewould be shut up in a convent as a mad woman, but in any case, she wouldcertainly disappear to end her life in some religious house as soon ashe was dead. Poor girl--she had loved Don John with all her heart--whatcould the world hold for her, even if the disgrace of her father's deathwere not to shut her out of the world altogether, as it inevitably must. She would not live long, but she would live in the profoundest sorrow. It would be an alleviation, almost the greatest possible, to know thather father's hand was not stained by such a deed. The temptation to speak out was overwhelming, and he knew that the timewas short. At any moment Ruy Gomez might open the door, and bid him partfrom her, and there would be small chance for him of seeing her again. He stood uncertain, with bent head and folded arms, and she watched him, trying to bring herself to touch his hand again and bear his kiss. His loyalty to the King, that was like a sort of madness, stood betweenhim and the words he longed to say. It was the habit of his longsoldier's life, unbending as the corslet he wore and enclosing his soulas the steel encased his body, proof against every cruelty, everyunkindness, every insult. It was better to die a traitor's death for theKing's secret than to live for his own honour. So it had always seemedto him, since he had been a boy and had learned to fight under the greatEmperor. But now he knew that he wavered as he had never done in themost desperate charge, when life was but a missile to be flung in theenemy's face, and found or not, when the fray was over. There was nointoxication of fury now, there was no far ring of glory in the air, there was no victory to be won. The hard and hideous fact stared him inthe face, that he was to die like a malefactor by the hangman's hand, and that the sovereign who had graciously deigned to accept thesacrifice had tortured him for nearly half an hour without mercy in thepresence of an inferior, in order to get a few facts on paper whichmight help his own royal credit. And as if that were not enough, his owndaughter was to live after him, believing that he had cruelly murderedthe man she most dearly loved. It was more than humanity could bear. His brow unbent, his arms unfolded themselves, and he held them out toDolores with a smile almost gentle. "There is no blood on these hands, my little girl, " he said tenderly. "Idid not do it, child. Let me hold you in my arms once, and kiss youbefore I go. We are both innocent--we can bless one another before wepart for ever. " The pure, grey eyes opened wide in amazement. Dolores could hardlybelieve her ears, as she made a step towards him, and then stopped, shrinking, and then made one step more. Her lips moved and wonderingwords came to him, so low that he could hardly understand, save that shequestioned him. "You did not do it!" she breathed. "You did not kill him after all? Butthen--who--why?" Still she hesitated, though she came slowly nearer, and a faint lightwarmed her sorrowful face. "You must try to guess who and why, " he said, in a tone as low as herown. "I must not tell you that. " "I cannot guess, " she answered; but she was close to him now, and shehad taken one of his hands softly in both her own, while she gazed intohis eyes. "How can I understand unless you tell me? Is it so great asecret that you must die for it, and never tell it? Oh, father, father!Are you sure--quite sure?" "He was dead already when I came into the room, " Mendoza answered. "Idid not even see him hurt. " "But then--yes--then"--her voice sank to a whisper--"then it was theKing!" He saw the words on her lips rather than heard them, and she saw in hisface that she was right. She dropped his hand and threw her arms roundhis neck, pressing her bosom to his breastplate; and suddenly her lovefor him awoke, and she began to know how she might have loved him if shehad known him through all the years that were gone. "It cannot be that he will let you die!" she cried softly. "You shallnot die!" she cried again, with sudden strength, and her light frameshook his as if she would wrench him back from inevitable fate. "My little girl, " he answered, most tenderly clasping her to him, andmost thoughtfully, lest his armour should hurt her, "I can die happynow, for I have found all of you again. " "You shall not die! You shall not die!" she cried. "I will not let yougo--they must take me, too--" "No power can save me now, my darling, " he answered. "But it does notmatter, since you know. It will be easy now. " She could only hold him with her small hands, and say over and overagain that she would not let him go. "Ah! why have you never loved me before in all these years?" he cried. "It was my fault--all my fault. " "I love you now with all my heart, " she answered, "and I will save you, even from the King; and you and I and Inez will go far away, and you twoshall comfort me and love me till I go to him. " Mendoza shook his head sadly, looking over her shoulder as he held her, for he knew that there was no hope now. Had he known, or half guessed, but an hour or two ago, he would have turned on his heel from the doorof Don John's chamber, and he would have left the King to bear the blameor shift it as he could. "It is too late, Dolores. God bless you, my dear, dear child! It willsoon be over--two days at most, for the people will cry out for theblood of Don John's murderer; and when they see mine they will besatisfied. It is too late now. Good-by, my little girl, good-by! Theblessing of all heaven be on your dear head!" Dolores nestled against him, as she had never done before, with thefeeling that she had found something that had been wanting in her life, at the very moment when the world, with all it held for her, wasslipping over the edge of eternity. "I will not leave you, " she cried again. "They shall take me to yourprison, and I will stay with you and take care of you, and never leaveyou; and at last I shall save your life, and then--" The door of the corridor opened, and she saw Ruy Gomez standing in theentrance, as if he were waiting. His face was calm and grave as usual, but she saw a profound pity in his eyes. "No, no!" she cried to him, "not yet--one moment more!" But Mendoza turned his head at her words, looking over his shoulder, andhe saw the Prince also. "I am ready, " he said briefly, and he tried to take Dolores' hands fromhis neck. "It is time, " he said to her. "Be brave, my darling! We havefound each other at last. It will not be long before we are together forever. " He kissed her tenderly once more, and loosed her hold, putting her twohands together and kissing them also. "I will not say good-by, " she said. "It is not good-by--it shall not be. I shall be with you soon. " His eyes lingered upon hers for a moment, and then he broke away, setting his teeth lest he should choke and break down. He opened thedoor and presented himself to the halberdiers. Dolores heard hisfamiliar voice give the words of command. "Close up! Forward, march!" The heavy tramp she knew so well began at once, and echoed along theouter entries, growing slowly less distinct till it was only a distantand rumbling echo, and then died away altogether. Her hand was still onthe open door, and Ruy Gomez was standing beside her. He gently drew heraway, and closed the door again. She let him lead her to a chair, andsat down where she had sat before. But this time she did not lean backexhausted, with half-closed eyes, --she rested her elbow on her knee andher chin in her hand, and she tried to think connectedly to aconclusion. She remembered all the details of the past hours one by one, and she felt that the determination to save her father had given herstrength to live. "Don Ruy Gomez, " she said at last, looking up to the tall old nobleman, who stood by the brazier warming his hands again, "can I see the Kingalone?" "That is more than I can promise, " answered the Prince. "I have asked anaudience for you, and the chamberlain will bring word presently whetherhis Majesty is willing to see you. But if you are admitted, I cannottell whether Perez will be there or not. He generally is. His presenceneed make no difference to you. He is an excellent young man, full ofheart. I have great confidence in him, --so much so that I recommendedhim to his Majesty as Secretary. I am sure that he will do all he can tobe of use to you. " Dolores looked up incredulously, and with a certain wonder at thePrince's extreme simplicity. Yet he had been married ten years to theclever woman who ruled him and Perez and King Philip, and made each onebelieve that she was devoted to him only, body and soul. Of the three, Perez alone may have guessed the truth, but though it was degradingenough, he would not let it stand in the way of his advancement; and inthe end it was he who escaped, leaving her to perish, the victim of theKing's implacable anger, Dolores could not help shaking her head inanswer to the Prince of Eboli's speech. "People are very unjust to Perez, " he said. "But the King trusts him. Ifhe is there, try to conciliate him, for he has much influence with hisMajesty. " Dolores said nothing, and resuming her attitude, returned to her sadmeditations, and to the study of some immediate plan. But she couldthink of no way. Her only fixed intention was to see the King himself. Ruy Gomez could do no more to help her than he had done already, andthat indeed was not little, since it was to his kindly impulse that sheowed her meeting with her father. "And if Perez is not inclined to help Don Diego, " said the Prince, aftera long pause which had not interrupted the slow progression of, hiskindly thought, "I will request my wife to speak to him. I have oftennoticed that the Princess can make Perez do almost anything she wishes. Women are far cleverer than men, my dear--they have ways we do notunderstand. Yes, I will interest my wife in the affair. It would be asad thing if your father--" The old man stopped short, and Dolores wondered vaguely what he had beengoing to say. Ruy Gomez was a very strange compound of almost childlikeand most honourable simplicity, and of the experienced wisdom withregard to the truth of matters in which he was not concerned, whichsometimes belongs to very honourable and simple men. "You do not believe that my father is guilty, " said Dolores, boldlyasserting what she suspected. "My dear child, " answered Ruy Gomez, twisting his rings on his fingersas he spread his hands above the coals in the brazier, "I have lived inthis court for fifty years, and I have learned in that time that wheregreat matters are at stake those who do not know the whole truth areoften greatly deceived by appearances. I know nothing of the real matternow, but it would not surprise me if a great change took place beforeto-morrow night. A man who has committed a crime so horrible as the oneyour father confessed before us all rarely finds it expedient to makesuch a confession, and a young girl, my dear, who has really been alittle too imprudently in love with a royal Prince, would be a greatdeal too wise to make a dramatic statement of her fault to the assembledGrandees of Spain. " He looked across at Dolores and smiled gently. But she only shook herhead gravely in answer, though she wondered at what he said, andwondered, too, whether there might not be a great many persons in thecourt who thought as he did. She was silent, too, because it hurt her totalk when she could not draw breath without remembering that what shehad lived for was lying dead in that dim room on the upper story. The door opened, and a chamberlain entered the room. "His Majesty is pleased to receive Doņa Dolores de Mendoza, in privateaudience, " he said. Ruy Gomez rose and led Dolores out into the corridor. * * * * * CHAPTER XVIII Dolores had prepared no speech with which to appeal to the King, and shehad not counted upon her own feelings towards him when she found herselfin the room where Mendoza had been questioned, and heard the door closedbehind her by the chamberlain who had announced her coming. She stoodstill a moment, dazzled by the brilliant lights after having been solong in the dimmer waiting room. She had never before been in the King'sstudy, and she had fancied it very different from what it really waswhen she had tried to picture to herself the coming interview. She hadsupposed the room small, sombre, littered with books and papers, andcold; it was, on the contrary, so spacious as to be almost a hall, itwas brightly illuminated and warmed by the big wood fire. Magnificenttapestries covered the walls with glowing colour, and upon one of these, in barbaric bad taste, was hung a single great picture by Titian, Philip's favourite master. Dolores blushed as she recognized in the faceof the insolent Venus the features of the Princess of Eboli. Prom hisaccustomed chair, the King could see this painting. Everywhere in theroom there were rich objects that caught and reflected the light, thingsof gold and silver, of jade and lapis lazuli, in a sort of tastelessprofusion that detracted from the beauty of each, and made Dolores feelthat she had been suddenly transported out of her own element intoanother that was hard to breathe and in which it was bad to live. Itoppressed her, and though her courage was undiminished, the air of theplace seemed to stifle her thought and speech. As she entered she saw the King in profile, seated in his great chair atsome distance from the fire, but looking at it steadily. He did notnotice her presence at first. Antonio Perez sat at the table, busilywriting, and he only glanced at Dolores sideways when he heard the doorclose after her. She sank almost to the ground as she made the firstcourt curtsey before advancing, and she came forward into the light. Asher skirt swept the ground a second time, Philip looked slowly round, and his dull stare followed her as she came round in a quarter of a widecircle and curtsied a third time immediately in front of him. She was very beautiful, as she stood waiting for him to speak, andmeeting his gaze fearlessly with a look of cold contempt in her whiteface such as no living person had ever dared to turn to him, while thelight of anger burned in her deep grey eyes. But for the presence of theSecretary, she would have spoken first, regardless of court ceremony. Philip looked at her attentively, mentally comparing her with his youngQueen's placidly dull personality and with the Princess of Eboli's fastdisappearing and somewhat coarse beauty. For the Princess had changedmuch since Titian had painted his very flattering picture, and thoughshe was only thirty years of age, she was already the mother of manychildren. Philip stared steadily at the beautiful girl who stood waitingbefore him, and he wondered why she had never seemed so lovely to himbefore. There was a half morbid, half bitter savour in what he felt, too, --he had just condemned the beauty's father to death, and she musttherefore hate him with all her heart. It pleased him to think of that;she was beautiful and he stared at her long. "Be seated, Doņa Dolores, " he said at last, in a muffled voice that wasnot harsh. "I am glad that you have come, for I have much to say toyou. " Without lifting his wrist from the arm of the chair on which it rested, the King moved his hand, and his long forefinger pointed to a lowcushioned stool that was placed near him. Dolores came forwardunwillingly and sat down. Perez watched the two thoughtfully, and forgothis writing. He did not remember that any one excepting the Princess ofEboli had been allowed to be seated in the King's study. The Queen nevercame there. Perez' work exempted him in private, of course, from much ofthe tedious ceremonial upon which Philip insisted. Dolores sat upon theedge of the stool, very erect, with her hands folded on her knees. "Doņa Dolores is pale, " observed the King. "Bring a cordial, Perez, or aglass of Oporto wine. " "I thank your Majesty, " said the young girl quickly. "I need nothing. " "I will be your physician, " answered Philip, very suavely. "I shallinsist upon your taking the medicine I prescribe. " He did not turn his eyes from her as Perez brought a gold salver andoffered Dolores the glass. It was impossible to refuse, so she lifted itto her lips and sipped a little. "I thank your Majesty, " she said again. "I thank you, sir, " she saidgravely to Perez as she set down the glass, but she did not raise hereyes to his face as she spoke any more than she would have done if hehad been a footman. "I have much to say to you, and some questions to ask of you, " the Kingbegan, speaking very slowly, but with extreme suavity. He paused, and coughed a little, but Dolores said nothing. Then he beganto look at her again, and while he spoke he steadily examined everydetail of her appearance till his inscrutable gaze had travelled fromher headdress to the points of her velvet slippers, and finally remainedfixed upon her mouth in a way that disturbed her even more than thespeech he made. Perez had resumed his seat. "In my life, " he began, speaking of himself quite without formality, "Ihave suffered more than most men, in being bereaved of the persons towhom I have been most sincerely attached. The most fortunate andsuccessful sovereign in the world has been and is the most unhappy manin his kingdom. One after another, those I have loved have been takenfrom me, until I am almost alone in the world that is so largely mine. Isuppose you cannot understand that, my dear, for my sorrows began beforeyou were born. But they have reached their crown and culmination to-dayin the death of my dear brother. " He paused, watching her mouth, and he saw that she was making asuperhuman effort to control herself, pressing the beautiful lipstogether, though they moved gainfully in spite of her, and visibly lostcolour. "Perez, " he said after a moment, "you may go and take some rest. I willsend for you when I need you. " The Secretary rose, bowed low, and left the room by a small masked doorin a corner. The King waited till he saw it close before he spoke again. His tone changed a little then and his words came quickly, as if he felthere constraint. "I feel, " he said, "that we are united by a common calamity, my dear. Iintend to take you under my most particular care and protection fromthis very hour. Yes, I know!" he held up his hand o deprecate anyinterruption, for Dolores seemed about to speak. "I know why you come tome, you wish to intercede for your father. That is natural, and you areright to come to me yourself, for I would rather hear your voice thanthat of another speaking for you, and I would rather grant any mercy inmy power to you directly than to some personage of the court who wouldbe seeking his own interest as much as yours. " "I ask justice, not mercy, Sire, " said Dolores, in a firm, low voice, and the fire lightened in her eyes. "Your father shall have both, " answered Philip, "for they arecompatible. " "He needs no mercy, " returned the young girl, "for he has done no harm. Your Majesty knows that as well as I. " "If I knew that, my dear, your father would not be under arrest. Icannot guess what you know or do not know--" "I know the truth. " She spoke so confidently that the King's expressionchanged a little. "I wish I did, " he answered, with as much suavity as ever. "But tell mewhat you think you know about this matter. You may help me to sift it, and then I shall be the better able to help you, if such a thing bepossible. What do you know?" Dolores leaned forward toward him from her seat, almost rising as shelowered her voice to a whisper, her eyes fixed on his face. "I was close behind the door your Majesty wished to open, " she said. "Iheard every word; I heard your sword drawn and I heard Don Johnfall--and then it was some time before I heard my father's voice, takingthe blame upon himself, lest it should be said that the King hadmurdered his own brother in his room, unarmed. Is that the truth, ornot?" While she was speaking, a greenish hue overspread Philip's face, ghastlyin the candlelight. He sat upright in his chair, his hands straining onits arms and pushing, as if he would have got farther back if he could. He had foreseen everything except that Dolores had been in the nextroom, for his secret spies had informed him through Perez that herfather had kept her a prisoner during the early part of the evening anduntil after supper. "When you were both gone, " Dolores continued, holding him under herterrible eyes, "I came in, and I found him dead, with the wound in hisleft breast, and he was unarmed, murdered without a chance for his life. There is blood upon my dress where it touched his--the blood of the manI loved, shed by you. Ah, he was right to call you coward, and he diedfor me, because you said things of me that no loving man would bear. Hewas right to call you coward--it was well said--it was the last word hespoke, and I shall not forget it. He had borne everything you heapedupon himself, your insults, your scorn of his mother, but he would notlet you cast a slur upon my name, and if you had not killed him out ofsheer cowardice, he would have struck you in the face. He was a man! Andthen my father took the blame to save you from the monstrous accusation, and that all might believe him guilty he told the lie that saved youbefore them all. Do I know the truth? Is one word of that not true?" She had quite risen now and stood before him like an accusing angel. Andhe, who was seldom taken unawares, and was very hard to hurt, leanedback and suffered, slowly turning his head from side to side against theback of the high carved chair. "Confess that it is true!" she cried, in concentrated tones. "Can younot even find courage for that? You are not the King now, you are yourbrother's murderer, and the murderer of the man I loved, whose wife Ishould have been to-morrow. Look at me, and confess that I have told thetruth. I am a Spanish woman, and I would not see my country brandedbefore the world with the shame of your royal murders, and if you willconfess and save my father, I will keep your secret for my country'ssake. But if not--then you must either kill me here, as you slew him, orby the God that made you and the mother that bore you, I will tell allSpain what you are, and the men who loved Don John of Austria shall riseand take your blood for his blood, though it be blood royal, and youshall die, as you killed, like the coward you are!" The King's eyes were closed, and still his great pale head moved slowlyfrom side to side; for he was suffering, and the torture of mind he hadmade Mendoza bear was avenged already. But he was silent. "Will you not speak?" asked the young girl, with blazing eyes. "Thenfind some weapon and kill me here before I go, for I shall not wait tillyou find many words. " She was silent, and she stood upright in the act to go. He made nosound, and she moved towards the door, stood still, then moved again andthen again, pausing for his answer at each step. He heard her, but couldnot bring himself to speak the words she demanded of him. She began towalk quickly. Her hand was almost on the door when he raised himself bythe arms of his chair, and cried out to her in a frightened voice:-- "No, no! Stay here--you must not go--what do you want me to say?" She advanced a step again, and once more stood still and met his scaredeyes as he turned his face towards her. "Say, 'You have spoken the truth, '" she answered, dictating to him as ifshe were the sovereign and he a guilty subject. She waited a moment and then moved as if she would go out. "Stay--yes--it is true--I did it--for God's mercy do not betray me!" He almost screamed the words out to her, half rising, his body bent, hisface livid in his extreme fear. She came slowly back towards him, keeping her eyes upon him as if he were some dangerous wild animal thatshe controlled by her look alone. "That is not all, " she said. "That was for me, that I might hear thewords from your own lips. There is something more. " "What more do you want of me?" asked Philip, in thick tones, leaningback exhausted in his chair. "My father's freedom and safety, " answered Dolores. "I must have anorder for his instant release. He can hardly have reached his prisonyet. Send for him. Let him come here at once, as a free man. " "That is impossible, " replied Philip. "He has confessed the deed beforethe whole court--he cannot possibly be set at liberty without a trial. You forget what you are asking--indeed you forget yourself altogethertoo much. " He was gathering his dignity again, by force of habit, as his terrorsubsided, but Dolores was too strong for him. "I am not asking anything of your Majesty; I am dictating terms to mylover's murderer, " she said proudly. "This is past bearing, girl!" cried Philip hoarsely. "You are out ofyour mind--I shall call servants to take you away to a place of safety. We shall see what you will do then. You shall not impose your insolenceupon me any longer. " Dolores reflected that it was probably in his power to carry out thethreat, and to have her carried off by the private door through whichPerez had gone out. She saw in a flash how great her danger was, for shewas the only witness against him, and if he could put her out of the wayin a place of silence, he could send her father to trial and executionwithout risk to himself, as he had certainly intended to do. On theother hand, she had been able to terrify him to submission a few momentsearlier. In the instant working of her woman's mind, she recollected howhis fright had increased as she had approached the door by which she hadentered. His only chance of accomplishing her disappearance lay inhaving her taken away by some secret passage, where no open scandalcould be possible. Before she answered his last angry speech, she had almost reached themain entrance again. "Call whom you will, " she said contemptuously. "You cannot saveyourself. Don Ruy Gomez is on the other side of that door, and there arechamberlains and guards there, too. I shall have told them all the truthbefore your men can lay hands on me. If you will not write the order torelease my father, I shall go out at once. In ten minutes there will bea revolution in the palace, and to-morrow all Spain will be on fire toavenge your brother. Spain has not forgotten Don Carlos yet! There arethose alive who saw you give Queen Isabel the draught that killedher--with your own hand. Are you mad enough to think that no one knowsthose things, that your spies, who spy on others, do not spy on you, that you alone, of all mankind, can commit every crime with impunity?" "Take care, girl! Take care!" "Beware--Don Philip of Austria, King of Spain and half the world, lest agirl's voice be heard above yours, and a girl's hand loosen thefoundation of your throne, lest all mankind rise up to-morrow and takeyour life for the lives you have destroyed! Outside this door here, there are men who guess the truth already, who hate you as they hateSatan, and who loved your brother as every living being lovedhim--except you. One moment more--order my father to be set free, or Iwill open and speak. One moment! You will not? It is too late--you arelost!" Her hand went out to open, but Philip was already on his feet, and withquick, clumsy steps he reached the writing-table, seized the pen Perezhad thrown down, and began to scrawl words rapidly in his great angularhandwriting. He threw sand upon it to dry the ink, and then poured thegrains back into the silver sandbox, glanced at the paper and held itout to Dolores without a word. His other hand slipped along the table toa silver bell, used for calling his private attendants, but the girl sawthe movement and instinctively suspected his treachery. He meant her tocome to the table, when he would ring the bell and then catch her andhold her by main force till help came. Her faculties were furiouslyawake under the strain she bore, and outran his slow cunning. "If you ring that bell, I will open, " she said imperiously. "I must havethe paper here, where I am safe, and I must read it myself before Ishall be satisfied. " "You are a terrible woman, " said the King, but she did not like hissmile as he came towards her, holding out the document. She took it from his hand, keeping her eyes on his, for something toldher that he would try to seize her and draw her from the door while shewas reading it. For some seconds they faced each other in silence, andshe knew by his determined attitude that she was right, and that itwould not be safe to look down. She wondered why he did not catch her inhis arms as she stood, and then she realized that her free hand was onthe latch of the door, and that he knew it. She slowly turned thehandle, and drew the door to her, and she saw his face fall. She movedto one side so that she could have sprung out if he had tried violence, and then at last she allowed her eyes to glance at the paper. It was inorder and would be obeyed; she saw that, at a glance, for it said thatDon Diego de Mendoza was to be set at liberty instantly andunconditionally. "I humbly thank your Majesty, and take my leave, " she said, throwing thedoor wide open and curtseying low. A chamberlain who had seen the door move on its hinges stepped in toshut it, for it opened inward. The King beckoned him in, and closed it, but before it was quite shut, he heard Dolores' voice. "Don Ruy Gomez, " she was saying, "this is an order to set my father atliberty unconditionally and at once. I do not know to whom it should begiven. Will you take it for me and see to it?" "I will go to the west tower myself, " he said, beginning to walk withher. "Such good news is even better when a friend brings it. " "Thank you. Tell him from me that he is safe, for his Majesty has toldme that he knows the whole truth. Will you do that? You have been verykind to me to-night, Prince--let me thank you with all my heart now, forwe may not meet again. You will not see me at court after this, and Itrust my father will take us back to Valladolid and live with us. " "That would be wise, " answered Ruy Gomez. "As for any help I have givenyou, it has been little enough and freely given. I will not keep yourfather waiting for his liberty. Good-night, Doņa Dolores. " * * * * * CHAPTER XIX All that had happened from the time when Don John had fallen in his roomto the moment when Dolores left her sister on the terrace had occupiedlittle more than half an hour, during which the King had descended tothe hall, Mendoza had claimed the guilt of Don John's murder, and thetwo had gone out under the protection of the guards. As soon as Doloreswas out of hearing, Inez rose and crept along the terrace to Don John'sdoor. In the confusion that had ensued upon the announcement of hisdeath no one had thought of going to him; every one took it for grantedthat some one else had done what was necessary, and that his apartmentswere filled with physicians and servants. It was not the first time inhistory that a royal personage had thus been left alone an hour, eitherdead or dying, because no one was immediately responsible, and suchthings have happened since. Inez stole along the terrace and found the outer door open, as the dwarfhad left it when he had carried Dolores out in his arms. She rememberedthat the voices she had heard earlier had come from rooms on the left ofthe door, and she felt her way to the entrance of the bedchamber, andthen went in without hesitation. Bending very low, so that her handstouched the floor from time to time, she crept along, feeling for thebody she expected to find. Suddenly she started and stood upright in aninstant. She had heard a deep sigh in the room, not far off. She listened intently, but even her ears could detect no sound afterthat. She was a little frightened, not with any supernatural fear, forthe blind, who live in the dark for ever, are generally singularlyexempt from such terrors, but because she had thought herself alone withthe dead man, and did not wish to be discovered. "Who is here?" she asked quickly, but there was no answer out of thedead stillness. She stood quite still a few seconds and then crept forward again, bending down and feeling before her along the floor. A moment later herhand touched velvet, and she knew that she had found what she sought. With a low moan she fell upon her knees and felt for the cold hand thatlay stretched out upon the marble pavement beyond the thick carpet. Herhand followed the arm, reached the shoulder and then the face. Herfingers fluttered lightly upon the features, while her own heart almoststood still She felt no horror of death, though she had never been neara dead person before; and those who were fond of her had allowed her tofeel their features with her gentle hands, and she knew beauty throughher touch, by its shape. Though her heart was breaking, she had feltthat once, before it was too late, she must know the face she had longloved in dreams. Her longing satisfied, her grief broke out again, andshe let herself fall her length upon the floor beside Don John, one armacross his chest, her head resting against the motionless shoulder, herface almost hidden against the gathered velvet and silk of his doublet. Once or twice she sobbed convulsively, and then she lay quite still, trying with all her might to die there, on his arm, before any one cameto disturb her. It seemed very simple, just to stop living and stay withhim for ever. Again she heard a sound of deep-drawn breath--but it was close to hernow, and her own arm moved with it on his chest--the dead man had moved, he had sighed. She started up wildly, with a sharp cry, half ofparalyzing fear, and half of mad delight in a hope altogetherimpossible. Then, he drew his breath again, and it issued from his lipswith a low groan. He was not quite dead yet, he might speak to herstill, he could hear her voice, perhaps, before he really died. Shecould never have found courage to kiss him, even then she could haveblushed scarlet at the thought, but she bent down to his face, veryclose to it, till her cheek almost touched his as she spoke in a verytrembling, low voice. "Not yet--not yet--come back for one moment, only for one little moment!Oh, let it be God's miracle for me!" She hardly knew what she said, but the miracle was there, for she heardhis breath come again and again, and as she stared into her everlastingnight, strange flashes, like light, shot through her brain, her bosomtrembled, and her hands stiffened in the spasm of a delirious joy. "Come back!" she cried again. "Come back!" Her hands shook as they felthis body move. His voice came again, not in a word yet, but yet not in a groan of pain. His eyes, that had been half open and staring, closed with a look ofrest, and colour rose slowly in his cheeks. Then he felt her breath, andhis strength returned for an instant, his arms contracted and claspedher to him violently. "Dolores!" he cried, and in a moment his lips rained kisses on her face, while his eyes were still closed. Then he sank back again exhausted, and her arm kept his head fromstriking the marble floor. The girl's cheek flushed a deep red, as shetried to speak, and her words came broken and indistinct. "I am not Dolores, " she managed to say. "I am Inez--" But he did not hear, for he was swooning again, and the painful blushsank down again, as she realized that he was once more unconscious. Shewondered whether the room were dark or whether there were lights, orwhether he had not opened his eyes when he had kissed her. His head wasvery heavy on her arm. With her other hand she drew off the hood shewore and rolled it together, and lifting him a little she made a pillowof it so that he rested easily. He had not recognized her, and shebelieved he was dying, he had kissed her, and all eternity could nottake from her the memory of that moment. In the wild confusion of herthoughts she was almost content that he should die now, for she had feltwhat she had never dared to feel in sweetest dreams, and it had beentrue, and no one could steal it away now, nor should any one ever knowit, not even Dolores herself. The jealous thought was there, in thewhirlwind of her brain, with all the rest, sudden, fierce, and strong, as if Don John had been hers in life, and as if the sister she loved sodearly had tried to win him from her. He was hers in death, and shouldbe hers for ever, and no one should ever know. It did not matter that hehad taken her for another, his kisses were her own. Once only had aman's lips, not her father's, touched her cheek, and they had been thelips of the fairest, and best, and bravest man in the world, her idoland her earthly god. He might die now, and she would follow him, and inthe world beyond God would make it right somehow, and he, and she, andher sister would all be but one loving soul for ever and ever. There wasno reasoning in all that--it was but the flash of wild thoughts that allseemed certainties. But Don John of Austria was neither dead nor dying. His brother's swordhad pierced his doublet and run through the outer flesh beneath his leftarm, as he stood sideways with his right thrust forward. The wound was amere scratch, as soldiers count wounds, and though the young blood hadfollowed quickly, it had now ceased to flow. It was the fall that hadhurt him, not the stab. The carpet had slipped from under his feet, andhe had fallen backwards to his full length, as a man falls on ice, andhis head had struck the marble floor so violently that he had lain halfan hour almost in a swoon, like a dead man at first, with neither breathnor beating of the heart to give a sign of life, till after Dolores hadleft him; and then he had sighed back to consciousness by very slowdegrees, because no one was there to help him, to raise his head a fewinches from the floor, to dash a little cold water into his face. He stirred uneasily now, and moved his hands again, and his eyes openedwide. Inez felt the slight motion and heard his regular breathing, andan instinct told her that he was conscious, and not in a dream as he hadbeen when he had kissed her. "I am Inez, " she said, almost mechanically, and not knowing why she hadfeared that he should take her for her sister. "I found your Highnesshere--they all think that you are dead. " "Dead?" There was surprise in his voice, and his eyes looked at her andabout the room as he spoke, though he did not yet lift his head from thehood on which it lay. "Dead?" he repeated, dazed still. "No--I must havefallen. My head hurts me. " He uttered a sharp sound as he moved again, more of annoyance than ofsuffering, as strong men do who unexpectedly find themselves hurt orhelpless, or both. Then, as his eyes fell upon the open door of theinner room, he forgot his pain instantly and raised himself upon hishand with startled eyes. "Where is Dolores?" he cried, in utmost anxiety. "Where have they takenher? Did she get out by the window?" "She is safe, " answered Inez, hardly knowing what she said, for heturned pale instantly and had barely heard her answer, when he reeled ashe half sat and almost fell against her. She held him as well as she could, but the position was strained and shewas not very strong. Half mad now, between fear lest he should die inher arms and the instinctive belief that he was to live, she wished withall her heart that some one would come and help her, or send for aphysician. He might die for lack of some simple aid she did not know howto give him. But he had only been dizzy with the unconscious effort hehad made, and presently he rested on his own hand again. "Thank God Dolores is safe!" he said, in a weak voice. "Can you help meto get to a chair, my dear child? I must have been badly stunned. Iwonder how long I have been here. I remember--" He paused and passed one hand over his eyes. The first instinct ofstrong persons who have been unconscious is to think aloud, and to tryand recall every detail of the accident that left them unconscious. "I remember--the King was here--we talked and we quarrelled--oh!" The short exclamation ended his speech, as complete recollectionreturned, and he knew that the secret must be kept, for his brother'ssake. He laid one head on the slight girl's shoulder to steady himself, and with his other he helped himself to kneel on one knee. "I am very dizzy, " he said. "Try and help me to a chair, Inez. " She rose swiftly, holding his hand, and then putting one arm round himunder his own. He struggled to his feet and leaned his weight upon her, and breathed hard. The effort hurt him where the flesh was torn. "I am wounded, too, " he said quietly, as he glanced at the blood on hisvest. "But it is nothing serious, I think. " With the instinct of the soldier hurt in the chest, he brushed his lipswith the small lace ruffle of his sleeve, and looked at it, expecting tosee the bright red stains that might mean death. There was nothing. "It is only a scratch, " he said, with an accent of indifference. "Helpme to the chair, my dear. " "Where?" she asked. "I do not know the room. " "One forgets that you are blind, " he answered, with a smile, and leaningheavily upon her, he led her by his weight, till he could touch thechair in which he had sat reading Dolores' letter when the King hadentered an hour earlier. He sat down with a sigh of relief, and stretched first one leg and thenthe other, and leaned back with half-closed eyes. "Where is Dolores?" he asked at last. "Why did she go away?" "The jester took her away, I think, " answered Inez. "I found themtogether on the terrace. She was trying to come back to you, but heprevented her. They thought you were dead. " "That was wise of him. " He spoke faintly still, and when he opened hiseyes, the room swam with him. "And then?" "Then I told her what had happened at court; I had heard everything fromthe gallery. And Dolores went down alone. I could not understand whatshe was going to do, but she is trying to save our father. " "Your father!" Don John looked at her in surprise, forgetting his hurt, but it was as if some one had struck his head again, and he closed hiseyes. "What has happened?" he asked faintly. "Try and tell me. I do notunderstand. " "My father thought he had killed you, " answered Inez, in surprise. "Hecame into the great hall when the King was there, and he cried out in aloud voice that he had killed you, unarmed. " "Your father?" He forgot his suffering altogether now. "Your father wasnot even in the room when--when I fell! And did the King say nothing?Tell me quickly!" "There was a great uproar, and I ran away to find Dolores. I do not knowwhat happened afterwards. " Don John turned painfully in his chair and lifted his hand to the backof his head. But he said nothing at first, for he was beginning tounderstand, and he would not betray the secret of his accident even toInez. "I knew he could not have done it! I thought he was mad--he most havebeen! But I also thought your Highness was dead. " "Dear child!" Don John's voice was very kind. "You brought me to life. Your father was not here. It was some one else who hurt me. Do you thinkyou could find Dolores or send some one to tell her--to tell every onethat I am alive? Say that I had a bad fall and was stunned for a while. Never mind the scratch--it is nothing--do not speak of it. If you couldfind Adonis, he could go. " He groaned now, for the pain of speaking was almost intolerable. Inezput out her hand towards him. "Does it hurt very much?" she asked, with a sort of pathetic, childlikesympathy. "Yes, my head hurts, but I shall not faint. There is something to drinkby the bed, I think--on this side. If you could only find it. I cannotwalk there yet, I am so giddy. " "Some one is coming!" exclaimed Inez, instead of answering him. "I hearsome one on the terrace. Hark!" she listened with bent head. "It isAdonis. I know his step. There he is!" Almost as she spoke the last words the dwarf was in the doorway. Hestood still, transfixed with astonishment. "Mercy of heaven!" he exclaimed devoutly. "His Highness is alive afterall!" "Yes, " said Inez, in a glad tone. "The Prince was only stunned by thefall. Go and tell Dolores--go out and tell every one--bring every onehere to me!" "No!" cried Don John. "Try and bring Doņa Dolores alone, and let no oneelse know. The rest can wait. " "But your Highness needs a physician, " protested the dwarf, not yetrecovered from his astonishment. "Your Highness is wounded, and musttherefore be bled at once. I will call the Doctor Galdos--" "I tell you it is nothing, " interrupted Don John. "Do as I order you, and bring Doņa Dolores. Give me that drink there, first--from the littletable. In a quarter of an hour I shall be quite well again. I have beenas badly stunned before when my horse has fallen with me at a barrier. " The jester swung quickly to the table, in his awkward, bow-legged gait, and brought the beaker that stood there. Don John drank eagerly, for hislips were parched with pain. "Go!" he said imperatively. "And come back quickly. " "I will go, " said Adonis. "But I may not come back quickly, for Ibelieve that Doņa Dolores is with his Majesty at this moment, or withher father, unless the three are together. Since it has pleased yourHighness not to remain dead, it would have been much simpler not to dieat all, for your Highness's premature death has caused trouble whichyour Highness's premature resurrection may not quickly set right. " "The sooner you bring Doņa Dolores, the sooner the tremble will beover, " said Don John. "Go at once, and do your best. " Adonis rolled away, shaking his head and almost touching the floor withhis hands as he walked. "So the Last Trumpet is not merely another of those priests' tales!" hemuttered. "I shall meet Don Carlos on the terrace, and the Emperor inthe corridor, no doubt! They might give a man time to confess his sins. It was unnecessary that the end of the world should come so suddenly!" The last words of his jest were spoken to himself, for he was alreadyoutside when he uttered them, and he had no intention of wasting time inbearing the good news to Dolores. The difficulty was to find her. He hadbeen a witness of the scene in the hall from the balcony, and he guessedthat when she left the hall with Ruy Gomez she would go either to herfather or the King. It would not be an easy matter to see her, and itwas by no means beyond the bounds of possibility that he might bealtogether hindered from doing so, unless he at once announced to everyone he met the astounding fact that Don John was alive after all. He wasstrongly tempted to do that, without waiting, for it seemed by far themost sensible thing to do in the disturbed state of the court; but itwas his business to serve and amuse many masters, and his office, if nothis life, depended upon obeying each in turn and finding the right jestfor each. He placed the King highest, of course, among those he had toplease, and before he had gone far in the corridor he slackened his paceto give himself time to think over the situation. Either the King hadmeant to kill Don John himself, or he had ordered Mendoza to do so. Thatmuch was clear to any one who had known the secret of Don Carlos' death, and the dwarf had been one of the last who had talked with theunfortunate Prince before that dark tragedy. And on this present nighthe had seen everything, and knew more of the thoughts of each of theactors in the drama than any one else, so that he had no doubt as to hisconclusions. If, then, the King had wished to get rid of Don John, hewould be very much displeased to learn that the latter was alive afterall. It would not be good to be the bearer of that news, and it was morethan likely that Philip would let Mendoza go to the scaffold for theattempt, as he long afterwards condemned Antonio Perez to death for themurder of Escobedo, Don John's secretary, though he himself had orderedPerez to do that deed; as he had already allowed the ecclesiastic DoctorCazalla to be burned alive, though innocent, rather than displease thejudges who had condemned him. The dwarf well knew that there was nocrime, however monstrous, of which Philip was not capable, and of therighteous necessity of which he could not persuade himself if he chose. Nothing could possibly be more dangerous than to stand between him andthe perpetration of any evil he considered politically necessary, exceptperhaps to hinder him in the pursuit of his gloomy and secret pleasures. Adonis decided at once that he would not be the means of enlighteningthe King on the present occasion. He most go to some one else. Thesecond person in command of his life, and whom he dreaded most afterPhilip himself, was the Princess of Eboli. He knew her secret, too, as he had formerly known how she had forged theletters that brought about the deaths of Don Carlos and of Queen Isabel;for the Princess ruled him by fear, and knew that she could trust him aslong as he stood in terror of her. He knew, therefore, that she had notonly forgiven Don John for not yielding to her charm in former days, butthat she now hoped that he might ascend the throne in Philip's stead, byfair means or foul, and that the news of his death must have been adestructive blow to her hopes. He made up his mind to tell her firstthat he was alive, unless he could get speech with Dolores alone, whichseemed improbable. Having decided this, he hastened his walk again. Before he reached the lower story of the palace he composed his face toan expression of solemnity, not to say mourning, for he remembered thatas no one knew the truth but himself, he must not go about with too gaya look. In the great vestibule of the hall he found a throng ofcourtiers, talking excitedly in low tones, but neither Dolores nor RuyGomez was there. He sidled up to a tall officer of the guards who wasstanding alone, looking on. "Could you inform me, sir, " he asked, "what became of Doņa Dolores deMendoza when she left the hall with the Prince of Eboli?" The officer looked down at the dwarf, with whom he had never spokenbefore, but who, in his way, was considered to be a personage ofimportance by the less exalted members of the royal household. Indeed, Adonis was by no means given to making acquaintance at haphazard withall those who wished to know him in the hope that he might say a goodword for them when the King was in a pleasant humour. "I do not know, Master Adonis, " answered the magnificent lieutenant, very politely. "But if you wish it, I will enquire. " "You are most kind and courteous, sir, " answered the dwarfceremoniously. "I have a message for the lady. " The officer turned away and went towards the King's apartments, leavingthe jester in the corner. Adonis knew that he might wait some timebefore his informant returned, and he shrank into the shadow to avoidattracting attention. That was easy enough, so long as the crowd wasmoving and did not diminish, but before long he heard some one speakingwithin the hall, as if addressing a number of persons at once, and theothers began to leave the vestibule in order to hear what was passing. Though the light did not fall upon him directly, the dwarf, in hisscarlet dress, became a conspicuous object. Yet he did not dare to goaway, for fear of missing the officer when the latter should return. Hisanxiety to escape observation was not without cause, since he reallywished to give Don John's message to Dolores before any one else knewthe truth. In a few moments he saw the Princess of Eboli coming towardshim, leaning on the arm of the Duke of Medina Sidonia. She came from thehall as if she had been listening to the person who was still speakingnear the door, and her handsome face wore a look of profound dejectionand disappointment. She had evidently seen the dwarf, for she walkeddirectly towards him, and at half a dozen paces she stopped anddismissed her companion, who bowed low, kissed the tips of her fingers, and withdrew. Adonis drew down the corners of his mouth, bent his head still lower, and tried to look as unhappy as possible, in imitation of the Princess'sexpression. She stood still before him, and spoke briefly in imperioustones. "What is the meaning of all this?" she asked. "Tell me the truth atonce. It will be the better for you. " "Madam, " answered Adonis, with all the assurance he could muster, "Ithink your Excellency knows the truth much better than I. " The Princess bent her black brows and her eyes began to gleam angrily. Titian would not have recognized in her stern face the smiling featuresof his portrait of her--of the insolently beautiful Venus painted byorder of King Philip when the Princess was in the height of his favour. "My friend, " she said, in a mocking tone, "I know nothing, and you knoweverything. At the present moment your disappearance from the court willnot attract even the smallest attention compared with the things thatare happening. If you do not tell me what you know, you will not be hereto-morrow, and I will see that you are burned alive for a sorcerer nextweek. Do you understand? Now tell me who killed Don John of Austria, andwhy. Be quick, I have no time to lose. " Adonis made up his mind very suddenly that it would be better to disobeyDon John than the angry woman who was speaking to him. "Nobody killed him, " he answered bluntly. The Princess was naturally violent, especially with her inferiors, andwhen she was angry she easily lost all dignity. She seized the dwarf bythe arm and shook him. "No jesting!" she cried. "He did not kill himself--who did it?" "Nobody, " repeated Adonis doggedly, and quite without fear, for he knewhow glad she would be to know the truth. "His Highness is not dead atall--" "You little hound!" The Princess shook him furiously again andthreatened to strike him with her other hand. He only laughed. "Before heaven, Madam, " he said, "the Prince is alive and recovered, andis sitting in his chair. I have just been talking with him. Will you gowith me to his Highness's apartment? If he is not there, and safe, burnme for a heretic to-morrow. " The Princess's hands dropped by her sides in sheer amazement, for shesaw that the jester was in earnest. "He had a scratch in the scuffle, " he continued, "but it was the fallthat killed him, his resurrection followed soon afterwards--and I trustthat his ascension may be no further distant than your Excellencydesires. " He laughed at his blasphemous jest, and the Princess laughed too, alittle wildly, for she could hardly control her joy. "And who wounded him?" she asked suddenly. "You know everything, youmust know that also. " "Madam, " said the dwarf, fixing his eyes on hers, "we both know the nameof the person who wounded Don John, very well indeed, I regret that Ishould not be able to recall it at this moment. His Highness hasforgotten it too, I am sure. " The Princess's expression did not change, but she returned his gazesteadily during several seconds, and then nodded slowly to show that sheunderstood. Then she looked away and was silent for a moment. "I am sorry I was rough with you, Adonis, " she said at last, thoughtfully. "It was hard to believe you at first, and if the Princehad been dead, as we all believed, your jesting would have beenabominable. There, "--she unclasped a diamond brooch from herbodice--"take that, Adonis--you can turn it into money. " The Princess's financial troubles were notorious, and she hardly everpossessed any ready gold. "I shall keep it as the most precious of my possessions, " answered thedwarf readily. "No, " she said quickly. "Sell it. The King--I mean--some one may see itif you keep it. " "It shall be sold to-morrow, then, " replied the jester, bending his headto hide his smile, for he understood what she meant. "One thing more, " she said; "Don John did not send you down to tell thisnews to the court without warning. He meant that I should know it beforeany one else. You have told me--now go away and do not tell others. " Adonis hesitated a moment. He wished to do Don John's bidding if hecould, but he knew his danger, and that he should be forgiven if, tosave his own head, he did not execute the commission. The Princesswished an immediate answer, and she had no difficulty in guessing thetruth. "His Highness sent you to find Doņa Dolores, " she said. "Is that nottrue?" "It is true, " replied Adonis. "But, " he added, anticipating her wish outof fear, "it is not easy to find Doņa Dolores. " "It is impossible. Did you expect to find her by waiting in this corner!Adonis, it is safer for you to serve me than Don John, and in serving meyou will help his interests. You know that. Listen to me--Doņa Doloresmust believe him dead till to-morrow morning. She must on no accountfind out that he is alive. " At that moment the officer who had offered to get information for thedwarf returned. Seeing the latter in conversation with such a greatpersonage, he waited at a little distance. "If you have found out where Doņa Dolores de Mendoza is at this moment, my dear sir, " said Adonis, "pray tell the Princess of Eboli, who is veryanxious to know. " The officer bowed and came nearer. "Doņa Dolores de Mendoza is in his Majesty's inner apartment, " he said. * * * * * CHAPTER XX Dolores and Ruy Gomez had passed through the outer vestibule, and heleft her to pursue his way towards the western end of the Alcazar, whichwas at a considerable distance from the royal apartments. Dolores wentdown the corridor till she came to the niche and the picture beforewhich Don John had paused to read the Princess of Eboli's letter aftersupper. She stopped a moment, for she suddenly felt that her strengthwas exhausted and that she must rest or break down altogether. Sheleaned her weight against the elaborately carved railing that shut offthe niche like a shrine, and looked at the painting, which was one ofRaphael's smaller masterpieces, a Holy Family so smoothly and delicatelypainted that it jarred upon her at that moment as something untrue andout of all keeping with possibility. Though most perfectly drawn andcoloured, the spotlessly neat figures with their airs of complacentsatisfaction seemed horribly out of place in the world of suffering shewas condemned to dwell in, and she fancied, somewhat irreverently andresentfully, that they would look as much out of keeping with theirsurroundings in a heaven that must be won by the endurance of pain. Their complacent smiles seemed meant for her anguish, and she turnedfrom the picture in displeasure, and went on. She was going back to her sister on the terrace, and she was going tokneel once more beside the dear head of the man she had loved, and tosay one last prayer before his face was covered for ever. At the thoughtshe felt that she needed no rest again, for the vision drew her to thesorrowful presence of its reality, and she could not have stopped againif she had wished to. She must go straight on, on to the staircase, upthe long flight of steps, through the lonely corridors, and out at histto the moonlit terrace where Inez was waiting. She went forward in adream, without pausing. Since she had freed her father she had a rightto go back to her grief. But as she went along, lightly and quickly, itseemed beyond her own belief that she should have found strength forwhat she had done that night. For the strength of youth is elastic andfar beyond its own knowledge. Dolores had reached the last passage thatled out upon the terrace, when she heard hurrying footsteps behind her, and a woman in a cloak slipped beside her, walking very easily andsmoothly. It was the Princess of Eboli. She had left the dwarf, afterfrightening him into giving up his search for Dolores, and she washastening to Don John's rooms to make sure that the jester had notdeceived her or been himself deceived in some way she could notunderstand. Dolores had lost her cloak in the hall, and was bareheaded, in her courtdress. The Princess recognized her in the gloom and stopped her. "I have looked for you everywhere, " she said. "Why did you run away fromme before?" "It was my blind sister who was with you, " answered Dolores, who knewher voice at once and had understood from her father what had happened. "Where are you going now?" she asked, without giving the Princess timeto put a question. "I was looking for you. I wish you to come and stay with me to-night--" "I will stay with my father. I thank you for your kindness, but I wouldnot on any account leave him now. " "Your father is in prison--in the west tower--he has just been sentthere. How can you stay with him?" "You are well informed, " said Dolores quietly. "But your husband is justnow gone to release him. I gave Don Ruy Gomez the order which hisMajesty had himself placed in my hands, and the Prince was kind enoughto take it to the west tower himself. My father is unconditionallyfree. " The Princess looked fixedly at Dolores while the girl was speaking, butit was very dark in the corridor and the lamp was flickering to go outin the night breeze. The only explanation of Mendoza's release lay inthe fact that the King was already aware that Don John was alive and inno danger. In that case Dolores knew it, too. It was no great matter, though she had hoped to keep the girl out of the way of hearing the newsfor a day or two. Dolores' mournful face might have told her that shewas mistaken, if there had been more light; but it was far too dark tosee shades of colour or expression. "So your father is free!" she said. "Of course, that was to be expected, but I am glad that he has been set at liberty at once. " "I do not think it was exactly to be expected, " answered Dolores, insome surprise, and wondering whether there could have been any simplerway of getting what she had obtained by such extraordinary means. "He might have been kept under arrest until to-morrow morning, Isuppose, " said the Princess quietly. "But the King is of course anxiousto destroy the unpleasant impression produced by this absurd affair, assoon as possible. " "Absurd!" Dolores' anger rose and overflowed at the word. "Do you dareto use such a word to me to-night?" "My dear Dolores, why do you lose your temper about such a thing?" askedthe Princess, in a conciliatory tone. "Of course if it had all ended aswe expected it would, I never should use such a word--if Don John haddied--" "What do you mean?" Dolores held her by the wrist in an instant and themaddest excitement was in her voice. "What I mean? Why--" the Princess stopped short, realizing that Doloresmight not know the truth after all. "What did I say?" she asked, to gaintime. "Why do you hold my hand like that?" "You called the murder of Don John an absurd affair, and then you said, 'if Don John had died'--as if he were not lying there dead in his room, twenty paces from where you stand! Are you mad? Are you playing someheartless comedy with me? What does it all mean?" The Princess was very worldly wise, and she saw at a glance that shemust tell Dolores the truth. If she did not, the girl would soon learnit from some one else, but if she did, Dolores would always remember whohad told her the good news. "My dear, " she said very gently, "let my wrist go and let me take yourarm. We do not understand each other, or you would not be so angry withme. Something has happened of which you do not know--" "Oh, no! I know the whole truth!" Dolores interrupted her, and resistedbeing led along in a slow walk. "Let me go to him!" she cried. "I onlywish to see him once more--" "But, dearest child, listen to me--if I do not tell you everything atonce, it is because the shock might hurt you. There is some hope that hemay not die--" "Hope! Oh no, no, no! I saw him lying dead--" "He had fainted, dear. He was not dead--" "Not dead?" Dolores' voice broke. "Tell me--tell me quickly. " Shepressed her hand to her side. "No. He came to himself after you had left him--he is alive. No--listento me--yes, dear, he is alive and not much hurt. The wound was ascratch, and he was only stunned--he is well--to-morrow he will be aswell as ever--ah, dear, I told you so!" Dolores had borne grief, shame, torment of mind that night, as bravelyas ever a woman bore all three, but the joy of the truth that he livedalmost ended her life then and there. She fell back upon the Princess'sarm and threw out her hands wildly, as if she were fighting for breath, and the lids of her eyes quivered violently and then were quite still, and she uttered a short, unnatural sound that was more like a groan ofpain than a cry of happiness. The Princess was very strong, and held her, steadying herself againstthe wall, thinking anything better than to let her slip to the floor andlie swooning on the stone pavement. But the girl was not unconscious, and in a moment her own strength returned. "Let me go!" she cried wildly. "Let me go to him, or I shall die!" "Go, child--go, " said the Princess, with an accent of womanly kindnessthat was rare in her voice. But Dolores did not hear it, for she wasalready gone. Dolores saw nothing in the room, as she entered, but the eyes of the manshe loved, though Inez was still beside him. Dolores threw herselfwildly into his arms and hid her face, crying out incoherent wordsbetween little showers of happy tears; and her hands softly beat uponhis shoulders and against his neck, and stole up wondering to his cheeksand touched his hair, as she drew back her head and held him still tolook at him and see that he was whole. She had no speech left, for itwas altogether beyond the belief of any sense but touch itself that aman should rise unhurt from the dead, to go on living as if nothing notcommon had happened in his life, to have his strength at once, to lookinto her eyes and rain kisses on the lids still dark with grief for hisdeath. Sight could not believe the sight, hearing could not but doubtthe sound, yet her hands held him and touched him, and it was he, unhurtsaving for a scratch and a bruise. In her overwhelming happiness, shehad no questions, and the first syllables that her lips could shape madebroken words of love, and of thanks to Heaven that he had been savedalive for her, while her hands still fluttered to his face and beatgently and quickly on his shoulders and his arms, as if fearing lest heshould turn to incorporeal light, without substance under her touch, andvanish then in air, as happiness does in a dream, leaving only painbehind. But at last she threw back her head and let him go, and her handsbrushed away the last tears from her grey eyes, and she looked into hisface and smiled with parted lips, drinking the sight of him with herbreath and eyes and heart. One moment so, and then they kissed as onlyman and woman can when there has been death between them and it is gonenot to come back again. Then memory returned, though very slowly and broken in many places, forit seemed to her as if she had not been separated from him a moment, andas if he must know all she had done without hearing her story in words. The time had been so short since she had kissed him last, in the littleroom beyond: there had been the minutes of waiting until the King hadcome, and then the trying of the door, and then the quarrel, that hadlasted a short ten minutes to end in Don John's fall; then the half hourduring which he had lain unconscious and alone till Inez had come at themoment when Dolores had gone down to the throne room; and after that theshort few minutes in which she had met her father, and then herinterview with the King, which had not lasted long, and now she was withhim again; and it was not two hours since they had parted--a lifetime oftwo hours. "I cannot believe it!" she cried, and now she laughed at last. "Icannot, I cannot! It is impossible!" "We are both alive, " he answered. "We are both flesh and blood, andbreathing. I feel as if I had been in an illness or in a sleep that hadlasted very long. " "And I in an awful dream. " Her face grew grave as she thought of whatwas but just passed. "You must know it all--surely you know italready--oh, yes! I need not tell it all. " "Something Inez has told me, " he replied, "and some things I guess, butI do not know everything. You must try and tell me--but you should notbe here--it is late. When my servants know that I am living, they willcome back, and my gentlemen and my officers. They would have left mehere all night, if I had been really dead, lest being seen near my bodyshould send them to trial for my death. " He laughed. "They were wiseenough in their way. But you cannot stay here. " "If the whole court found me here, it would not matter, " answeredDolores. "Their tongues can take nothing from my name which my own wordshave not given them to feed on. " "I do not understand, " he said, suddenly anxious. "What have you said?What have you done?" Inez came near them from the window, by which she had been standing. Shelaid a hand on Dolores' arm. "I will watch, " she said. "If I hear anything, I will warn you, and youcan go into the small room again. " She went out almost before either of them could thank her. They had, indeed, forgotten her presence in the room, being accustomed to herbeing near them; but she could no longer bear to stay, listening totheir loving words that made her loneliness so very dark. And now, too, she had memories of her own, which she would keep secret to the end ofher life, --beautiful and happy recollections of that sweet moment whenthe man that seemed dead had breathed and had clasped her in his arms, taking her for the other, and had kissed her as he would have kissed theone he loved. She knew at last what a kiss might be, and that was much;but she knew also what it was to kneel by her dead love and to feel hislife come back, breath by breath and beat by beat, till he was allalive; and few women have felt that or can guess how great it is tofeel. It was better to go out into the dark and listen, lest any oneshould disturb the two, than to let her memories of short happiness bemarred by hearing words that were not meant for her. "She found you?" asked Dolores, when she was gone. "Yes, she found me. You had gone down, she said, to try and save yourfather. He is safe now!" he laughed. "She found you alive. " Dolores lingered on the words. "I never enviedher before, I think; and it is not because if I had stayed I should havesuffered less, dear. " She put up her hands upon his shoulders again. "Itis not for that, but to have thought you dead and to have seen you growalive again, to have watched your face, to have seen your eyes wake andthe colour come back to your cheeks and the warmth to your dear hands! Iwould have given anything for that, and you would rather that I shouldhave been there, would you not?" She laughed low and kissed away theanswer from his lips. "If I had stayed beside you, it would have beensooner, love. You would have felt me there even in your dream of death, and you would have put out your hand to come back to me. Say that youwould! You could not have let me lie there many minutes longer breakingmy heart over you and wanting to die, too, so that we might be buriedtogether. Surely my kisses would have brought you back!" "I dreamed they did, as mine would you. " "Sit down beside me, " she said presently. "It will be very hard totell--and it cannot be very long before they come. Oh, they may find mehere! It cannot matter now, for I told them all that I had been long inyour room to-night. " "Told them all? Told whom? The King? What did you say?" His face wasgrave again. "The King, the court, the whole world. But it is harder to tell you. "She blushed and looked away. "It was the King that wounded you--I heardyou fall. " "Scratched me. I was only stunned for a while. " "He drew his sword, for I heard it. You know the sound a sword makeswhen it is drawn from a leathern sheath? Of course--you are a soldier! Ihave often watched my father draw his, and I know the soft, long pull. The King drew quickly, and I knew you were unarmed, and besides--you hadpromised me that you would not raise your hand against him. " "I remember that my sword was on the table in its scabbard. I got itinto my hand, sheathed as it was, to guard myself. Where is it? I hadforgotten that. It must be somewhere on the floor. " "Never mind--your men will find it. You fell, and then there wassilence, and presently I heard my father's voice saying that he hadkilled you defenceless. They went away. I was half dead myself when Ifell there beside you on the floor. There--do you see? You lay with yourhead towards the door and one arm out. I shall see you so till I die, whenever I think of it. Then--I forget. Adonis must have found me there, and he carried me away, and Inez met me on the terrace and she had heardmy father tell the King that he had murdered you--and it was the Kingwho had done it! Do you understand?" "I see, yes. Go on!" Don John was listening breathlessly, forgetting thepain he still suffered from time to time. "And then I went down, and I made Don Ruy Gomez stand beside me on thesteps, and the whole court was there--the Grandees and the greatdukes--Alva, Medina Sidonia, Medina Cali, Infantado, the Princess ofEboli--the Ambassadors, everyone, all the maids of honour, hundreds andhundreds--an ocean of faces, and they knew me, almost all of them. " "What did you say?" asked Don John very anxiously. "What did you tellthem all? That you had been here?" "Yes--more than that, much more. It was not true, but I hoped they wouldbelieve it I said--" the colour filled her face and she caught herbreath. "Oh, how can I tell you? Can you not guess what I said?" "That we were married already, secretly?" he asked. "You might have saidthat. " "No. Not that--no one would have believed me. I told them, " she pausedand gathered her strength, and then the words came quickly, ashamed ofbeing heard--"I told them that I knew my father had no share in thecrime, because I had been here long to-night, in this room, and evenwhen you were killed, and that I was here because I had given you all, my life, my soul, my honour, everything. " "Great God!" exclaimed Don John starting. "And you did that to save yourfather?" She had covered her face with her hands for a moment. Then suddenly sherose and turned away from him, and paced the floor. "Yes. I did that. What was there for me to do? It was better that Ishould be ruined and end in a convent than that my father should die onthe scaffold. What would have become of Inez?" "What would have become of you?" Don John's eyes followed her in lovingwonder. "It would not have mattered. But I had thrown away my name for nothing. They believed me, I think, but the King, to spare himself, wasdetermined that my father should die. We met as he was led away toprison. Then I went to the King himself--and when I came away I had myfather's release in my hand. Oh, I wish I had that to do again! I wishyou had been there, for you would have been proud of me, then. I toldhim he had killed you, I heard him confess it, I threatened to tell thecourt, the world, all Spain, if he would not set my father free. But theother--can you forgive me, dear?" She stood before him now, and the colour was fainter in her cheeks, forshe trusted him with all her heart, and she put out her hands. "Forgive you? What? For doing the bravest thing a woman ever did?" "I thought you would know it in heaven and understand, " she said. "It isbetter that you know it on earth--but it was hard to tell. " He held her hands together and pressed them to his lips. He had no wordsto tell her what he thought. Again and again he silently kissed the firmwhite fingers folded in his own. "It was magnificent, " he said at last. "But it will be hard to undo, very hard. " "What will it ever matter, since we know it is not true?" she asked. "Let the world think what it will, say what it likes--" "The world shall never say a slighting word of you, " he interrupted. "Doyou think that I will let the world say openly what I would not hearfrom the King alone between these four walls? There is no fear of that, love. I will die sooner. " "Oh, no!" she cried, in sudden fear. "Oh, do not speak of death againto-night! I cannot bear the word!" "Of life, then, of life together, --of all our lives in peace and love!But first this must be set right. It is late, but this must be donenow--at once. There is only one way, there is only one thing to bedone. " He was silent for a moment, and his eyes looked quickly to the door andback to Dolores' face. "I cannot go away, " she cried, nestling to him. "You will not make mego? What does it matter?" "It matters much. It will matter much more hereafter. " He was on hisfeet, and all his energy and graceful strength came back as if he hadreceived no hurt. "There is little time left, but what there is, isours. Inez!" He was at the door. "Is no one there upon the terrace? Isthere no servant, no sentry? Ho, there! Who are you? Come here, man! Letme see your face! Adonis?" Inez and the dwarf were in the door. Dolores was behind him, lookingout, not knowing what he meant to do. He had his hand on the dwarf's armin his haste. The crooked creature looked up, half in fear. "Quick! Go!" cried Don John. "Get me a priest, a monk, abishop, --anything that wears a frock and can speak Latin. Bring himhere. Threaten his life, in my name, if you like. Tell him Don John ofAustria is in extreme need, and must have a priest. Quick, man! Fly!Your life and fortune are in your legs! Off, man! Off!" Adonis was already gone, rolling through the gloom with swinging arms, more like a huge bat than anything human, and at a rate of speed nonewould have guessed latent in his little twisted legs. Don John drew backwithin the door. "Stay within, " he said to Dolores, gently pressing her backwards intothe room. "I will let no one pass till the priest comes; and then theworld may come, too, and welcome, --and the court and the King, and thedevil and all his angels!" He laughed aloud in his excitement. "You have not told me, " Dolores began, but her eyes laughed in his. "But you know without words, " he answered. "When that is done which apriest can do in an instant, and no one else, the world is ours, withall it holds, in spite of men and women and Kings!" "It is ours already, " she cried happily. "But is this wise, love? Areyou not too quick?" "Would you have me slow when you and your name and my honour are all atstake on one quick throw? Can we play too quickly at such a game withfate? There will be time, just time, no more. For when the news isknown, it will spread like fire. I wonder that no one comes yet. " He listened, and Inez' hearing was ten times more sensitive than his, but there was no sound. For besides Dolores and Inez only the dwarf andthe Princess of Eboli knew that Don John was living; and the Princesshad imposed silence on the jester and was in no haste to tell the newsuntil she should decide who was to know it first and how her ownadvantage could be secured. So there was time, and Adonis swung himselfalong the dim corridor and up winding stairs that be knew, and rousedthe little wizened priest who lived in the west tower all alone, andwhose duty it was to say a mass each morning for any prisoner whochanced to be locked up there; and when there was no one in confinementhe said his mass for himself in the small chapel which was divided fromthe prison only by a heavy iron grating. The jester sometimes visitedhim in his lonely dwelling and shocked and delighted him with alternatetales of the court's wickedness and with harmless jokes that made hiswizened cheeks pucker and wrinkle into unaccustomed smiles. And he hadsome hopes of converting the poor jester to a pious life. So they werefriends. But when the old priest heard that Don John of Austria wassuddenly dying in his room and that there was no one to shrive him, --forthat was the tale Adonis told, --he trembled from head to foot like aparalytic, and the buttons of his cassock became as drops of quicksilverand slipped from his weak fingers everywhere except into thebuttonholes, so that the dwarf had to fasten them for him in a furioushurry, and find his stole, and set his hat upon his head, and polishaway the tears of excitement from his cheeks with his own silkhandkerchief. Yet it was well done, though so quickly, and he had a kindold face and was a good priest. But when Adonis had almost carried him to Don John's door, and pushedhim into the room, and when he saw that the man he supposed to be dyingwas standing upright, holding a most beautiful lady by the hand, he drewback, seeing that he had been deceived, and suspecting that he was to beasked to do something for which he had no authority. The dwarf's longarm was behind him, however, and he could not escape. "This is the priest of the west tower, your Highness, " said Adonis. "Heis a good priest, but he is a little frightened now. " "You need fear nothing, " said Don John kindly. "I am Don John ofAustria. This lady is Doņa Maria Dolores de Mendoza. Marry us withoutdelay. We take each other for man and wife. " "But--" the little priest hesitated--"but, your Highness--the banns--orthe bishop's license--" "I am above banns and licenses, my good sir, " answered Don John, "and ifthere is anything lacking in the formalities, I take it upon myself toset all right to-morrow. I will protect you, never fear. Make haste, forI cannot wait. Begin, sir, lose no time, and take my word for the rightof what you do. " "The witnesses of this, " faltered the old man, seeing that he mustyield, but doubtful still. "This lady is Doņa Inez de Mendoza, " said Don John, "and this is Miguelde Antona, the court jester. They are sufficient. " So it chanced that the witnesses of Don John of Austria's secretmarriage were a blind girl and the King's fool. The aged priest cleared his throat and began to say the words in Latin, and Don John and Dolores held their clasped hands before him, notknowing what else to do, and each looked into the other's eyes and sawthere the whole world that had any meaning for them, while the priestsaid things they but half understood, but that made the world'sdifference to them, then and afterwards. It was soon done, and he raised his trembling hand and blessed them, saying the words very softly and clearly and without stumbling, for theywere familiar, and meant much; and having reached them, his haste wasover. The dwarf was on his knees, his rough red head bent reverentlylow, and on the other side Inez knelt with joined hands, her blind eyesturned upward to her sister's face, while she prayed that all blessingsof life and joy might be on the two she loved so well, and that theymight have for ever and unbroken the infinite happiness she had felt forone instant that night, not meant for her, but dearer to her than allmemories or hopes. Then as the priest's words died away in the silent room, there was asound of many feet and of many voices on the terrace outside, comingnearer and nearer to the door, very quickly; and the priest looked roundin terror, not knowing what new thing was to come upon him, and wishingwith all his heart that he were safe in his tower room again and out ofall harm's way. But Don John smiled, while he still held Dolores' hand, and the dwarf rose quickly and led the priest into the study whereDolores had been shut up so long, and closed the door behind him. That was hardly done when the outer door was opened wide, and a clear, formal voice was heard speaking outside. "His Majesty the King!" cried the chamberlain who walked before Philip. Dolores dropped Don John's hand and stood beside him, growing a littlepale; but his face was serene and high, and he smiled quietly as he wentforward to meet his brother. The King advanced also, with outstretchedarms, and he formally embraced Don John, to exhibit his joy at such anunexpected recovery. Behind him came in torch-bearers and guards and many of the court whohad joined the train, and in the front rank Mendoza, grim and erect, butno longer ashy pale, and Ruy Gomez with him, and the Princess of Eboli, and all the chief Grandees of Spain, filling the wide bedchamber fromside to side with a flood of rich colour in which the littleconstellations of their jewels shone here and there with changinglights. Out of respect for the King they did not speak, and yet there was a softsound of rejoicing in the room, and their very breathing was like amurmur of deep satisfaction. Then the King spoke, and all at once thesilence was profound. "I wished to be the first to welcome my dear brother back to life, " hesaid. "The court has been in mourning for you these two hours, and nonehas mourned you more deeply and sorrowfully than I. We would all knowthe cause of your Highness's accident, the meaning of our friendMendoza's strange self-accusation, and of other things we cannotunderstand without a word from you. " The chair in which Don John had sat to read Dolores' letter was broughtforward, and the King took his seat in it, while the chief officers ofthe household grouped themselves round him. Don John remained standing, facing him and all the rest, while Dolores drew back a little into theshadow not far from him. The King's unmoving eyes watched him closely, even anxiously. "The story is short, Sire, and if it is not all clear, I shall craveyour Majesty's pardon for being silent on certain points which concernmy private life. I was alone this evening in my room here, after yourMajesty had left supper, and I was reading. A man came to visit me thenwhom I have known and trusted long. We were alone, we have haddifferences before, to-night sharp words passed between us. I ask yourMajesty's permission not to name that man, for I would not do him aninjury, though it should cost me my life. " His eyes were fixed on the King, who slowly nodded his assent. He hadknown that he could trust his brother not to betray him, and he wonderedwhat was to come next. Don John smiled a little as he went on. "There were sharp words, " he said, "and being men, steel was soon out, and I received this scratch here--a mere nothing. But as chance wouldhave it I fell backward and was so stunned that I seemed dead. And then, as I learn, my friend Mendoza there came in, either while we fought, orafterwards, and understood--and so, as I suppose, in generous fear formy good name, lest it should be told that I had been killed in somedishonest brawl, or for a woman's sake--my friend Mendoza, in themadness of generosity, and because my love for his beautiful daughtermight give the tale some colour, takes all the blame upon himself, ownshimself murderer, loses his wits, and well-nigh loses his head, too. SoI understand the matter, Sire. " He paused a moment, and again the King slowly nodded, but this time hesmiled also, and seemed much pleased. "For what remains, " Don John continued, "that is soon explained. Thisbrave and noble lady whom you found here, you all know. I have loved herlong and faithfully, and with all my heart. Those who know me, know thatmy word is good, and here before your Majesty, before man and beforeHeaven, I solemnly swear upon my most sacred word that no harm has evercome near her, by me, or by another. Yet, in the hope of saving herfather's life, believing and yet not believing that he might have hurtme in some quarrel, she went among you, and told you the tale you know. I ask your Majesty to say that my word and oath are good, and thereby togive your Majesty's authority to what I say. And if there is any manhere, or in Spain, among your Majesty's subjects, who doubts the word Igive, let him say so, for this is a grave matter, and I wish to bebelieved before I say more. " A third time the King nodded, and this time not ungraciously, sincematters had gone well for him. "For myself, " he said, "I would take your word against another man'soath, and I think there is no one bold enough to question what we bothbelieve. " "I thank your Majesty. And moreover, I desire permission to present toyour Majesty--" He took Dolores' hand and drew her forward, though she came a littleunwillingly, and was pale, and her deep grey eyes gazed steadily at theKing's face. "--My wedded wife, " said Don John, completing the sentence. "Your wife!" exclaimed the King, in great surprise. "Are you marriedalready?" "Wedded man and wife, Sire, " answered Don John, in tones that all couldhear. "And what does Mendoza say to this?" asked Philip, looking round at theveteran soldier. "That his Highness has done my house a great honour, your Majesty; and Ipray that my daughter and I be not needlessly separated hereafter. " His glance went to Dolores' triumphant eyes almost timidly, and thenrested on her face with a look she had never seen in his, save on thatevening, but which she always found there afterwards. And at the sametime the hard old man drew Inez close to him, for she had found himamong the officers, and she stood by him and rested her arm on his witha new confidence. Then, as the King rose, there was a sound of glad voices in the room, asall talked at once and each told the other that an evil adventure waswell ended, and that Don John of Austria was the bravest and thehandsomest and the most honourable prince in the world, and that MariaDolores de Mendoza had not her equal among women for beauty and highwomanly courage and perfect devotion. But there were a few who were ill pleased; for Antonio Perez saidnothing, and absently smoothed his black hair with his immaculate whitehand, and the Princess of Eboli was very silent, too, for it seemed toher that Don John's sudden marriage, and his reconciliation with hisbrother, had set back the beginning of her plan beyond the bounds ofpossible accomplishment; and she was right in that, and the beginning ofher resentment against Don John for having succeeded in marrying Doloresin spite of every one was the beginning of the chain that led her to herown dark fate. For though she held the cards long in her hands afterthat, and played for high stakes, as she had done before, fortune failedher at the last, and she came to unutterable ruin. It may be, too, that Don John's splendid destiny was measured on thatnight, and cut off beforehand, though his most daring fights were notyet fought, nor his greatest victories won. To tell more here would beto tell too much, and much, too, that is well told elsewhere. But thisis true, that he loved Dolores with all his heart; that the marriageremained a court secret; and that she bore him one fair daughter, anddied, and the child grew up under another reign, a holy nun, and wasabbess of the convent of Las Huelgas whither Dolores was to have gone onthe morning after that most eventful night.