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H -•-' I '^ 3 H c: c! ■■ •— •-• T c ti J 5 3 I = ' ■w ^'-^r, -H _tc 5 'S c =+-. •M .tJ ^ ci — s^ S -3 ^ 2 r- <-: — ;s 'i; ■w 2 to C3 ^ 1-^ »*-» 2 '■ rt & rt "^ 1^'^'^ if, ? ^ ^ ° s ■1 0) X ci 'I ;^ •- i- ■K p2 -=^ j _J^ oj =y r h| ^H w ^H p*4 -( , *" £ > |H «M 52 D j^^B O rt - ^H CO ~ H ^--S H S 5 I^ I^B o rt 5 B S i -3 ^H m THE PALACE OF THE KING a Hofae ^totrr of iSDlD a^aDrtD BY F. MARION CRAWFORD AUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA," '. AVK ROMA IMMORXALI8 " VU caUCIS," BXC, KXC. y/iw edit.o;, mu»t not be imported into Great B, itatn or the United States. 5 s TORONTO THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, Limited 1900 ,:> 5ro mg olli iFricntr GEORGE P. BRETT New Yobk, October, 1900 I: LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS •' In the midst of the brewing storm the dwarf saw only the spider in its web illuminated by tlio unearthly glare of his own fear, and with it the fri^'htened butterfly and the beautiful silver moth, that each never Ireamed of danger " Fnmlispiefifi TACINU PAOb " Dolores' face was quite white now, as .slio gently pushed Inez aside and faced the angry man. Tho table was between them " 22 *' Dolores went forward, bending her head, and trying to affect her sister's stop. No distance had ever seemed so long to her as that whicli separated her from the hall door which Eudaldo was already opening for her " . 54 " He pushed the point of a steel erasing-knife through the piece of folded paper and held it over tho flame. It turned brown, crackled and burst into a little blaze, and in a moment the black ashes fell fluttering on the table" 82 *• After the guards came Philip the Second, a tall and melan- choly figure ; and with him, on his left side, walked tho young Queen, a small, thin figure in white, with sad eyes and a pathetic face " 102 " He turned on his heel and walked away to find a quiet place where he might read tho paper which Jiad sud- denly become of so nmch importance, and paused at a Moorish niche, where Philip had caused a sacred picture to be placed, and before which a silver lamp shed a clear light" 154 vii Vlll LIST UF ILLOSTRATIONS rAnmo waob At l.:s feat stood Philip, his rapier in his haiul, and blood O'l ils fine point. His eyes shone yellow in tho candle light, his jaw had dropped a little, and ho bent forwards, looking intently at the still, white face " ' The Princess seized the dwarf by the arm and shook him. * No jesting ! ' she cried. « He did not kill himself ; who did it V" . . . . 21C 340 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ^ iLobc ^toro o! (Dlti Jlatjritr .' CHAPTER I Two young girls sat in a liigh tliough very narrow room of the old Moorish palace? to whiv3h King Philip the Second had brought his couit when he finally made Madrid his capital. It was in the month of November, in the afternoon, and the light was cold and grey, for the two tall windows looked due north, and a fine rain had been falling all the morning. The stones in the court were drying now, in patches, but the sis.y was like a smooth vault of cast lead, closing over the city that lay to the northward, dark, wet and still, as if its life had shrunk down under ground, away from the- bitter air and the penetrating damp. The room was scantily furnished, but the few objects it contaiiied, the carved 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 the walls there were broad tapestries of bold design, show- ing green forests populated by all sorts of animals in stiff attitudes, staring at one another in perpetual sur- prise. Below the tapestry a carved walnut wainscoting went round the room, and the door was panelled and » 1 IN THE r ALACK OF TilE KING flanked by fluted doorposts of the same dark wood, on which rested corbels fashioned into curling acanthus leaves, to hold up the cornice, which itself made a high shelf over the door. Three painted Italian vases, filled with last summer's rose leaves and carefully sealed lest the faint 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, diffused a little warmth through the chilly room. The two girls were sitting at opposite ends of the table. The one held a long goose -quill pen, and before her lay several large sheets of paper covered with fine writing. Her eyes followed the lines slowly, and from time to time she made a correction in the manuscript. As she read, her lips moved to form words, but she made no sound. Now and then a faint smile lent sin- gular beauty to her face, and there was more light in her eyes, too ; then it disappeared again, and she read on, carefully and intently, as if her soul were in the work. She was very fair, as Spaniards sometimes are still, and were more often in those days, with golden hair and deep grey eyes : she had the high features, the smooth white throat, and the finely modelled ears that were the outward signs of the lordly Gothic race. When she was not smiling, her face was sad, and some- times the delicate colour left her clear cheek and she grew softly pale, till she seemed almost delicate. Then the sensitive nostrils quivered almost imperceptibly, A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID and the curving lips met closely as if to keep a secret ; but that look came seldom, and for the most part her eyes were quiet and her moutli was kind. It was a fpcui that expressed devotion, womanly couraf^e, and sensi- tiveness rather than an active and dominating energy. The girl was indeed a full-grown woman, more than twenty years of age, but the early bloom of girlhood was on her still, and if there was a little sadness in the eyes, a man could guess well enough that it rose from the heart, and had but one simple source, which was neither a sudden grief nor a long-hidden sorrow, but only youth's one secret — love. Maria Dolores de Men- doza knew all of fear for the man she loved, that any woman could know, and much of the hope that is love's early life ; but she knew neither the grief, nor the dis- appointment, nor the shame for another, nor for herself, nor any of the bitterness that love may bring. She did not believe that such things could be wrung from hearts that were true and faithful ; and in that she was fight. The man to whom she had given her heart and soul and hope had given her his, and if she feared for him, it was not lest he should forget her or his own honour. He was a man among men, good and true ; but he was a soldier, and a leader, who daily threw his life to the battle, as Douglas threw the casket that held the Bruce's heart into the tliick of the fight, to win it back, or die. The man she loved was Don John of Austria, the son of the great dead Emperor Charles the Fifth, the uncle of dead Don Carlos and the half brother of King Philip of Spain — the man who won IN THE PALACE OF THE KING glory by land and sea, who won back Granada a second time from the Moors, as bravely as his great grand- father Ferdinand had won it, but less cruelly, who won Lepanto, his brother's hatred and a death by poison, the foulest stain in Spanish history. It was November now, and it had been June of the preceding year when he had ridden away from Madrid to put down the Moriscoes, who had risen savagely against the hard Spanish rule. He had left Dolores de Mendoza an 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's apartments. There were roses there, growing almost wild in great earthen jars, where some Moorish woman had planted them in older days, and Dolores could go there unseen with her blind sister, who helped her faithfully, on pre- tence of taking the poor girl thither to breathe the sweet quiet air. For Inez was painfully sensitive of her affliction, and suffered, besides blindness, all that an over-sensitive and imaginative being can feel. She was quite blind, with no memory of light, though she had been born seeing, 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 fair little Dolores and had secretly tormented the younger child, as soon as she was able to under- stand, bringing her up to believe that she was so re- pulsively ugly as to be almost a monster. Later, when the nurse was gone, and Dolores wa.*-: a little older, A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID the latter had done all slie could to lii'al the cruel wound and to make her sister know that she had soft dark hair, a sad and gentle face, with eyes that were quite closed, and a delicate mouth that had a little half painful, half pathetic way of twitchini^ when anything hurt her, — for she was easily hurt. Very pale always, she turned her face '"ijre upwards than do people who have sight, and heing ;f good average woman's height and very slender and finely made, this gave her carriage an air of dignity that seemed almost pride when she was offended or wounded. But the first hurt had been deep and lasting, and she could never quite believe that she was not offensive to the eyes of those who saw her, still less that she was sometimes almost beautiful in a shadowy, spiritual way. The blind, of all their sufferings, often feel most keenly tlie impossibility of knowing whether the truth is told them about their own looks ; and he who will trv and realize what it is to have been always sightless will understand that this is not vanity, but rather a sort of diiltidence towards which all people should be very kind. Of all neces- sities of this world, of all blessings, of all guides to truth, God made light first. There are many sharp pains, many terrible sufferings and sorrows in life that come and wrench body and soul, and pass at last either into alleviation or recovery, or into tlie rest of death ; but of those that abide a lifetime and do not take life itself, the worst is hopeless darkness. We call ignorance 'blindness,' and rage 'blindness,' and we say a man is ' blind ' with grief. 6 IN THE PALATE OF THE KINO 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 had written a letter, from time to time, in little fragments, to give to the man she loved, to slip into his hand at the first brief meeting or to drop at his feet in her glove, or even, perhaps, to pass to him by the blind girUs quick fingers. For Inez helped the lovers always, and Don John was very gentle with her, talking with her when he could, and even leading her sometimes when she was in a room she did not know. Dolores knew that she could only hope to exchange a word with him when he came back, and that the terrace was bleak and wet now, and the roses withered, and that her father feared for her, and might do some desperate thing if he found her lover talking with her where no one could see or hear. For old Mendoza knew the world and the court, and he foresaw that sooner or later some royal marriage would be made for Don John of Austria, and that even if Dolores were married to him, some tortuous means would be found to annul her marriage, whereby a great shame would darken his house. Moreover, he was the King's man, devoted to Philip body and soul, as nis sovereign, ready to give his life ten times for his sovereign's word, and thinking it treason to doubt a royal thought or motive. He was a rigid old man, a Spaniard of Spain's great days, fearless, proud, intoler- ant, making Spain's honour his idol, capable of gentle- ness only to his children, and loving them dearly, but with that sort of severity and hardness in all questions A LOVE STOKV nv OLD MAnUID where his cauthority wiis concerned which can make a father's true affection the most intolerable burden to a girl of heart, and which, where a son is its object, leads sooner or later to fierce quarrels and lifelong estrange- ment. And so it had hapi)ened now. For the two girls had a brother mncli older than they, Rodrigo ; and he had borne to be treated like a boy until he could bear no more, and then he had left his father's house in anger to find out his own fortune in the world, as many did in his day, — a poor gentleman seeking distinction in an army of men 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 him- self to Don John, and was spoken of as the latter's friend, and Mendoza feared lest his son should help Don John to a marriage with Dolores. But in this he was mistaken, for Rodrigo was as keen, as much a Spaniard, and as much devoted to the honour of his name as his father could be ; and though he looked upon Don John as the very ideal of what a soldier and a prince should be, he would have cut off his own right hand rather tlian let it give his leader the letter Dolores had been writing so long; and she knew 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, the father was against the son, and the daughters were allied against them both, not in hatred, but in terror and because of Do- lores* great love for Don John of Austria. I 8 FN TFIE PALACK OF THK KIN(} As tli«!y sat at the tabk; it bogan to rain again, and the big drops beat against thu windows furiously for a few minutes. The panes wcie round and heavy, and of a greenish yellow colour, made of blown glass, each with a sort of knob in the middle, where the iron blow- pipe had been separated from the hot mass. It was impossible to see through them at all distinctly, and when the sky was dark with rain they admitted only a lurid glare into the room, which grew cold and colour- less again when the rain ceased. Inez had been sitting motionless a long time, her elbow on the table, her chin resting upon her loosely clasped white hands, her blind face turned upward, listening to the turning of the pages and to the occasional scratching of her sister's pen. She sighed, moved, and let her hands fall upon the table before her in a helpless, half despairing way, as she leaned back in the big carved chair. Dolores looked up at once, for she was used to helping her sis- ter in her slightest 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 sweet and low, but it lacked life ; though not weak, it was uncertain in strength and full of a longing that could never be satisfied, but that often seemed to come within possible reach of satisfaction. There was in the tones, too, the perpetual doubt of one from whom anything might be hidden by silence, or by MirnMimmmi A LOVK STOKY OF OLD MADllII) 9 the least turn of words. Kvcry passiiijjf hope iiiid fear, and every pleasure and pain, were triinslated into sound by its quiek changes. It trusted but eould not always quite promise to l)elieve ; it swelled and sank as the sensitive heart beat faster or slower. It came from a world witliout liglit, in whieli only sound had meaning, and only touch was certainly. " Yes," answered Dolores. ''I have almost finished — there is only half a page more to read over." " A"d why do you read it over?" asked Inez. " Do you change what you have written ? Do you not think now exactly as you did when you wrote ? " '* No ; I feel a great deal more — 1 want better words I And then it all seems so little, and so badly written, and I want to say things tiiat no one ever said before, many, many things. He will laugh — no, not that ! How could he ? Hut my letter will seem childish to him. I know it will. I wish I had never written it ! Do you think I had better give it to Mm, 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," answered Dolores, and the true words seemed to thrill with a life of their own as she spoke them. Then she was silent for a moment, and looked down at the written pages without seeing them. Inez did not move, and seemed hardly to breathe. Then Dolores 10 TN Tin-: i'ALA(;k ov tifk kin<3 spok(5 ap^ain, pres.sing both her hands upon the paper before her unconsciously. " I have told him that 1 love him, and shall love him for ever and ever," she said ; " that I will live for him, die for him, suffer for him, serve him ! I have told him all that and much more." " More ? That is much already. But he loves you, too. There is nothing you can promise which he will not promise, and keep, too, I think, liut more I What more can you have said than that ? " " There is nothing I would not Hv,y if I could find words ! '* There was a fulness of life in her voice which, to the other's uncertain tones, was as sunshine to moonlight. " You will find words when you see him this even- ing," said Inez slowly. "And they will be better than anything you can write. Am I to give him your letter ? " Dolores looked at her sister quickly, for there was a little constraint in the accent of the last phrase. " I do not know," she answered. " How can I tell what may happen, or how I shall see him first ? " " You will see him from the window presently. I can hear the guards forming already to meet him — and you — you will be able to see him from the window." Inez had stopped and had finished her speech, as if something had choked her. She turned sideways in her chair when she had spolien, as if to listen better, for she was seated with her back to the light. " I will tell you everything," said Maria Dolores i A liOVK STOKY OF <)M» MADIiri) 11 softly. "It will be almost as if you could see him, too." " Almost -- " luez spoke the one word and hroke off abrujjtly, and rose from her chaii*. In tlu' familiar room she moved almost as securely as if she could see. She went to the window and listened. Dolores came and stood beside lier. " What is it, dear ? " she asked. '■ What is the mat- ter ? What has hurt you ? 'VvM me I " "Nothing," answered the blind giil, "nothing, dear. I was thinking — how lonely I shall be when you and he are married, and they send me to a convent, or to our dismal old house in Valliidolid." A faint colour came into her jnde face, and feeling it she turned away from Dolores ; lor she was not speak- ing the truths or at least not half of it all. " I will not let you go ! " answered Dolores, putting one arm round her sister's waist. " They shall never take you from me. And if in many years from now we are married, you shall always be with us, and I will always take care of 3'ou 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 below there was tramping of heavy feet, as the companies of foot guards took their places, marching across the broad space, in their wrought steel caps and breastplates, car- rying their tasselled halberds on their shoulders. An officer's voice gave sharp commands. The gust that 13 IN THK I'ALACK OF THK KINO hjul brouglit th(? niin liiul passed by, and a drizzling mist, caused by a sudden c^liill, now completely obscured the window. "Can you see anything? " asked Inez suddenly, in a low voice. "1 think 1 hear trumi)ets far away." " I cannot see — there is mist on the glass, too. Do you hear the trumpets clearly ? " *'l think 1 do. Yes — I hear them clearly now." She stopped. " He is coming," she added under her breath. Dolores listened, but she liad not the almost super- natural hearing of the blind, and could distinguish nothing but the tramping of the soldiers below, and her sister's irregular breathing beside her, as Inez held her breath again and again in order to catch the very faint and distant sound. " Open the window," she said almost sharply, " I know I hear the trumpets." Her delicate fingers felt for the bolts with almost feverish anxiety. Dolores helped her and opened the window wide. A strain of distant clarions sounding a triumphant march came floating across the wet city. Dolores started, and her face grew radiant, while her fresh lips opened a 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 of cold. Dolores' grey eyes grew wide and bright as she gazed fixedly towards the city where the avenue that led to the palace began, but Inez, bending A LOVE STORV OK f)lj) MADKIT) 18 a Uttle, turned her ear in the Bame dirtMition, as if slie could not bear to loso a sincflc note of ilie music that told her how Don John of Austriu had ionic liome in triumph, safe and whole, fioni his long campaign in the south. Slowly it came nearer, strain upon strain, each more clear and loud and full of rejoicing. At first only tlie high-pitched clarions had sent their call to the window, but now the less shrill trumpets made rich harmonies to the melody, and the deep huss horns gave the march- ing time to the rest, in short full blasts that set the whole air shaking as with little peals of thunder, lie- low, the mounted officers gave orders, exchanged short phrases, cantered to their places, and came back again a moment later to make some final arrangement — their splendid gold-inlaid corslets and the rich caparisons of their horses looking like great pieces of jewelry that moved hither and thither in the thin grey mist, while the dark red and yellow uniforms of the household guards surrounded the square on three sides with broad bands of colour. Dolores could see her father, who commanded them and to whom the officers came for orders, sitting motionless and erect on his big black horse — a stern figure, with close-cut grey beard, clad all in black saving his heavily gilded breastplate and the silk sash he wore across it from shoulder to sword knot. She shrank back a little, for she would not have let him see her looking down from an upper window to welcome the returning visitor. " What is it ? Do you see him ? Is he there ? *' 14 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING Inez asked the questions in a breath, as she heard her sist^^r move. *' No — our father is below on his horse. He must not see us." And she moved further into the embra- sure. "You will not be able to see," said Inez anxiously. " How can you tell me — I mean, how can you see, where you are ? " Dolores laughed softly, but her laugh trembled with the happiness that was coming so soon. " Oh, I see very well," she answered. " The window is wide open, you know." "Yes — I know." Inez leaned back against the wall beside the window, letting her hand drop in a hopeless gesture. The simple answer had hurt her, who could never see, by its mere thoughtlessness and by the joy that made her siiter's voice quaver. The music grew louder and louder, and now there came with it the sound of a great multitude, cheering, singing the march with the trumpets, shouting for Don John ; and all at once as the throng burst from the street to the open avenue the voices drowned the clarions for a moment, and a vast cry of triumph filled the whole air. " He is there ! He is there ! " repeated Inez, leaning towards tlie window and feeling for the stone sill. But Dolores could not hear for the shouting. The clouds had lifted to the westward and northward ; and as the afternoon sun sank lower they broke away, and the level rays drank up the gloom of the wintry A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 15 day in an instant. Dolores stood motionless before ther window, undazzled, like a statue of ivory and gold in a stone niche. With the light, as the ad- vancing procession sent the people before it, the trumpets rang high and clear again, and the bright breastplates of the trumpeters gleamed like dancing fire before the lofty standard tliat swayed with the slow pace of its bearer's horse. Brighter and nearer came the colours, the blazing armour, the standard, the gorgeous procession of victorious men-at-arms ; louder and louder blew the trumpets, higher and higher the clouds were lifted from the lowering sun. Half the people of Madrid went before, the rest flocked behind, all cheering or singing or shouting. The stream of colour and light became a river, the river a flood, and in the high tide of a young victor's glory Don John of Austria rode onward to the palace gate. The mounted trumpeters parted to each side before him, and the standard-bearer ranged his horse to the left, opposite the banner of the King, which held the right, and Don John, on a grey Arab mare, stood out alone at the head of his men, saluting his royal brother with lowered sword and bent head. A final blast from the trumpets sounded full and high, and again and again the shout of the great throng went up like thunder and«echoed from the palace walls, as King Philip, in his balcony above the gate, returned the salute with his hand, and bent a little forward over the stone railing. Dolores de Mendoza forgot her father and all that he might say, and stood at the open window, looking down. 16 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING She had dreamed of this moment ; she had seen visions of it in the daytime ; she had told herself again and again what it would be, how it must be ; but the reality was beyond her dreams and her visions and her imaginings, for she had to the full what few women have in any century, and what few have ever had in the blush of maidenhood, — <^he sight of the man she loved, and who loved her with all his heart, coming home in triumph from a hard-fought war, himself the leader and the victor, himself in youth's first spring, the young 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 and looked upward, as if unconsciously drawn by the eyes that, of all others, welcomed him at that moment ; and his own met them instantly and smiled, though his face betrayed nothing. But old Mendoza, motionless in his saddle, followed the look, and saw ; and although he would have praised the young leader with the best of his friends, and would have fought under him and for him as well as the bravest, yet at that moment he would gladly have seen Don John of Austria fall dead from his horse before his eyes. Don John dismounted without haste, and advanced to the gate as the King disappeared from the balcony above. He was of very graceful figure and bearing, not short, but looking taller than he really was by the perfection of his proportions. The short reddish browu hair grew close and curling on his small head, A LOVE STORV OF OLD MADRID 17 but left the forehead high, whilr- it set off the clear skin mid the mobile features. A very small mous- tache shaded his lip v/ithout hiding the boyish mouth, and at that time he wore no beard. The lips, indeed, smiled often, and the expression of the mouth was rather careless and good-humoured than strong. The strength of the face was in the clean-cut jaw, while its real expression was in the deep-set, fiery blue eyes, that could turn angry and fierce at one moment, and tender as a woman's the next. He wore without exaggeration the military dress of his time, — a beautifully chiselled corslet inlaid with gold, black velvet sleeves, loose breeches of velvet and silk, so short that they did not descend half way to the knees, while his legs were covered by tight hose and leather boots, made like gaiters to clasp from the knee to the ankle and heel. Over his shoulder hung a short embroidered cloak, and his head covering was a broad velvet cap, in which were fastened the black and yellow 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. Don John, looking round before he went in, saw the grim face, and waved his hand to Dolores' father ; but the old man pretended that he saw nothing, and made no answering gesture. Some one in the crowd of courtiers laughed lightly. Old Mendoza's face never changed ; but his knees must have pressed the saddle 18 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING } i suddenly, for his black horse stirred uneasily, and tried to rear a little. Don John stopped short, and his eyes hardened 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. But that was im- possible, and his look was grave and stern as he went in under the great gate, the multitude cheering after him. From her high window Dolores had seen and heard also, for she had followed every movement he made and every change of his expression, and had faithfully told her sister what she saw, until the laugh came, short and light, but cutting. And Inez heard that, too, for she was leaning far forward upon the broad stone sill to listen for the sound of Don John's voice. She drew back with a springing movement, and a sort of cry of pain. " Some one is laughing at me ! " she cried. " Some one is laughing because I am trying to see ! " Instantly Dolores drew her sister to her, kissing her tenderly, and soothing her as one does a fright- ened child. " No, dear, no ! It was not that — I saw what it was. Nobody was looking at you, my darling. Do you know why some one laughed? It hurt me, too. He smiled and waved his hand to our father, who took no notice of him. The laugh was for that — and for me, because the man knew well enough that our father does not mean that we shall ever marry. Do you see, dear? It was not meant for you." A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADUm 19 "Did he really look up at us when you said so?" asked Inez, in a smothered voice. " Who ? The man who laughed ? " " No. I mean — " "Don John? Yes. Ifo looked up to us and smiled -a^ he often does at nie-with his eyes oiily, while his face was quite grave. He is not changed at all, except that he looks more determined, and handsomer, and braver, 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 tlie people shout and cheer for him as he came along. Yuu who can see It all do not understand what the sound means to me. For a moment — only for a moment — I saw lio-ht — I know I saw a bright liglit before my eves. I tm not dreaming. It made my heart beat, and i( made my head 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, Dolores looked long and thoughtfully at the blind face. Inez loved Don John, though she did not know it, and without knowing it she had told her sister. 1 I JIM, 11 CHAPTER II When Don John had disappeared within the palace the people lingered a little while, hoping that some- thing might happen which would be worth seeing, and then, murmuring a little in perfectly unreasonable dis- appointment, they slowly dispersed. After that old Mendoza gave his orders to the officers of the guards, the men tramped away, one detachment after another, in a regular order ; the cavalry that had ridden up with Don John wheeled at a signal from the trumpets, and began to ride slowly back to the city, pressing hard upon the multitude, and before it was quite dark the g'^uare before the palace was deserted again. The sky had cleared, the pavement was dry again, and the full moon was rising. Two tall sentinels with halberds paced silently up and down in the shadow. Dolores and lier sister ^ ere still sitting in the dark vv^hen the door opened, and a grey-haired servant in red and yellow e. "red the room, bearing two lighted wax candles in heavy bronze candlesticks, which he set upon the table. A moment later he was followed by old Mendoza, still in his breastplate, as he had dis- mounted, his great spurs jingling on his heavy boots, and his long basket-hilted sword trailing on the marble pavement. He was bareheaded ii^w, and his short hair, 20 A T,()VE STOItY OF OLD MADRID 21 smooth and grizzled, covered his energetic head like a close-fitting skull cap of iron-grey velvet. He stood still before the table, his bony right hand resting upon it and holding both his long gloves. The candlelight shone upward into his dark face, and gleamed yellow in his angry eyes. Both the girls rose instinctively as their father en- tered ; but they stood close together, their h.*nds still linked as if to defend each other from a common enemy, though the hard man would have given his life for 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, and his voice shook with anger. " What have you to say in your defence ? " He was speaking to Dolores, and she turned a little pale. There was something so cruelly hard in his tone and bearing that she drew back a little, not ex- actly in bodily fear, bat as a brave man may draw back a step when another suddenly draws a weapon upon him. Instantly Inez moved forward, raising one white hand in protest, and turning her blind face to 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. "What devil possessed you that you should shame me and yourself, standing at your window to smile at Don John, as if he were the Espadero at a bull fight and you the beauty of the ring — with all Madrid there to look on, from his 00 IN TIIK PAFiAi^K i)K THIC KING Miijt'sty tilt' Kiii'j: (() llio i>t'i';}^Mr in llie road? Have you iu> iiHxlt'stv, no sliainc, n(» blood lliiit ran blush? And if not, liavc _\o;i not. even so much wonuin's sense us shouhl tell you that you ar(> ruining your name and niino bcfort' the whoU' worhl ? " "Fathti! Im)!' the sake ol' luMVcn d(. not say such ^vonls — \ou must not ! You shall not I " Dolores' larc^ was (juitc white now, as she gently pushed I no/, aside and I'aeed the angry man. The table was between them. '• Ihive I said one word more than the very truth?" asked :\lendoza. '' Does not the whole court know that you love Don John of Austria — '' '* Let the whole world know it!" cried the girl bravely. ^' Am I ashamed to love the best and bravest man that breathes?" " Let the whole world kn(»w that you are willing to be his toy, his i)laything — " '• His wife, sir ! " Doloies' voice was steady and clear as she interrupted her father. '' His wife," she repeated proudly; ''and to-morrow, if you and the King will not hinder us. (lod made you my father, but neither (lod nor man has given you the right to insult me, and you shall not be unanswered, so long as 1 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 ! I love him, and I would w^ork for him with my hands, as I would give my blood and my life for his, if God would grant me that hap- ct 7i F,I> MADKIh 25 *' VVIuit IisiV(^ you «1<'t(M'iniiinl ? " she iis1<(mI iiiriiin, and tlu'ii wi'iil (HI \vitli " I am very, very sorry that I have hurt you," she said, and Avaited for him to speak, pressing his shoulder with a gentle touch. He did not look uji, and still he rocked himself gently, leaning on his sword. The girl suffered, too, to see him suffering so. A little while ago he had been hard, fierce, angry, cruel, threatening her witli a living death that had filled her with horror. It had seemed quite impossible that there could be the least tenderness in him for any one — least of all for her. " God be merciful to me," he said at length in very low tones. "God forgive me if it is my fault — you do not love me — I am nothing to you but an unkind old man, and you are all the world to me, child ! " He raised his head slowly and looked i'lto her face. She was startled at the chano-e in liis own, as well as deeply touched by what he said. His dark cheeks had wm A LOVE STORY OF OU) MADRID 31 grown grey, and the tears tliat would not quite fall were like a glistening mist under the lids, and almost made him look sightless. Indeed, he scarcely saw her distinctly. His clasped hands trembled a little on the hilt of the sword he still held. " How could I know? " cried Dolores, suddenly kneel- ing down beside him. " How could I guess ? You never l^t me see that you were fond of me — or I have been blind all these years — " " Hush, child I " he said. '' Do not hurt me any more — it must have been my fault." He grew more calm, and though his face was very grave and sad, the natural dark colour was slowly com- ing back to it now, and his hands were steady again. The girl was too young, and far too different from him, to understand his nature, but she was fast iv^^iUzing that he was not the man he had always seemed to her. " Oh, if I had only known ! " she cried, in deep dis- tress. " If I had only guessed, I would have been so different I I was always frightened, always afraid of you, since I can remember — I thought you did not care for us and that we always displeased you — how could we know ? " Mendoza lifted one of his hands from the sword hilt, and took hers, with as much gentleness as was possible to him. His eyes became clear again, and the profound emotion he had shown subsided to the depths whence it had risen. " We shall never quite understand each other," he said quietly. " You cannot see that it is a man's duty ;. ". i \ i \ I 32 IN THE PALACK OF THE KING to do what is right for his children, rather than to sac- rifice that ill order to make them love him." It seemed to Dolores tliat there might be a way open between the two, but she said nothing, and left her hand in liis, glad tliat he was kind, but feeling, as he felt, that there could never be any real understanding between, them. The breach had existed too long, and it was far too wide. " You are headi^trong, my dear," he said, nodding at each word. " You are very headstrong, if you will only reflect.'' " It is not my head, it is my heart," answered Dolores. " And besides," she added witli a smile, " I am your daughter, and you are not of a very gentle and yielding disposition, are you ? " "No," he answered with hesitation, "perhaps not." Then his face relaxed a little, and he almost smiled too. It seemed as if the peace were made and as if thereafter there need not be trouble again. But it was even then not far off, for it was as impossible for Mendoza to yield as it would have been for Dolores to give up her love for Don John. She did not see this, and she fancied iliat a real change had taken place in his disposition, so that he would forget that he had threatened to send her to Las Huelgas, and not think of it again. " What is done cannot be undone," he said, with re- newed sadness. ^ You will never quite believe that you have been eveiytliing to me during your life. How could you not be, my child ? I am very lonely. Your A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 88 mother has been dead nearly eighteen years, and llod- rigo — " He stopped short suddenly, for he had never spoken his son's name in the girl's hearing since Kodrigo 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 if there is any- thing left of it, you will bi-eak the rest." He rose, taking his hand from hers, and turning away, with the roughness of a strong, hard man, who has broken down once under great emotion and is capa- ble of any harshness in his fear of yielding to it again. Dolores started slightly and drew back. In her the kindly impression was still strong, but his tone and manner wounded her. "You are wrong," she said earnestly. "Since you have shown me that you love me, I will indeed do my best not to hurt you or displease you. I will do what I can — what I can." She repeated the last words slowly and with uncon- scious emphasis. He turned his face to her again instantly. " Then promise me that you will never see Don John of Austria again, that you will forget that you ever loved him, that you will put him altogether out of your thoughts, and that you will obediently accept the mar- riage I shall make for you." The words of refusal to any such obedience as that rose to the girl's lips, ready and sharp. But she would 84 IN THE PALaCE OF THE KING n /! I not speak them this time, lest more angry words should answer hers. She looked straight at her father's eyes, holding her head proudly high for a moment. Then, smiling at the impossibility of what he asked, she turned from him and went to the window in silence. She opened it wide, leaned upon the stone sill and looked 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 of her father's kindlier mood. He did not raise his voice now, as he followed her and spoke. " You refuse to do that ? " he said, with an already ominous interrogation in his tone. " You ask the impossible," she answered, without looking round. " I have not refused, for I have no will in this, no choice. You can do what you please with me, for you have power over my outward life — and if you lacked 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 him long, and I shall love him till I die, and beyond that, forever and ever, beyond everything — beyond the great to-morrow of God's last judgment I How can I put him out of my thoughts, then ? It is madness to ask it of me." She paused a moment, while he stood behind her, setting his teeth and slowly grinding the heel of one heavy boot on the pavement. And as for threatening me," she continued, "you ti tiiiijrJidk A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 35 will not kill Don John, nor oven try to kill him, for he is the King's brother. If I can sec him this evening, I will— and there will be no risk for him. You v/ould not murder him by stes^Lli. I suppose? No I Then you will not attack him at all, and if I can see him, I will — I tell you so, frankly. To-morrow or the next day, when the festivities they have for him are over, and you yourself are at liberty, take me to Las Huelgas, if you will, and with as little scandal as possible. But when I am there, set a strong guard of armed men to keep me, for I shall escape unless you do. And I shall go 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 Don John tries to enter here, to see you, I will kill him. To-morrow, you shall go to Las Huelgas." Dolores made no answer* and did not even turn her head. He left her and went out. She heard his heavy tread in the hall beyond, and she heard a bolt slipped at the further door. She was imprisoned for the night, for the entrance her father had fastened was the one which cut off the portion of the apartment in which the sisters lived from the smaller part which he had reserved for himself. Tliese rooms, from which there was 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 and shut it. It had served its purpose as a sort of refuge from her father, and the 36 IN THE PALACK OF TlIK KING n II ;ii night air wa.^ cold. She sat down to tliink, and being in a somewhat desperate mood, she smiled at the idea of being locked into her room, supp* 'jss, like a naughty child. But her face grew grave instantly as she tried to discover some means of escape. Inez was certainly not in the apartment — she must have gone to the other end of the palace, on pretence of see- ing one of the court ladies, but really in the hope of giving Don John the letter. It was more than prob- able that she would not be allowed to enter when she came back, for Mendoza would distrust her. That meant that Dolores could have no communication with any one outside her rooms during the evening and night, and she knew her father too well to doubt that he would send her to Las Huelgas in the morning, as he had sworn to do. Possibly he would let her serv- ing-woman come to her to prepare what she needed for the journey, but even that was unlikely, for he would suspect everybody. The situation looked hopeless, and the girl's face grew slowly pale as she realized that after all she might not even exchange a word with Don John before going to the convent — she might not even be able to tell him whither they were sending her, and Mendoza might keep the secret for years — and she would never be allowed to write, of course. She heard the further door opened again, the bolt running back with a sharp noise. Then she heard her father's footsteps and his voice calling to Inez, as he went from room to room. But there was no answer, A LOVE STOUV OF OLD MADHII) 37 it le and preHently lie went uway, bolting tlie door a second time. There could be no more doubt about it now. Dolores was quite alone. Her heart beat heavily and slowly. But it was not over yet. Again the bolt slipped in the outer hall, and ai^ain she heard the heavy steps. They came straight towards the door. He had perliaps changed his mind, or he had something more to say ; siie held her breath, but he did not come in. As if to make doubly sure, he bolted her into the little room, crossed the hall a last time, and bolted it for the night, perfectly certain that Dolores was safely shut off from the outer world. For some minutes she sat quite still, profoundly disturbed, and utterly unable to find any way out of her difficulty, which was, indeed, that she was in a very secure prison. Then again there was a sound at the door, but very soft this time, not half as loud in her ears as the beat- ing of her own heart. There was something ghostly in it, for she had heard no footsteps. The bolt moved very slowly and gently — she liad to strain her ears to hear it move. The sound ceased, and another fol- lowed it — that of the door being cautiously opened. A moment later Inez was in the room — turning her head anxiously from side to side to hear Dolores' breathing, and so to find out where she was. Then as Dolores rose, the blind girl put her finger to her lips, 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 38 IN TIIK rAF.ACK OK TUK Ki.... ' \ \ yoii lliiit al'lcr lie lias Item siuin' liiiu^ in llu^ ^rcal. hall, ho will slip away and cimu! hoii'. You turn our futhur will 1)0 on duty an«l iianiiot coinc up." Dolores' hand (rcnihliMl violcnlly. *' llo sworo to WW (hat iio would kill Don John if ho cinu' hcri'," sli(» whisitcrod. " llii will do it, if it oosts his own life! You nuist iiiul him aj^niin — j^o (luickly, dear, tor tho love of Heaven ! " Her anxiety iiuueased. "(lo — 140, darlinjj^ — do not lose a uioinent — he nuiy eonie sooner — save him, save him! " "• I cannot go," answered Inez, in terror, as she un- derstood t)u^ situation. '* I had hidden myself, and I am locked in with you. He called me, but 1 kept quitrt, for I knew ho would not let me stay." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud in an agony of fear. l)t)lores' lips were white, ' she steadied herself against a chair. CHAPTER III DoLORBS stood leanin^r uguiiist the back of tho chair, neither hearing nor sceinjr lie'- 'iLitiv, conscious only that Don .John was in danger an I that she could not warn him to be on his guard. She had not be- lieved herself wlien she had told her father tiiat he would not dare to lift his hand against the King's half brother. She had said the words to give herself courage, and perhaps in a rush of certainty that tho man she loved was a match for other men, hand to hand, and something more. It was dilTerent now. Little as she yet knew of human nature, she guessed without reasoning that a man who has been angry, who has wavered and given way to wliat he believes to be weakness, and whose anger has then burst out again, is much more dangerous than before, because his wrath is no longer roused against another only, b^t also against himself. More follies and crimes have been committed in that second tide of passion than under a first impulse. Even if Mendoza had not fully meant what he had said the first time, he had meant it all, and more, when he had last spoken. Once more the vision of fear rose before Dolores' eyes, nobler now, because it was fear for an'^ther and not for herself, but therefore also harder to conquer 39 40 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING r I '< Inez had ceased from sobbing now, and was sitting quietly in her accustomed seat, in that attitude of con- centrated expectancy of sounds which is so natural to the blind, that one can almost recognize blindness 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 quite upright, or bent a little for- ward, the face is slightly turned up when there is total silence, often turned down when a sound is already heard distinctly ; the knees are hardly ever crossed, the hands are seldom folded together, but are generally spread out, as if ready to help the hearing by the sense of touch — the lips are slightly parted, for the blind know that they hear by the mouth as well as with their ears — the expression of the face is one of expectation and extreme attention, still, not placid, calm, but the very contrary of indifferent. It was thus that Inez sat, as she often sat for hours, listening, always and forever listening to the speech of things and of nature, as well as for human words. And in listening, she thought and reasoned patiently and continually, so that the slightest sounds had often long and accurate meanings for her. The deaf reason little or ill, and are very suspicious ; the blind, on the contrary, are keen, thoughtful, and ingenious, p,nd are distrustful of themselves rather than of others. Inez sat quite still, listening, thinking, and planning a means of helping her sister. But Dolores stood motionless as if she were para- lyzed, watching the picture that she could not chasa . ' ' ''■'" -' *^'- ■ '■'•'■" "-I- ■' --'-^-^ ^PMI A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 41 away. For she saw the fiiniiliiir liL,nire of the man she loved coming down the gloomy corridor, alone and unarmed, past the deep embrasures through which the moonlight streamed, straight towards the oak door at the end; and then, from one of thi; windows another figure stood out, sword in hand, a gaunt man with a grey beard, and there were few words, and an uncertain quick confounding of sliadows with a ray of cold light darting hither and thither, then a fall, and then still- ness. As soon as it was over, it began {igain, with little change, save that it grew more distinct, till she could see Don John's white face in the moonlight as he lay dead on the pavement of the corridor. It became intolerable at last, and she slowly raised one hand and covered her eyes to shut out the sight. " Listen," said Inez, as Dolores stirred. " I have been thinking. You must see him to-night, even if you are not alone with him. There is only one way to do that ; you must dress yourself for the court and go down to the great hall with the others and speak to him — th( I you can decide how to meet to-morrow." "Inez — I have not told you the rest! To-morrow I am to be sent to Las Huelgas, and kept there like a prisoner." Inez uttered a low cry of pain. " To a convent ! " It seemed like death. Dolores began to tell her all Mendoza had said, but Inez soon interrupted her. There was a dark llusl? in the blind girl's face. "A;id he would have you believe that he loves you I " she cried indignantly. " He has always been 42 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING I hard, and cruel, and unkind, he has never forgiven me for being blind — he will never forgive you for being young ! The King ! The King before everything and every one — before himself, yes, that is well, but before his children, his soul, his heart — he has no heart I What am I saying — " She stopped short. "And yet, in his strange way, he loves us both," said Dolores. " I cannot understand it, but I saw his face when there were tears in his eyes, and I heard his voice. He would give his life for us." "And our lives, and hearts, and hopes to feed his conscience and to save his own soul ! " Inez was trembling with anger, leaning far forward, her face flushed, one slight hand clenched, the other clenching it hard. Dolores was silent. It was not the first time that Inez had spoken in this way, for the 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 that Don John cannot come here at this hour, so that he is not waiting for him. We have this part of the place to ourselves, and the outer door only is bolted now. It will take you an hour to dress — say three-quarters of an hour. As soon as you get out, you must go quickly round 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 father will be there, and he will see you, but he will not care to make an open ] '•!.(.-\'^-r/^ ■;fTi(t»^.:7^-^^«^,ip[Vp ■iM A LOVE STORY OF or J) MADIUD 43 scandal in the court. I),,,, JoI.m will cn.o and speak to you; you must stay bcsid. the Duchess of course — but you can manage to exchange a few words." Dolores listened intently, and her face brightened a little as Inez went on, only to grow sad and hopeless again a moment later. It was all an impossible dream. "That would be possible if I could once get beyond the door of the hall," she said despondently. " It is of no use, dear ! The door is bolted." "They will open it for me. Old Eudaldo is always within hearing, and he will do anything for me. Be- sides, I shall seem to have been shut in by mistake, do you see? I shall say that I am hungry, thirsty, that I am cold, that in locking you in our father locked me m, too, because I was asleep. Then Eudaldo will open the door for me. I shall say that I am going to the Duchess's." "Yes — but then?" "You will cover yourself entirely with my black cloak and draw it over your head and face. We are of the same height — you only need to walk as I do — as if you were blind — across the hall to the left. Eudaldo will open the outer door for you. You will just nod to thank him, without speaking, and when you are out- side, touch the wall of the corridor with your left hand, and keep close to it. I always do, for fear of running against some one. If you meet any of the women, they will take you for me. There is never much light in the corridor, is there ? There is one oil lamp half way 44 IN THE PALAOK OF THE KING ) 1^ down, 1 know, for J always smell it when I pass in the evening." "Yes, it is almost dark there — it is a little lamp. Do you really think this is possible?" " It is possible, not sure. If you hear footsteps in the corridor beyond the corner, you will have time to slip into one of the embrasures. But our father will not come now. He knows that Don John is in his own apartments with many people. And besides, it is to be a great festival to-night, and all the court people and ollicers, and the Archbishop, and all the rest who do not live in the palace will come from the city, so that our father will have to command the troops and give orders for the guards to march out, and a thou- sand things will take his time. Don John cannot pos- sibly come here till after the royal supper, and if our father can 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 will suppose that in order to meet him you would risk coming back here, where you are sure to be caught and locked up again. Do you see ? " "It all depends upon whether I can get out," an- swered Dolores, but there was 'more hope in her tone. "How am I to dress without a maid?" she asked suddenly. "Trust me," said Inez, with a laugh. "My hands are better than a serving-woman's eyes. You shall ittkMIMMlHl A LOVE STORY OF OLD ISIADUID 45 look as you never looked before. I know every lock of your hair, and just how it should be turned and curled and fastened in phice so that it cannot possibly get loose. Come, we are wasting? time. Take off your slippers as I have done, so that no one shall hear us walking through the liall to your room, and bring the candles with you if you clioose - yes, you need them to pick out the colours you like." "If you think it will be safer in tlie dark, it does not matter," said Dolores. -I know where every- thing is." "It would be safer," answered Inez thoughtfully. "It is just possible tliat 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 bolt the door of this room, as I found it. If by any possi- bility he comes back, 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 towards the door. Inez was there before her, opening it veiy cautiously. ^' My hands are lighter than yours," she whispered. They both passed out, and Liez slipped the bolt back into its place with infinite 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 cannot find your way." They moved cautiously forward, and when they 46 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ii^ > I i i reached the table, Dolores bent down to the small wick and blew out the flame. Then she felt her sister's hand taking hers and leading her quickly to the other door. Tlie blind giil was absolutely noiseless in lier movements, and Dolores had the strange impression that she was being led by a spirit through the dark- ness. Inez stopped a moment and then went slowly on ; they had entered the room though Dolores had not heard the door move, nor did she hear it closed behind her again. Her own room was perfectly dark, for the heavy curtain that c(, ,ered the window was drawn; she made a step alone, and cautiously, and struck her knee against a chair. " Do not move," whispered Inez. " You will make a noise. I can dress you where you stand, or if you want to find anything, I will lead you to the place where it is. Remember that it is always day for me." Dolores obeyed, and stood still, holding her breath a little in her intense excitement. It seemed impossible that Inez could do all she promised without making a mistake, and Dolores would not have been a woman had she not been visited just then by visions of ridi- cule. Without light she was utterly helpless to do anything for herself, and she had never before then fully realized the enormous misfortune with which her sister had to contend. She had not guessed, either, what energy and quickness of thought Inez possessed, and the. sensation of being advised, guided, and helped by one she had always herself helped and protected was new. 0^^t': A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 47 % They spoke in quick whispers of what she was to wear and of how her hair was to be dressed, and Inez found what was wanted without noise, and almost as quickly as Dolores could have done in broad daylight, and placed a chair for her, making her sit down in it, and began to arrange her hair quickly and akilfuUy. Dolores felt the spiritlike hands touching her lightly and deftly in the dark — they were very slight and soft, and did not offend her with a rougli movement or a wrong turn, as her maid's sonietimes did. She felt her golden hair undone, and swiftly drawn out and smoothed without catching, or tangling, or hurting her at all, in a way no woman had ever combed it, and the invisible hands gently divided it, and turned it upon her head, slipping the hairpins into the right places as if by magic, so that they were firm at the first trial, and there was a faint sound of little pearls tapping each other, and Dolores felt the small string laid upon her hair and fastened in its place, — the only ornament a young gi'l could wear for a headdress, — and presently it was fix ished, and Inez gave a sigh of satisfaction at her work, and lightly felt her sister's head here and there to be sure that all was right. It felt as if soft little birds were just touching the hair with the tips of their wings as they fluttered round it. Dolores had no longer any fear of looking ill dressed in the blaze of light she was to face before long. The dressing of her hair was the most troublesome part, she knew, and though she coulc' not have done it herself, she had felt that every touch and turn had been perfectly skilful. ] 48 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 'I 'I J< J/ " What a wonderful creature you are I " she whis pered, as Inez bade lier stand up. "• You have beautiful hair," answered th'* blind girl, " and you are beautiful in other ways, but to-night you must be the most beautiful of all the court, for his sake — so that every woman may envy you, and every man envy him, when they see you talking together. And now we must be quick, for it has taken a long time, and I hear the soldiers marching out again to form in the square. That is always just an hour and a half before the King goes into the hall. Here — this is the front of the skirt." "No— it is the back!" Inez laughed softly, a whispering laugh that Dolores could scarcely hear. " It is the front," she said. " You can trust me in the dark. Pi ur arms down, and le^ me slip it over your head so as not to toiAjh your hair. No — hold your arms down ! " Dolores had instinctively lifted hei hands to pro- tect her headdress. Then all went quickly, the silence only broken by an occasional whispered word and by the rustle of silk, the long soft sound of the lacing as Inez drew it through the eyelets of the bodice, the light tapping of her hands upon the folds and gatherings of the skirt and on the puffed velvet on the shoulders and elbows. "You must be beautiful, perfectly beautiful to- night," Inez repeated mora than once. She herself did not understand why she said it, A LOVE STOEY OF OLD MADRID 49 unless it were that Dolores' beiiity was for Don John of Austria, and that nothing in the whole world could be too perfect for him, for the hero of her thoughts, the sun of her blindness, the immeasurably far-removed deity of her heart. She did not know that it was not for her sister's sake, but for his, that she had planned the escape and was taking such infinite pains that Dolores might look lier best. Yet she felt a deep and delicious delight in what she did, like nothing she had ever felt before, for it was the first time in her life that she had been able to do something that could give him pleasure; and, behind that, there was the belief that he was in danger, that she could no longer go to him nor warn him now, and that only Dolores herself could hinder him from coming unexpectedly against old Alendoza, sword in hand, in the corridor. "And now my cloak over everything," she .'aid. " Wait here, for I must get it, and do not move ! " Dolores hardly knew whether Inez left the room ■v not, so noiselessly did the girl move. Then she felt the cloak laid upon her shoulders and drawn close round her to hide her dress, for skirts were short in those days and easily hidden. Inez laid a soft silk hand- kercLief upon her sister's hair, lest it should be dis- arranced by the hood which she lightly drew over all, as^^iring herself that it would sufficiently hide the face. "Now come with me," she whispered. "I will lead you to the door that is bolted and place you E 60 IV THE PALACE OF THE KING just where it will open. Then I will call Eudaldo and speak to him, and beg him to let me out. If he does, bend your head and try to walk as I do. I shall be on one side of the door, and, as the room is dark, he cannot possibly see mc. While he is open- ing tlie outer door for you, I will slip back into my own room. Do you understand? And remember to hide in an embrasure if you hear a man's footsteps. Are you quite sure you understand ? " "Yep; it will be easy if Eudaldo opens. And I thank you, dear ; I wish I knew how to thank you as I ought I It may have saved his life — " "And yours, too, perhaps," answered Inez, begin- ning to lead her away. " You would die in the con- vent, and you must not come back — you must never come back to us here — never till you are married. Good-by, Dolores — dear sister. I have done nothing, and you have done everything for me all your life. Good-by — one kiss — then we must go, for it is late." With her soft hands she drew Dolores' head towards her, lifted the hood a little, and kissed her tenderly. All at once there were tears on both their 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 a spirit as she went before, leading her sister by the hand. They reached the door, and she made Dolores stand before the right- »-»-TiT;rr:':jaa( fi'^r wmm m A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 51 i._ »> hand panel, ready to slip out, and once more she touched the hood to be sure it hid the face. She listened a moment. A harsh and regular sound came from a distance, rescmhliug that made by a pitsaw steadily grinding its way lengthwise through a log of soft pine wood. "Eudaldo is asleep," said Inez, and even at this mo- ment she could hardly suppress a lialf-hysterical laugh. "I shall have to make a tremendous noise to wake hira. The danger is that it may bring some one else, — the women, tlie rest of the servants." " What shall we do ? " asked Dolores, in a dis- tressed whisper. She had braced her nerves to act the part of her sister at the dangerous moment, and her excitement made every instant of wail lug seem ten times its length. Inez did not answer the question at once. Dolores repeated it still more anxiously. " I was trying to make up my mind," said the other at last. " You could pass Eudaldo well enough, I am sure, but it might be another matter if the hall were full of servants, as it is certain that our father has given a general order that you are not to be allowed to go out. We may wait an hour for the man to wake." Dolores instinctively tried the door, but it was solidly fastened from the outside. She felt hot and cold by turns as her anxiety grew more intolerable. Each minute made it more possible that she might meet her father somewhere outside. 6S IN THE PALACE OF TFIE KING ■> ! " Wo must decide something I " she whispered des- perately. "We cannot wait here." " I do not know what to do," answered Inez. " I have done all I can ; I never dreamt tliat Eu[)roached. " Listen to me," she continued. " The (ieneral has locked me in, by mistake. He did not know I was here when he bolted the door. And I am hungry and thirsty and very cold, Eudaldo — and you must let me out, and I will run to the Duchess Alvarez and stsiy with her little girl. Indeed, Eudaldo, the General did not mean to lock me in, too." " He said nothing about your ladyship to me," an- swered the servant doubtfully. " But I do not know — " he hesitated. "Please, please, Eudaldo," pleaded Inez, "I am so cold and lonely here — " " But Dofia Dolores is there, too," observed Eudaldo. 54 IN THE PALACK OF THE KING ,1 I ti^ Dolores lield her l)r('alli an«l stciiditd lierself against the panel. " "'le shut hvY into tlie inner sitting-room. How could I daie to open tlie door ! You may go in and knock — she will noi answer you." " Is your ladyship sure tiiat Dofla Dolores is within ? '* asked Eudaldo, in a more yielding tone. " Absolutely, perfectly sure ! " answered Inez, with perfect truth. "Oh, do please let me out." Slowly th(i old man drew the bolt, while Dolores' heart stood still, and slie prepared herself for the dan- ger ; for she knew well enough that the faithful old servant feared his nnister much more than he feared the devil and all evil spirits, and would, prevent her from passing, even with force, if he recognized her. "Thank you, Eudaldo — thank you ! " cried Inez, as the latch turned. "And open the front door for me, please," she said, putting her lips just where the panel was opening. Then she drew back into the darkness. The door was wide open now, and Eudaldo was already shufHing towards the entrance. Dolores went forward, bending her head, and trying to affect her sister's step. No distance had ever seemed so long to her as that which separated her from the hall door which Eudaldo was already opening for her. But she dared not hasten her step, for though Inez moved with perfect certainty in the house, she always walked with a certain de- liberate caution, and often stopped to listen, while crossing a room. The blind girl was listening now, -"» u e y. - c; -^ ifl 1 : A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 55 with all her marvellous hearing, to he sure that all went well till Dolores should be outside. She knew exactly how many steps there were from where she stood to the entrance, for she had often counted them. Dolores must have been not more than three yards from the door, when Inez started involuntarily, for she heard a sound from without, far off — so far that Dolores could not possibly have heard it yet, but un- mistakable to the blind girl's keener ear. Slie listened intently — there were Dolores' last four steps to the open doorway, and there were others from beyond, still very far away in the vaulted corridors, but coming nearer. To call her sister back would liave made all further attempt at escape hopeless — to let her go on seemed almost equally fatal — Inez could have shrieked aloud. But Dolores had already gone out, and a mo- ment later the heavy door swung back to its place, and it was too late to call her. Like an immaterial spirit, Inez slipped away from the place where she stood and went back to Dolores' room, knowing that Eudaldo would very probably go and knock where he supposed her sister to be a prisoner, before slipping the outer bolt again. And so he did, muttering an imprecation upon the little lamp that had gone out and left the small hall in darkness. Then he knocked, and spoke through the door, offering to bring her food, or fire, and repeat- ii^ his words many times, in a supplicating tone, for he was devoted to botli the sisters, tliough terror of old Meadrwi was tli" dominating element in his existence. At last he shook his head and turned despondently 56 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ! to light the little lamp again ; and when he had done that, he went away and bolted the door after him, con- vinced that Inez had gone out and that Dolores had stayed behind in the last room. When she had heard him go away the last time, the blind girl threw herself upon Dolores' bed, and buried her face in the down cushion, sobbing bitterly in her utter loneliness ; weeping, too, for something she did not understand, but which she felt the more painfully because she could not understand it, something that was at once like a burning fire and an unspeakable emptiness craving to be filled, something that longed and feared, and feared longing, something that was a strong bodily pain but whicli she somehow knew might have been the source of all earthly delight, — an ele- ment detached from thought and yet holding it, above the body and yet binding it, touching the soul and growing upon it, but filling the soul itself with fear and unquietness, and making her heart cry out within her as if it were not hers and were pleading to be free. So, as she could not understand that this was love, which, as she had heard said, made women and men mo«t happy, like gods and goddesses, above their kind, she lay alone in the darkness that was always as day to her. and wept her heart out in scalding tears. In the corridor outside, Dolores made a few steps, remembering to put out her left hand to touch the wall, as Inez had told her to do ; and then she heard what had reached her sister's ears much sooner. She stood still an instant, strained her eyes to see in the ;iii:?*«i .,ii.-*:jM*S-o ■'. A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 67 , dim light of the single Ijuiip, saw nothing, and heard the sound coming nearer. Then she quickly crossed the corridor to the nearest emhrasure to liide herself. To her horror she realized that the lierht of the full moon was streaming in as hright as day, and that she could not be hid. Inez knew nothing of moonlight. 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 whoever came by might pass without turning his head. Nervous and exhausted by all she had felt and been made to feel since the afternoon, she held her breath and waited. The regular tread of a man booted and spurred came relentlessly towards her, without haste and without pause. No one who wore spurs but her father ever came that way. She listened breathlessly to the hollow echoes, and turned her eyes along the wall of the em- brasure. In a moment she must see his gaunt figure, and the moonlight would be white on his short grey beard. f , I I w II J 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 short seconds a hundred possibilities flashed through her disturbed thoughts. She might slip past him and run for her life down the corridor, or she might draw her hood over her face and try to pretend that she was some one else, — but he would recognize the liood itself as belonging to Inez, — 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 lady of the court, and pass on. And yet she could not decide which to attempt, and stood still, pressing herself against the wall of the embrasure, and quite forgetful of the fact that the bright moonlight fell unhindered through all the other windows upon the pavement, whereas she cast a shadow from the one in which she was standing, and that any one coming along the corridor would notice it and stop to see who was there. There was something fateful and paralyzing in the regular footfall that was followed instantly by the short echo from the vault above. It was close at hand now ; she was sure that at the very next instant she should see her father's face, yet nothing came, except 68 \ I, ■:i^*M^'V' A LOVE STORY OP fJLD MADRID 69 the sound, for tluit deceived her in the silence and seemed far nearer than it was. She had heard horrible ghost stories of the old Alcazar, and as a child she had been frightened by tales of evil things that haunted the corridors at night, of wraiths and goblins and Moorish wizards who dwelt in secret vaults, 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 the thrill of unearthly fear at the roots of her hair, and trc nibled, and the sound seemed to be magnified till it reechoed like thuniler, though it was only the noise of an advancing footfall, with a little jingling of spurs. But at last there was no doubt. It was close to her, and she shut her eyes involuntarily. She heard one step more on the stones, and then there was silence. She knew that her father had seen her, had stopped before her, and was looking at her. She knew how his rough brows were knitting themselves together, and that even in the pale moonlight his eyes were fierce and angry, and that his left hand was resting on the hilt of his sv/ord, the bony brown fingers tapping the basket nervously. An hour earlier, or little more, she had faced him as bravely as any man, 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 soft and deep. She opened her eyes with a sharp cry that was not of fear, and she threw back her hood with one hand as she looked. ' 60 IN TfTE PALACE OF THE KING % f Don John of Austria was there, a step from her, tlie light full on his face, V)areheaded, his cap in his hand, bending a little towards her, as one does towards a person one does not know, but wlio seems to be in distress and to need help. Against the whiteness without he could not see her face, nor could he recog- nize her mulHed 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 hood fell quite back with the silk kerchief, he saw her golden hair in the silver light. Slowly and in wonder, and still not quite believing, he moved 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 a little sound that was neither a word nor a syllable nor a cry — a sound that was half fierce with strong delight as his lips met hers, and his hands were suddenly at her v/?ist lifting her slowly to his own height, though he did not know it, pressing her closer ard closer to him, as if that one kiss were the first und last that ever man gave woman. A minute passed, and yet neither he nor she could speak. She stood with her hands clasped round his neck, and her head resting on his breast just below the shoulder, as if she were saying tender words to the heart she heard beating so loud through the soft black velvet. She knew that it had never beaten in battle as it was beating now, and she loved it because it knew her and welcomed her; but her own stood still, and f A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 61 now and then it fluttered wildly, like a stronpj young bird in a barred cage, and then was quite still again. Bending his face a little, he softly kissed her hair again and again, till at last the kisses formed themselves into syllables and words, which she felt rather than lieard. "•God in heaven, how I love you — heart of my heart — life of my life — love of my soul I " And again he repeated the same words, and many more like them, with little change, because at that mo- ment he had neither thought nor care for anything else in the world, not for life nor death nor kingdom nor glory, in comparison with the woman he loved. He could not hear her answers, for she spoke without words to his heart, hiding her face where she heard it throb- bing, while her lips pressed many kisses on the velvet. Then, as thought returned, and the first thought was for him, she drew back a little with a quick movement, and looked up to him with frightened and imploring eyes. " We must go ! " she cried anxiously, in a very low voice. "We cannot stay here. My father is very angry — he swore on his word of honour that he would kill you if you tried to see me to-night ! " Don John laughed gently, and his eyes brightened. Before she could speak again, he held her close once more, and his kisses were on her cheeks and her eyes, on her foreliead and on her hair, and then again upon her lips, till they would have hurt her if she had not loved them so, and given back every one. Then she struggled again, and he loosed his hold. 62 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO Ij ' I 'I' ! I " It is death to stay here," she said very earnestly. "It is worse than death to leave yon," ho answered. "And I will not," he added an instant later, "neither for the King, nor for yonr father, nor for any royal marriage they may try to force upon me." She looked into his eyes for a moment, before she spoke, and there was detp and true trust in her own. "Then you must save me," she said quietly. "He has vowed that 1 siiall be sent to the convent of Las Huelgas to-morrow morning. He locked me into the inner room, but Inez helped me to dress, and I got out under her cloak." She t< Id him in a few words what she had done and had meant to do, in order to see him, and how she had taken his step for her father's. He listened gravely, and she . w his face harden slowly in an expression she had scarcely ever seen there. When she had finished her story he was silent for a moment. "We are quite safe here," he said at last, "safer than anywhere else, I think, 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 pestered by visitors in my apartments that I have not found time to put on a court dress — and without vanity, I presume that I ani m necessary figure at court this evening. Your father is with Perez, who seems to be acting as master of ceremonirs and of everything else, as well as the King's secretary — they have busi- ness together, and the General will not have a moment. I ascertained that, before coming here, or I should not A LnVE STORY OF old MADRID 68 have come at this hour. We are safe from him here, I am sure." " You know best," answered Dolores, who was greatly reassured by what ho said about Meiidoza. "Let us sit down, then. You mu.st be tired after all you have done. And we have much to say to each other." "How could I be tired now?" she asked, with a lov- ing smile ; but she sat down on tlio stone seat in the embrasure, close to the window. It was just wide enough for two to sit there, and Don John took his place beside her, and drew one of her hands silently to him between both his own, and kissed the tips of her fingers a great many times. Hut he felt that she was watching his face, and he looked up and saw her eyes — and then, again, many seconds passed before either could speak. They were but a boy and girl together, loving each other in the tender first love of early youth, for the victor of the day, the subduer of the Moors, the man who had won back Granada, who was already High Admiral of Spain, and who in some ten months from that time was to win a decisive battle of the world at Lepanto, was a strip- ling of twenty-three summers — and he had first seen Dolores when he was twenty and she seventeen, 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 unerring determinations that led to actions as sud- den as they were bold and brilliant, and what Dolores 64 IN THK PA LACK OF TIIK KINd fi •i had told liiin of lu;r qnnrrel witli lior fatlier was cnoujrli to rousi! liis \vli(»l(! ciuM'i^'y at once. At all costs she must never be allowed to pass the plates of Las Huol- fT'dn. Oiiee within tlie convent, hy the Kin<('s orders, and a elosi^ prisoner, nothini,' short of a sacrilegious as- sault and armed violence could ever hring her out into the world again. He knew tliat, and that he must act instantly to prevent it, for he knew Mendoza's charac- ter also, and had no d(ml)t hut that he would do what he threatened. It was necessary to put Dolores be- yond his reach at once, and beyond the King's also, which was not an easy matter within the walls of the King's own palace, and on such a night. Don John had been but little at the court and knew next to noth- ing of its intrigues, nor of the mutual relations of the ladies and high oilicers who had apartments in the Alcazar. In his own train there were no women, of course. Dolores' bi'other Rodrigo, wlio had fought by his side at Granada, had begged to be left behind with the garrison, in order that he might not be forced to meet his father. Dona Magdalena Quixada, Don John's adoptive mother, was far away at Villagarcia. The Duchess Alvarez, though fond of Dolores, was Mistress of the Robes to the young Queen, and it was not to be hoped nor expected that she should risk the danger of utter ruin and disgrace if it were discovered that she had hidden the girl against the King's wishes. Yet it was absolutely necessary that Dolores should be safely hidden within an hour, and that she should be got out of the palace before morning, and if possible A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADUID 65 convpy<^rott'ctin^' anthoiity that had not heen in liis toiicli thu llrst time. Moreover, he did not kiss h(!r tinj^ers now, and he resohitely lodked at the wall opposite him. Tlien, in a low and (piiet voice, lie laid the sitnation l)efore her, while she anxiously listened. "You see," he said at hust, ''there is only one way left. Dolores, do you altogether trust me ? " She started a little, and her fmpfers pressed his hand suddenly. "Trust you? Ah, with all my soul I " "Think well before you answer," he said. " You do not quite understand — it is a little hard to put it clearly, but I must. I know you trust me in many ways, to love you faithfully always, to speak truth to you always, to defend you always, to help you with my life when you shall be in need. You know that I love you so, as you love me. Have we not often said it ? You wrote it in your letter, too — ah, dear, I thank you for that. Yes, I have read it — I have it here, near my heart, and I shall read it ac^ain before I sleep — " Without a word, and still listening, she bent down and pressed her lips to the place where her letter lay. He touched her hair with his lips and went on speak- ing, {IS she leaned back against the wall again. " You must trust me even more than that, my be- loved," he said. " To save you, you must be hidden by some one whom 1 myself can trust — and for such a 66 IN THE PALA(;K of THE KING ii: ?.: matter there is no one in the pah'^cc nor in all INIadrid — no one to whom I can turn and know that you will be safe — not one liuman being, except myself." " Except yourself ! " Dolores loved the words, and gently pressed liis hand. " I thank you, dearest heart — but do you know what that means ? Do you understand that I must hide you myself, in my own apartments, and keep you there until 1 can take you out of the palace, before morning?" Slie was silent for a few moments, turning her face away from him. His lieart sank. "•No, dear," he said sadly, "you do not trust me enough for that — I see it — what woman could?" Her hand trembled and started in his, then pressed it hard, and she turned her face quite to him. " You are wrong," slie said, with a tremor in her voice. " I love you as no man was ever loved by any woman, far Ijcyond all that all words can say, and I shall love you till I die, and after that, for ever — even if I can never be your wife. I love you as no one loves in these days, and when I say that it is as you love me, I mean a thousand fold for every word. I am not the child you left nearly two years ago. I am a woman now, for I liiive tliought and seen much since then — a^jd I love vou better and more than then. God knows, there is enough to see and to learn in this court — that should be hidden deep from honest wom- en '» sight ! You and I shall have a heaven on this earth, if God grants that we may be joined together — for I will live for you, and serve you, and smooth all f I A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 67 je IS trouble out of your way — and ask nothing of you but your love. And if we cannot marry, 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 fervently that God nmst hnir me. And so will you pray for me, as you would fight for me, if you could. Remember, if you will, that when you are in battle for Spain, your sword is drawn for Spain's hon- our, and for the honour of every Christian Spanish woman that lives — and for mine, too ! " The words pleased him, and liis free hand was sud- denly clenched. " You would make cowards liglit like wolves, if you could speak to them like that ! " he said. " I am not speaking to cowards," she answered, with a loving smile. " I am speaking to the man I love, to the best and bravest and truest man that breathes — and nob to Don John of Austria, the victorious leader, but to you, my heart's love, my life, my all, to you who are good and brave and true 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 love as ours." "May I be all you would have me, and much more," he said fervently, and his voice sho(jk in the short speech. "I am giving you all I have, because it is not belief, it is certainty. 1 know you are all that I say you are, and more too. And I trust you, as you mean it, and as you need my trust to save me. Take me 68 IN TIIK I'AI.ACE OF THE KINO 5' J wh'^re you will. iVuU) me in your own room if you must, and l»olt i\\u\ hnv it if iichmI Ik;. I sliall l)o as safe with you as i sliould he with my mother in lioaven. I put my hands between yoiu-s." A^ain lie heard lier swtM't h>w laup^htur, full of joy and tiiist, and sho laid her hands toc^ciluM* between his and looked into his eyes, straight and clear. Then she sj)ok(; softly and solenndy. "Into your hands I j)ut my life, and my faith, and my maiden lionour, trust intood up beside him. " My apartments pen upon the broad terrace on the south side," he saia. "At this time there will be only two or three ollicers there, and my two servants. Follow me at a litth; distance, with your hood over your face, and when you reach the sentry-box at the corner where I turn otf, go in. There will be no sentinel there, and the door looks outward. liall send away every one, on different errands, in five minutes. V/hen every one is gone I will come for you. Is that clear ? " "Perfectly." She nodded, as if she had made quite sure of what he had explained. Then she put up her hands, as if to say good-by. " Oh, if we could only stay here in peace ! " she cried. He said nothing, for he knew that there was still much danger, and he was anxious for her. He only pressed her hands and then led her away. They fol- lowed the corridor together, side by side, to the turn- ing. Then he whispered to her to drop behind, and she let him go on a dozen paces and followed him. fciteiMiwlK^iiiW&i^ A LOVK STORV OF OLD MADRID 71 1 The way was long, and ill lii,'lilo(l tit intervals by oil lamps hung from the vault by snuill cliains ; they cast a broad black shadow beneath them, and shed a feeble light above. Several times persons passed them, and Dolores' heart beat furiously. A court lady, followed by a duenna and a serving-woinan, sto})ped with a win- ning smile, and dropped a low courtesy to Don John, who lifted his cap, bowed, and went on. They did not look at Dolores. A num in a green cloth apron and loose slippers, carrying live lighted lain[)s in a greasy iron tray, passed with perfect indifference, and without paying the least attention to the victor of Granada. It was his business to carry lam[)s in that i)art of the palace — he was not a human being, but a lamplighter. They went on, down :* ^ jrt tiight of broad steps, and then through a wider corridor where the lights were better, though the night breeze v/as blowing in and made them flicker and flare. A corporal's guard of the household halberdiers came swinging down at a marching step, coming from the terrace beyond. The ciu'poral crossed his halberd in salute, but Don John stopped him, for he understood at once that 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, lespectfully. " Request your captai^i to report to the General that I particularly desire no sentinel at my door. 1 have no possessions to guard except my reputation, and I can take care of that myself." lie laughed good-naturedly. h^ 72 IN THE PALACE OP THE KING Tho corpoi'ial gri ued — he was a very dark, broad- faced man, with higii clieek bones, and ears that stuck out. He faced about with his three soldiers, and fol- hiwed Don Jolin to the terrace — but in the distance he had seen the hooded figure of a woman. Not knowing what to do, for she had heard the collo- quy, Dolores stood still a moment, for she did not care to pass the soldiers as they came back. Then she turned and walked a little way in the other direction, to gain time, and kept on slowly. In less than a minute they returned, bringing the sentinel with them. She walked slowly and counted them as they went past her — and then she started as if she had. been stung, and blushed scarlet under her hood, for she distinctly heard the big corporal laugh to himself when he had gone by. She knew, then, how she trusted the man she loved. When the soldiers had turned the corner and were out of sight, she ran back to the terrace and hid herself in the stone sentry-box just outside, still blushing and angry. On the side of the box towards Don John's apartment there was a small square window just at the height of her eyes, and she looked through it, sure that her face could not be seen from without. She looked from mere curiosity, to see what sort of men the offi- cers were, and Don John's servants ; for everything connectf^d with him or belonging to him in any way interested her most intensely. Two lull captains came out first, magnificent in polished breastplates with gold shoulder straps and sashes and gleaming basket-hilted swords, that stuck up behind them as their owners rOUti^^mU^^ ■■•>■-■*"' A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 78 pressed down the hilts and strutted jdonf:^, twisting their short black moustaches in the Iidpe of nieetint^ some court hidy on their way. Tliun aiiotlier and older man passed, also in a soldier's dress, but with bent head, apparently deep in thought. After that no one came for sometime — then a servant, who pulled something out of his pocket and began to eat it, before he was in the corridor. Then a woman came past the little window. Dolores saw her as distinctly as she had seen the four men. She came noiselessly and stealtl.ily, putting down her foot delicately, like a cat. She was a huly, and she wore a loose cloak that covered all her gown, and on her head a thick veil, drawn fourfold across her face. Her gait told the girl that she was young and graceful — something in the turn of the head made lier sure that she was beautiful, too — sometliing in the whole figure and bearing was familiar. The blood sank ivom Dolores' cheeks, and she felt a chill slowly rising to her heart. The lady entered the corridor and went on quickly, turned, and was out of sight. Then all at once, Dolores laughed to hersiilf, noise- lessly, and was happy again, in si)ite of her danger. There was nothing to disturb her, she rcncctcd Tlje terrace was long, thercs wvvr doubtless other apart- ments beyond Don John's, though she had not known It. The lady had indeed A\'alked eautiou^;ly, but it might well be that she had reasons for not being seen there, and that the further rooms were not hers. The Alcazar was only an old Monilsh castle, ufttsr all, 74 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO I ' j I restored and irregularly enlarged, and altogether very awkwardly built, so that many of the apartments could only l)e reached by crossing open terraces. When Don John came to get her in the sentry-box, Dolores' momentary doubt was gone, thoiigh not all her curiosity. She smiled as she came out of her hiding- place and met his eyes — clear Jind true as her own. She even hated herself for having thought that the lady could have come from his apartment at all. The light was streaming from his open door as he led her quickly towards it. There were three windows beyond it, and there the terrace ended. She looked at the front as they were passing, and counted again three windows between the open door and the corner where 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 puiiifii) (iffort. " My drawing-room and dining-room," he answered. She paused and drew breath before she spoke again, and she pressed one hand to lier side under Iier cloak. " Wlio was the lady who came from here when all she asked, vory pal@. men gone CHAPTER V Don John was a man not easily taken off his guard, but he started perceptiljly al Dolores' (juestion. He did not chanM"ti colour, iiowover, nor did IiIh oyuH waver ; ho looked llxedly into her face. "No lady has l»een here," he answered quietly. Dolores doubted the evidence of her own senses. Her belief in the man she hjved was so great that his words seemed at lirst to have destroyed and 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 in through the open entrance. She found herself in a vestibule from which doors opened to the right and left. He turned in the latter direction, leading the way into the r(jom. It was his bedchamber. ' Built in the Moorish man- ner, the vaulting began at the height of a man's head, springing upward in bold and graceful curves to a great height. The room was square and very large, and the wall below the vault was hung with very beau- tiful tapestries representing the battle of Pavia, the surrender of Francis the First, and a sort of apothe- osis of the Emperor Charles, the father of Don John. There were two tall windows, which were quite cov- ered by curtains of a dark brocade, in which the coats 76 i 76 IN TFIE I'ALACE OF THE KTNO 1 ' Hi ■1 ^ u bt i' 1 [ 1 i 1 ■ f ..i ' of Spain and tlic! Kmpiro were wovon in rolonrs at regular intervals; and opposite them, witli the head to the wall, stood a vast eurtained Ixjdstead with emved posts twiee a man's height. The vaulting had been cut on that side, in order that the foot of the bed might stand baek against the wall. Tlie ciinopy had coats of arms at tlie four corners, and the curtains were of dark green corded silk, heavily endjroidered with gold thread in the beautiful scrolls and ara- besques of the period of the Renascence. A carved table, dark and j)olished, stood half way between the foot of the bedstead and the si)ace between the win- dows, where a magnificent kneeling-stool witli red vel- vet cushions was placed under a large crucifix. Half a dozen big chairs were ranged against the long walls on each side of the room, and two conmiodious folding chairs witli cushions of emlx)ssed leather were beside the table. Opposite the door by which Dolores had entered, another communicated with the room beyond. B(jth were carved and ornamented with scroll work of gilt bronze, but were without curtains. Three or four Eastern rugs covered the greater part of the polished marble pavement, which here and there reflected the light of the tall wax torches that stood on the table in silver candlesticks, and on each side of the bed upon low stands- The vault above the tapestried walls was very dark blue, and decorated witli gilded stars in relief. Dolores thought the room gloomy, and almost funereal. The bed looked like a catafalque, the can- dles like funeral torches, and the whole place breathed A LOVK STORY OF OLD MAI '1111) 77 the magnificent discomfort of royalty, and seemed hardly inl-onded for a human habitation, Dolores uarely glanced at it all, an her companion locked the first door and led lier on to the next room. He knew that he had not numy minutes to spare, and was anxious that she should he in her hi(lin,i(-i)lace before his servants came back. She followed him and went in. Unlike the bedchamber, the small study was scantily and severely furnished. It contained only a writing-table, two simple chairs, a straiglit-baeked divan covered with leather, and a large chest of black oak bound witli ornamented steel work. The window was curtiiined with dark stuif, and two wax candles burned steadily beside the writing-materials that were spread out ready for use. "This is the room," Don John said, speaking for the first time since they had entered the apartments. Dolores let her head fall back, and l)egan to loosen her cloak at her throat without answering him. He helped her, and laid the long garment upon the divan. Then he turned and saw her in the full light of the candles, 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 most beautiful woman I ever saw. » The merest girl knows the tone of a man whose genuine admiration breaks out unconsciously in plain words, and Dolo^c'S was a grown woman. A faint colour rose in her cheek, and her lips parted to smile, but her ^ ^%^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) f/ A ^//^/^<^ /A 4^ ^-, ^ .<> 4,. Zi ^ m6 I 1.0 HKfl KS •0 112.0 1.1 11.25 1.8 ^IJ4 ^ % 7 '^ V V m /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716)872-4503 \ TT i H r 11 h v.\ 78 IN THE Palace of the kino eyes were grave and anxious, for the doubt had re- turned, and would not be thrust away. She had seen the lady in the cloak and veil during several seconds, and though Dolores, who had been watching the men who passed, had not actually seen her come out of Don John's apartments, but had been suddenly aware of her as she glided by, it seemed out of the question that she should have come from any other place. There was neither niche nor embrasure between the door and the corridor, in which the lady could have been hidden, and it was hardly conceivable that she should have been waiting outside for some mysterious purpose, and should not have fied as soon as she heard the two officers coming out, since she evidently wished to escape observation. On the other hand, Don John had quietly denied that any woman had been there, which meant at all events that he had not seen any one. It could mean nothing else. Dolores was neither foolishly jealous nor at all sus- picious by nature, and the man was her ideal of truth- fulness and honour. She stood looking at him, resting one hand on the table, while he came slowly towards her, moving almost unconsciously in the direction of her exquisite beauty, as a plant lifts itself to the sun at morning. He was near to her, and he stretched out his arms as if to draw her to him. She smiled then, for in his eyes she forgot her trouble for a moment, and she would have kissed him. But suddenly his face grew grave, and he set his teeth, and instead of taking her into his arms, he took one of her hands and rt i. I A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 79 raised it tO his lips, as if it had been the hand of his brother's wife, the young Queen. "Why?" she asked in surprise, and with a little start. "You are here under my protection," he answered. " Let me have my own way." " Yes, I understand. How good you are to me I " She paused, and then went on, 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 the key. Then I shall know that I am safe ; and in the meantime you must decide how I am to escape — it will not be easy." She stopped again. " I wonder who that woman was ' " she exclaimed at last. "There was no woman here," replied Don John, as quietly and assuredly as before. He was leaning upon the table at the other side, with both hands resting upon 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 im after all the men, walking very cautiously to make no noise ; and when she was in the corridor she ran — she was young and light-footed. I could not see her face." "You believe me, do you not?" asked Don John, bending over the table a little, and speaking very anxiously. She turned her face up instantly, her eyes wide and bright. ^' ^^^^^sm I 80 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING " Should I be here if I did not trus*^ you and helieve you ? " she asked almost fiercely. " Do you think — do you dare to think — that I would have passed your door if I had supposed that another woman had been here before me, and had been turned out to make room for me, and would have stayed here — here in your room — if you had not sent her away ? If I had thought that, I would have left you at your door forever. I would have gone back to my father. I would have gone to Las Huelgas to-morn^w, and not to be a prisoner, but to live and die there ii the only life fit for a broken-hearted woman. Oh, no ! You dare not think that, — you who would dare anything I If you thought that, you could not love me as I love you, — believing, trusting, staking life and soul on your truth and faith ! " The generous spirit had risen in her eyes, roused not against him, but by all his question might be made to mean ; and as she met his look of grateful gladness her anger broke away, and left only perfect love and trust 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 were free to breathe. She looked up at the pale, strong features of the young fighter, who was so great and glorious almost before the down had thickened on his lip ; and she saw something almost above nature in his face, — something high and angelic, yet manly and well fitted to face earthly battles. He was her sun, her young god, her A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 81 Lce ler perfect image of perfection, the very source of her trust, it would liave killed her to doubt him. Her whole soul went up to him in her eyes ; and as he was ready to die for her, she knew that for him slie would suffer every anguish death could hold, and not flinch. Then she looked down, and suddenly laughed a little oddly, and her finger pointed towards tlie pens and paper. "She has left something hehind," she said. "She was clever to get in here and slip out again without being seen.'* Don John looked where she pointed, and saw a small letter folded round the stems of two wlute carnations, and neatly tied with a bit of twisted silk. It was laid between the paper and the bronze inkstand, and half hidden by the broad white feather of a goose-quill pen, that seemed to have been thrown carelessly across the * owers. It lay there as if meant to be found only by one who wrote, and not to attract too much attention. *' Oh ! " he exclaimed, in a rather singular tone, as he saw it, and a boyish blush reddened his face. Then he took the letter and drew out the two flowers by the blossoms very carefully. Dolores watched him. He seemed in doubt as to what he should do ; and the blush subsided quickly, and gave way to a look of settled annoyance. The iarnations were quite fresh, and had evidently not been plucked more than an hour. He held them up a moment and looked at them, then laid them down vigain and took the note. There was no writing on the outside. Without opening it he r I ir, ^M f 82 IN THE PALACR OF TFIK KINO held it to the flame of the candle, but Dolores caught his wrist. " Why do you not read it ? " she asked quickly. "Dear, 1 do not know who wrote it, and J do not wish to know anything you do not know also." " You have no idea wlio the woman is ? " Dolores looked at him wonderingly. " Not the very least," lie 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 a woman'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 folded paper and held it over the flame. It turned brown, crackled and burst into a little blaze, and in a moment the black ashes fell fluttering to the table. "What do you suppose it was?" asked Dolores innocently, as Don John brushed the ushes away. " Dear — it is very ridiculous — I am ashamed of it, and I do not quite know how to explain it to you." Again he blushed a little. " It seems strange to speak of it — I never even told my mother. At first I used to open them, but now I generally burn them like this one. 5> M 1 le ">» 03 2 rt -> ^ 3 2 ^r c =! 0) ««4 -J ^ _ OJ ;i •5 rS 23 J2 ^ to 3 • 5 rt Ol S .i5 4S I ,), ' I: I); F B. * A LOVE STOKY OF OI.I) MADRID 83 " Generally I Do you moan to say that you often find women's letters with flowers in them on your table ? " " I find them everywhere," answered Don John, with perfect simplicity. " I have found them in my gloves, tied into the basket hilt of my sword — often they ai o brought to me like ordinary letters l)y a messenger who waits for an answer. Once I found one on my pillow ! " •'But" — Dolores hesitated — "l)ut are they — are they all from the same person ? '' slie asked timidly. Don John laughed, and shook his head. "She would need to be a very persistent and indus- trious person," he answered. " Do you not under- stand?" " No. Who are these women who persecute you with their writing? And why do they write to you? Do they want you to help them ? " " Not exactly that ; " he was still smiling. " I ought not to laugh, I suppose. They arc ladies of the court eometimes, and sometimes others, and I — I fancy that they want me to — how shall I say? — to begin by writing them letters of the same sort." " What sort of letters ? " "Why — love letters," ansv/ered Don John, driven to extremity in spite of his resistance. " Love letters ! " cried Dolores, understanding at last. " Do you mean to say tliat there are women whom you do not know, who tell you that they love you before you have ever spoken to them ? Do yuu meiiu that a ] I. Il l- 1 ( t Ky, I ¥■ ! r ¥■' 1 , ! '■' : ', ; 1 84 IN TME PALACE OF THE KINO lady of the court, whom you have probably never even seen, wrote that note and tied it up with flowers and risked everything to bring it here, just in the hope that you might notice her ? It is horrible ! It is vile ! It is shameless ! It is beneath anything ! " " You say she was a lady — you saw her. I did not. But that is what she did, whoever she may be." " And there are women like that — here, in the pal- ace ! How little I know ! " " And the less you learn about the world, the better," answered the young soldier shortly. " But you have never answered one, have you ? " asked Dolores, with a scorn that showed how sure she was of his reply. "No." He spoke thoughtfully. *'I once thought of answering one. I meant to tell her that she was out of her senses, but I changed my mind. That was 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 was beginning to understand more clearly, though still very far from distinctly. It did not occur to her once that such things could be temptations to the brilliant young leader whom every woman admired and every man flattered, and that only his devoted love for her had kept him out of ignoble adventures since he had grown to be a man. Had she seen that, she would have loved him even better, if it were possible. It was all, as she had said, shameless and al)ominable. She had thought that she knew much of evil, and she A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 85 had even told liiin so tliut evcuiiig, Imt this was far beyond anytliing slie had dreamt of in her innocent thoughts, and .slie instijietively felt that there were lower depths of degradation to which a woman could fall, and of which she would not try to guess the vile- neas and horror. " Shall I burn the flowers, too ? " asked Don John, taking them in his hand. " The flowers ? No. They are innocent and fresh. What have they to do with her? (iive them to me." He raised them to his lips, looking at her, and then held them out. She took them, and kissed them, as he had done, and they both smiled happily. Then she fastened them in her hair. " No one will see me to-night but you," she said. " I may wear flowers in my hair like a peasant woman 1 " " How they make the gold gleam ! " he exclaimed, as he looked. " It is almost time that my men came back," he said sadly. '" When I go down to the court, I shall dismiss them. After the royal supper I shall try and come here again and see you. By that time everything will be arranged. I have thought of almost everything already. My mother will provide you with everything you need. To-morrow evening I can leave this place myself to go and see her, as I always do." He always spoke of Doiia Magdalena Quixada as his mother — he had never known his own. Dolores rose from her seat, for he was ready to go. " I trust you in everything," she said simply. " I do ' . \' 'I ! I I 80 IN THK I'AI.ArK OF I'HK KINO not iH't'd to know how v<»ii will iicconijilisli il all —it is enoujjfli to know thai yon will. i'dl Iiic/, il' you vmi — proU'ct liur il" my lather is Hiii^ry with her." lie lu'ld out his hand to takti hers, and sho was pfoing to L^ivc it, as she had done hefore. lint it was too lit- tle. Before he kin^w it she had thrown her arms round his netdv, and was kissini; him, with little cries and broken words of love. Then she drew back suddenly. "I could not help it," she said. "Now lock me in. No — do not say lifood-by — even for two iiours I " '* I will come back as soon as I ean," he answered, and with a long look he left her, closed the door and locked it after him, leavin<^ her alone. She stood a few moments looking at the panels as if her sight could pierce tVieni and reach him on the other side, and she tried to hold the last look she had seen in his eyes. Hardly two minutes had elapsed before she heard voices and footsteps in the bedchamber. Don John spoke in short sentences now and then to his servants, and his voice was com- manding though it was kindly. It seemed strange to be so near him in his 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 had happened, and he and she had found so much to say that nothing had been said at all of what was to follow her flight to Villagarcia. She was to leave for the Quixadas' house before morning, but Quixada and his wife could not protect her against her father, if he found out where she was, unless A l,<'VI': STOKV <>l' n|,|> MAIHUF) 87 I she vvoro niarrinul tlicy liiid said nolliiu^' aWoul a marriago and liad uiisU'd tiuic; ovim- thai unknown woman's aboniinaliNi It'ltur. Sinct; slu^ nfasoucd it out to lierHelf, kIk; saw that in all probability tho ceremony would lake [Aiwv, as soon as l>(jn .Join reached ViUagareia. He was powuifnl enough to (hnnand the necessary permission of the Archliishop, and he would bring it with him ; but no priest, even in the absiuieo of a written ordtu*, wouhl refuse to marry him if he desired it. Hetween the real [)ower he possessed and the vast popuhirity he enjoyed, lie could command almost anything. She heard his voice distinctly just then, though she was not listening for it. He was telling a ser- vant to bring white shoes. The fact struck her be- cause she had never seen him wear any that were not bhack or yellow. She smiled and wished that she might bring him his white shoes and hang his order of the (jolden Fleece round his neck, and breathe on the polished hilt of his sword and rub it with soft leather. She luid seen Eudaldo furbish her father's weapons in that way since she had been a child. It had all come so suddenly in the end. Shading her eyes from the candles with her hand, she rested one elbow on the table, and tried to think of what i I \ '. , r ! • ! . h ^\ 88 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING should naturally have happened, of what must have happened if the unknown voice among the courtiers had not laughed and roused her father's anger and brought all the rest. Don John would have come to the door, and Eudaldo would have let him in — because no one could refuse him anything and he was the King's brother. He would have spent half an hour with her in the little drawing-room, and it would have been a constrained meeting, with Inez near, though she would presently have left them alone. Then, by this time, she would have gone down with the Duchess Alvarez and the other maids of honour, and by and by she would have followed the Queen when she entered the throne room with the King and Don John ; and she might not have exchanged another word with the latter for a whole day, or two days. But now it seemed almost certain that she was to be his wife within the coming week. He was in the next room. "Do not put the sword away," she heard him say. "Leave it here on the table." Of course ; what should he do with a sword in his court dress? But if he had met her father in the corridor, coming to her after the supper, he would have been unarmed. Her father, on the con- trary, being on actual duty, 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 was said in the next room. That A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 89 in in he on- his the ich lat was doubtless due to the lonstruction of the vault, as she vaguely guessed. It was true that Don John spoke very clearly, but she could hear the servants' subdued answers almost as well, when she listened. It seemed to her that he took but a very short time to dress. " I have the key of that room," he said presently. "I have my papers there. You are at liberty till midnight. My hat, my gloves. Call my gentlemen, one of you, and tell them to meet me in the corridor." She could almost hear him drawing on his gloves. One of the servants went out. " Fadrique," said Don John, " leave out my riding- cloak. I may like to walk on the terrace in the moonlight, and it is cold. Have my drink ready at midnight and wait for me. Send Gil to sleep, for he was up last night." There was a strange pleasure in hearing his famil- iar orders and small directions and in seeing how thoughtful he was for his servants. She knew that he had always refused to be surrounded by valets and gentlemen-in-waiting, and lived very simply when he could, but it was different to be brought into such close contact with his life. There was a wonderful gentleness in his ways that contrasted widely with her father's despotic manner and harsh tone when he gave orders. Mendoza believed himself the type and model of a soldier and a gentleman, and he main- tained that without rigid discipline there could be no order and no safety at home or in the army. But ^ •I ?• V 90 IN THE PA LACK OK TIIK KINO betwoon him and Hon .lolm thoro was all the diffor- eiu'o that separates tho lu)rn leader oi men from the mere martinet. Dolores listened. It was elear that Don John was not j^oiiii^ to send Fadritpie away in order to aeo her a*ifain before he went down to the throne room, thongh she haii almost hoped he mi^ht. On the contrary, some one else came. She heard Fadriqne annonnee him. "The Captain l)on Juan de Eseobedo is in wait- injTf, yonr llit^hness," said the servant. "There is also Adonis." " Adonis ! " Dim 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's dwarf 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 the hunchback, clear as a woman's, scornful and full of evil laughter, — the sort of voice that is heard instantly in a crowd, though it is not always recognizable. The fellow came in, talking loud. " Ave Cnesar 1 " he cried from the door. " Hail, conqueror ! All hail, thou favoured of heaven, of man, — and of the ladies ! " "The ladies too?" laughed Don John, probably amused bv the dwarfs antics (( you »v " The cook, sir. For as you rode up to the gate this I i4 MMiBBMaaM A I^OVK HTOKY Ol' rayei>; as oftcsn as you fast, you would he in a jjfood way," ohserv(;d Don John. " 1 do, Hii". I say a short j^racie Ixifore and after eating. Why liave you come to Ahidrid, my lonl? Do you not know that Madrid is the worst, the wick- edest, the dirti(!st, vilest, and most damnahle hal)ita- tioii devised by man for th(! cornij)tion of humanity? Especially in the month of Nov(!mb(!r? lias your lordship any reasonable niason for this unreason of coming here, when the strcHits arc; full of mud, and men's hearts are packed like saddle-ba<^s with all tlm sina they have accumulated since Kaster and mean to unload at Christmas? Even your old frienda are shocked to see so young and honest a prince in such a place ! " "My old friends? Who?" "I saw Saint John the Conqueror graciously wave his hand to a most highly respectable old nobleman this afternoon, and the nobleman was so much shucked 92 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING i' that he could not stir an arm to return the salutation ! His legs must have done something, thougli, for he seemed to kick liis own horse 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 Don Julius Cjesar of Austria exceed- ingly angry. Get before me, Don Fadrique ! I am afraid of the terror of the Moors, — and no shame to me either ! A poor dwarf, against a man who tears armies to shreds, — and sends scullery maids into hysterics ! What is a poor crippled jester compared with a powerful scullery maid or an army of heathen Moriscoes? Give me that sword, Fadrique, or 1 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 of grammar. It is masculine, femi- nine, and neuter in gender, singular by nature, and generally accusative, and it is optative in mood and full of acute accents. If you can find such another voice in creation, sir, I will forfeit mine in the King's councils." Adonis laughed now, and Dolores remembered the laughter she had heard from 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, ifiipipli A LOVE STORY OF OLD MAnillD 93 as to tell it to one, — 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 side of the room. " It is no greaf- secret, being only the King's," he said. " His Majesty bids me tell your Serene High- ness that he wishes to speak with you privately about some matters, and that he will come here soon after supper, and begs you to be alone." "I will be here — alone." "Excellent, sir. Now there is another matter of secrecy which is just the 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. If there is any answer to be taken, I will take it." *' There is none," answered Don John sternly. " Tell the lady that I burned the letter without read- ing it. Go, Adonis, and the next time you come here, do not bring messages from women. Fadrique ! " "Your Highness burned the letter without read- ing 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 little room. I \: CHAPTER VI The great throne room of the palace was crowded with courtiers long before the time when the King and Queen and Don John of Austria were to appear, and the entries and halls by which it was approached were almost as full. Though the late November air was keen, the state apartments were at summer heat, warmed by thousands of great wax candles that burned in chandeliers, and in huge sconces and on high cande- labra that stood in every corner. The light was every- where, and was very soft and yellow, while the odour of the wax itself was perceptible in the air, and helped the impression that the great concourse was gathered in a wide cathedral for some solemn function rather than in a throne room to welcome a victorious soldier. Vast tapestries, dim and rich in the thick air, covered the walls between the tall Moorish windows, and above them the great pointed vaulting, ornamented with the fantastically modelled stucco of the Moors, was like the creamy crests of waves lashed into foam by the wind, thrown upright here, and there blown forward in swift spray, and then again breaking in the fall to thousands of light and exquisite shapes ; and the whole vault thus gathered up the light of the candles into 94 A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 95 re le :e ^e In to le 10 itself and shed it downward, distributing it into every corner and lighting every face in a soft and golden glow. At the upper end, between two great doors that were like the gateways of an eastern city, stood the vacant throne, on a platform approaclied by thr^e broad steps and covered with deep red cloth ; and there stood magnificent officers of the guard in gilded corslets and plumed steel caps, and other garments of scarlet and gold, with their drawn swords out. But Mendoza was not there yet, for it was his duty to enter with the King's own guard, preceding the Majorduomo. Above the throne, a huge canopy of velvet, red and yellow, was reared up around the royal coat of arms. To the right and left, on the steps, stood carved stools with silken cushions — those on the right for the chief ministers and nobles of the kingdom, those on the left for the great ladies of the court. These would all enter in the King's train and take their places. For the throng of courtiers who filled the floor and the entries there were no seats, for only a score of the highest and greatest personages were suffered to sit in the royal presence. A few, who were near the win- dows, rested themselves surreptitiously on the higli mouldings of the pilasters, pushing aside the curtains cautiously, and seeming from a distance to be standing while they were in reality comfortably seated, an object of laughing envy and of many witticisms to their less fortunate fellow-courtiers. The throng was not so close but that it was possible to move in the middle of 96 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING V / ' til tlie hall, and almost all the persons there were slowly changing place, some going forward to be nearer the throne, others searching fur their friends among their many acquaintances, that they might lielp the tedious hour to pass more quickly. Seen from the high gallery above the arch of the great entrance the hall was a golden cauldron full of rich hues that intermingled in streams, and made slow eddies with deep shadows, and then little waves of light that turned upon themselves, as the colours thrown into the dyeing vat slowly seethe and mix together in rivulets of dark blue and crimson, and of splendid purple that seems to turn black in places and then is suddenly shot through with flashes of golden and opalescent light. Here and there also a silvery gleam flashed in the darker surface, like a pearl in wine, for a few of the court ladies were dressed .'dl in white, with silver and many pearls, and diamonds that shed little rays of their own. The dwarf Adonis had been there for a few mo- ments behind the lattice which the Moors had left, and as he stood there alone, where no one ever thought of going, he listened to the even and not unmusical sound that came up from the great assembly — the full chorus of speaking voices trained never to be harsh or high, and to use chosen words, with no loud exclamations, laughing only to please and little enough out of merri- ment ; and they would not laugh at all after the King and Queen came in, but would only murmur low and pleasant flatteries, the change as sudden as when the M'PPJ'' A LOVE STORY OV OLD MADRID 97 musician at the keys closes tlie full organ all at once 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 and meaning intelli- gence, while the thin and mobile lips expressed a sort of ready malice which could break out in bitterness or turn to a kindly irony according as the touch that moved the man's sensitive nature was cruel or friendly. He V is 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, so that in speaking with persons of ordinary stature he looked up under his brows, a little sideways, to see better. Smooth red hair covered his bony head, and grew in a carefully trimmed and pointed beard on his pointed chin. A loose doublet of crimson velvet hid the outlines of his crooked back and projecting breastbone, and the rest of his dress was of materials as rich, and all red. I le was, moreover, extraordinarily careful of his appear- ance, and no courtier had whiter or more delicately tended hands or spent more time before the mirror in tying a shoulder knot, and in fastening the stiffened collar of white embroidered linen at the fashionable angle behind his neck. He had entered the latticed gallery on his way to Dom John's apartments with the King's message. A small and half-concealed door, known to few except the servants of the palace, opened upon it suddenly from a H m ^ '. i 98 IN THK I'ALACP: OK THE KINO niche in one of the upper corridors. In Moorish days the Ladies of the Iiarem had heen wont to go there unseen to see the reception of ambassadors of state, and such ceremonies, at which, even veiled, the}' could never be present. He only stayed a few moments, and though his eyes were eager, it was by habit 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 it delights the hard-worked nctor to be for once a spectator at another's play. Ho was an integral part of the court himself, a man of whom most was often expected when he had the least to give, to whom it was scarcely permitted to say anything in ordinary language, but to whom almost any license of familiar speech was freely allowed. He was not a man, ]\. was a tradition, a thing that had to be where it was from generation to generation ; wherever the court had lived a jester lay buried, and often two and three, for they rarely lived an ordinary lifetime. Adonis thought of that sometimes, when he was alone, or when he looked down at the crowd of delicately scented and richly dressed men and women, every one called by some noble name, who would doubtless laugh at some jest of liis before the night was over. To their eyes the fool was a necessary servant, because there had always been a fool at court ; he was as indispensable as a chief but- ler, a cnief cook, or a state coachman, and much more amusing. But he was not a man, he had no name, he had no place among men, he was not supposed to have i 1} 4 I "'"■fl',;l., I from lived they rLt of >oked •iclily some lest of fool been If but- more le, he have (t \ A LOVR STOKV OF OfJ) MADRin 99 a mother, a wife, a lionie, anythinnr that bolonpfcfl to liuinanity. IIo was well lodcfcd, indccMi, where the last fool had died, and ridily clotiied as the other liad been, and he fed delicately, and wiis given the fiiie wines of Franco to drink, lest his brain should Ix^ clouded by stronger liquor and he slionld fail to make the court laugh. But ho knew well enough that somewhere in Toledo or Valladolid the next court jester was being trained to good manners and instructed in the art of wit, to take the vacant place when he should die. It pleased him therefore sometimes to look down at the great assemblies from the gallery and to retlect that all those magnificent fine gentlemen and tenderly nurtured beauties of Spain were to die also, and that there was scarcely one of them, man or woman, for whose death some one was not waiting, and waiting 2>erhai)s with evil anxiety and longing. They were splendid to see, those fair women in their brocades and diamonds, tliose dark young princesses and duchesses in velvet and in pearls. He dreamed of them sometimes, fancying liim- self one of those Djin of the southern mountains of whom the Moors told blood-curdling tales, and in the dream he flew down from the gallery on broad, black wings and carried off the youngest and most beautiful, straight to his magic fortress above the sea. They never knew that he was sometimes up there, and on this evening he did not wait long, for he had his message to deliver and must be in waiting on the King before the royal train entered the throne room. After he was gone, the courtiers waited long, and more and * I \ i !00 IN THE I'AI.ACK OF TIIK KfNO mon» ontno in from willioiil. Now and llicn lli(» rrowil piirtiMl as Ix'st it iniu^lil, lo allow solium ^rantliM^ wlm wor«^ till' order ol' tin' (uthU'ii I'Iccim' or of sonic otluT cxjiittd onliT, to lead Ills la«ly ni'aror to the tliroiu', us was l»i.« riui'lit, ad\anein;^ witli measured steps, and l)owiii'if gravely t«> the ri«;ht and left, as lie piissi'd up to tlm front ann)nu^ his peers. And just, heiiind them, on on(^ side, the youniif Lfirls, of whom many were, to l»o pre- si'uti'il to tin' iviiiK ''"*^ Queen that ni^ht, drow to- gether and talkeii in laut!fliin«jf whisju'rs, i^jatherin^ in ^r.>niis and knots of thret^ and four, in a, sort- of irreufu- lar rank heidnd their mothers or tht^ ehh'r ladies who were to leatl them to the royal presence and prononnco their names. There was more liijfht. where they were ^fathered, the shadows were few and soft, the colours teniler jis the tints of roses in a. pirden jit sunset, Jind from the [>lace where they stood (he sound of young vi>ices came silvery and clear. That should have been Inez de Mcndoza's place if she luid not been blind. Hut Inc/, liad never been willinj^ to be there, though she had more than once found her way to the gallery where the dwarf had stood, and had listened, and smellcd the odour of the wax candles and the perfumes that rose with the heated air. It was long before the great doors on the right hand o( the canopy were thrown open, but courtiers are ac- customed from their childhood to long waiting, and the greater part of their occupation at court is to see and to be seen, and those who can do both and can take pleasure in either are rarely impatient. Moreover, I A I.OVK STOHV OK OLD MAIHMD ' tot the Hid ike , \ many f« "Ilis Majesty the King! Her Majesty the Queen ! " Then came a score of lialbei-diers of the guard, j)icked men of great stature, marching in even steps, led l)y old Mendoza himself, in Ids breastplate and helmet, sword in hand ; and he drew u]) the guard at one side in a rank, making them pass liim so that he stood next to the door. After the guards came Philip the Second, a. tall and melancholy iiguie ; and with him, on his left side, walked the young Queen, a small, thin ligure in white, with sad eyes and a pathetic face — wondering, perha|)s, whether she was to follow so»)n those other (pieens who had walked by the same King to the same court, and had all died before their time — l\hiry of Portugal, Alary of England, Isabel of Valois. The King was one of those men who seem marked by destiny rather than by nature, fateful, sond)re, almost repellent in manner, born to inspire a vague fear at first sight, and foreordained to strange misfortune or to ex- traordinary success, one of those human beings from i 1^^ 11(1 )S, >st rst ■BX- ^1 ^ I ««#L f^^^--^:/-. t^x .4: ^■'^ ^,,fr- ■^^^^^ >^fl7*pr' M:;^' ^■^i-i^i^^Wi o .^ S .— • .^_, is 'T! ? ^ O 0) HJ if 1^ HI „ ^ is > ul ( M ' 1 1)111 m I :! .bj '1 rt\ i V. 'I 1 i I '&<^m^iik^iMsM»m. A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID whom all men shrink instinctivel;y, and before whom they easily lose their fluency of speech and confidence of thought. Unnaturally still eyes, of an uncertain colour, gazed with a terrifying fixedness upon a human world, and were oddly set in the large and perfectly colourless face that was like an exaggerated waxen mask. The pale lips did not meet evenly, the lower one protruding, forced outward by the phenomenal jaw that has descended to this day in the House of Austria. A meagre beard, so fair that it looked faded, accentuated the chin rather than concealed it, and the hair on the head was of the same undecided tone, neitlier thin nor thick, neither long nor short, but parted, and combed with the utmost precision about the large but very finely moulded ears. The brow was very full as well as broad, and the forehead high, the whole face too large, even for a man so tall, and disquieting in its proportions. Philip bent his head forward a little when at rest ; when he looked about him it moved with something of the slow, sure motion of a piece of mechanism, stopping now and then, as the look in the eyes solidified to a stare, and then, moving again, until curiosity was satisfied and it resumed its first attitude, and remained motionless, whether the lips were speaking or not. Very tall and thin, and narrow chested, the figure was clothed all in cream-coloured silk and silver, relieved only by the collar of the Golden Fleece, the solitary order the King wore. His step was ungraceful and slow, as if his thin limbs bore his light weight with difficulty, and he sometimes stumbled in walking. One I 'i J 104 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ' 11 hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he walked, and even under the white gloves the immense length of the fingers and the proportionate development of the long thumb were clearly apparent. No one could have guessed that in such a figure there could be much elasticity or strength, and yet, at rare moments and when younger. King Philip displayed such strength and energy and quickness as miglit well have made him the match of f^vdinary men. As a rule his anger was slow, thoughtful, and dangerous, as all his schemes were vast and far-reaching. With the utmost deliberation, and without so much as glancing at the courtiers assembled, he advanced to the throne and sat down, resting both hands on the gilded arms of the great chair ; and the Queen took her place beside him. But before he had settled him- self, there was a low sound of suppressed delight in the hall, a moving of heads, a brightening of women's eyes, a little swaying of men's shoulders as they tried to see better over those who stood before them; and voices rose here and there above the murmur, though not loudlj^ and were joined by others. Then the King's waxen face darkened, though the expression did not change and the still eyes did not move, but as if something passed between it and the light, leaving it grey in the shadow. He did not turn to look, for he knew that his brother hud entered the throve room and that every eye was upon him. Don John was all in dazzling white — white velvet, white satin, white silk, white lace, white shoes, and .i,*ii!i&&Sfei^s A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 105 wearing neither sword nor ornament cf any kind, the most faultless vision of young and manly grace that ever glided through a womjin's dream. His place was on the King's right, and he passed along the platform of the throne with an easy, unhesitating step, and an almost boyish smile of pleasure at the sounds he heard, and at the flutter of excitement that was in the air, rather to be felt than otherwise perceived. Coming up the steps of the throne, he bent one knee be- fore his brother, who held out his ungloved hand for him to kiss — and when that was done, he knelt again before the Queen, who did likewise. Then, bowing low as he passed back before the King, he descended one step and took the chair set for him in the place that was for the royal princes. He was alone there, for Philip was again childless at his fourth marriage, and it was not until long afterwards that a son was born who lived to succeed him ; and there were no royal princesses in Madrid, so that 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 back Granada. After him came the high Ministers of State and the ambassadors in a rich and stately train, led in by Don Antonio Perez, the King's new favourite, a man of pro- found and evil intelligence, upon whom Philip was to rely almost entirely during ten years, whom he almost tortured to death for his crimes, and who in the end escaped him, outlived him, and died a natural (: w 106 IN TIIK PALACE OF THE KING ni'. i.\ tlejvtli ill Paris, wlieii ucjirlv tji'jrlilv. Willi these cam* also the court hidies, tlie Qutjuirs Mistress of the Kobes, and tlie maids of honour, and with the hidies was Dona Ana de hi Cerda, Princess of KboU and Melito and Duchess of Pastrana, the wife of okl Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, the Minister. It was i^aid that she ruled hvv husband, and Antonio Perez 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 looked younger when seen in profile. But one facing her might have thought her older from the extraordinary and almost masculine strength of her small head and face, compact as a young athlete's, too square for a woman's, with high cheekbones, deep-set bhujk eyes and eyebrows that met between them, and a cruel red mouth that always curled a little just when she was going to speak, and showed extraordinarily perfect little teeth, when the lips parted. Yet she was almost beautiful when she was not angry or in a hurt- ful mood. The dark com})lexion was as^ smooth as a perfect peach, and tinged with warm colour, and her eyes could be like black opals, and no woman in Spain or Andalusia could match her for grace of figure and lightness of st^n. Others came after in the long train. Then, last of all, at a little distance from the rest, the jester entered, alfecting a very dejected air. He stood still a while on the platform, looking about as if to see whether a seat had been reserved for him, and then, shaking his head sadly, he crouched down, a heap of scarlet velvet A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 107 with a niiiirs fac^c, ju.sl ut Don Joliirs foot, iiiul tnriiintj a littlo towaiils liiiii, so as to watch his eyes. Hut Don Joiiii wouhl not look at him, and was surprised that lie slioukl put himself there, having just been dismissed with a sharp reprimand lor bringinjjf women's mes- sages. The ceremony, if it can be called by that name, be- gan almost as soon as all were seated. At a sign from the King, Don Antonio l*erez rose and read out a docu- ment which he had brought in his hand. It was a sort of throne speech, and set forth briefly, in very measured terms, the results of the long campaign against the Moriscoes, according high praise to the army in gen- eral, and containing a few congratulatory phrases ad- dressed to Don John himself. The audience of nobles listened attentively, and whenever the leader's name occurred, the suppressed flutter of enthusiasm ran through the hall like a breeze that stirs forest leaves in summer; but when the King was mentioned the silence was dead and unbroken. Don John sat quite still, looking down a little, and now and then his colour deepened perceptibly. The speech did not hint at any reward or further distinction to be conferred on him. When Perez had finished reading, he paused a mo- ment, and the hand that held the paper fell to his side. Then he raised his voice to a higher key. " God save his Majesty Don Philip Second ! " he cried. " Long live the King ! " The courtiers answered the cheer, but moderately, T V I. H 108 IN THE PALACE OP THE KING ii' : I .' W U ' f. /. as a matter of course, and without enthusiasm, repeat- ing it three times. But at the hist time a single woman's voice, liigh and clear above all the rest, cried out other words. " God save Don John of Austria I Long live Don John of Austria ! " The whole multitude of men and women was stirred at once, for every heart was in the cheer, and in an instant, courtiers though they were, the King was for- gotten, the time, the place, and the cry went up all at once, 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 half rose, as if to command silence ; and Don John, suddenly pale, had half risen, too, stretch- ing out his open hand in a gesture of deprecation, while the Queen watched him with timidly admiring eyes, and the dark Princess of Eboli's dusky lids drooped to hide her own, for she was watching him also, but with other thoughts. For a few seconds longer, the cheers followed each other, and then they died away to a comparative silence. The dwarf rocked him- self, his head between his knees, at Don John's feet. " God save the Fool I " he cried softly, mimicking the cheer, and he seemed to shake all over, as he sat huddled together, swinging himself to and fro. But no one noticed what he said, for the King had risen to his feet as soon as there wis silence. He spoke in a muffled tone that made his words hard to under- .(mmmmmmisiik MS5i'".-;'.' ■•Sii' "mwm A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 109 stand, and those who knew him best saw that ho was very angry. The Princess of Eboli's red lips curled scornfully as she listened, and unnoticed she exchanged a meaning glances with Antonio Perez ; for he and she were allies, and often of late they had talked long together, and had drawn sharp comparisons between the King and his brother, and the plan they had made was to destroy the King and to crown Don John of Austria in his place ; but the woman's plot was deeper, and both were equally determined that Don John should not marry without their consent, and that if he did, his marriage should not hold, unless, as was proba- ble, his young wife should fall ill and die of a sickness unknown to physicians. All had risen with the King, and he addressed Don John amidst the most j)rofound silence. "My brother," he said, "your friends have taken upon themselves unnecessarily to use the words we would have used, and to express to you their enthusi- asm for your success in a manner unknown at the court of Spain. Our one voice, rendering you the thanks that are your due, can hardly give you great satisfaction after what you have heard just now. Yet we presume that the praise of others cannot altogether take the place of your sovereign's at such a moment, and we formally thank you for the admirable perform- ance of the task entrusted to you, promising that before long your services shall be required for an even more arduous undertaking. It is not in our power to con- fer upon you any personal distinction or public office no IN TFIR PALACE OF THE KINO I I i '] f .!■ higher tlian yon already hold, as our brother, and as High Admiral of Spain ; but wo trust the day is not far distant when a marriage befitting your rank may place you on a level with kings." Don John hud moved a step forward from his place and stood before the King, who, at the end of liis short speech, put his long arms over his brother's shoulders, and proceeded to embrace him in a formal manner by applying one cheek to his and solemnly kissing the air behind Don John's head, a process wliicii tlie latter imitated as nearly as he could. Tlie court looked on in silence at the ceremony, ill satisfied with Philip's cold words. The King drew back, and Don John returned to his place. As he reached it the dwarf jester made a ceremonious obeisance and handed him a glove which he had dropped as he came forward. As lie took it he felt that it contained a letter, which made a slight somid when his hand crumpled it inside the glove. Annoyed by the fool's persistence, Don John's eyes hardened as he looked at the crooked face, and almost imperceptibly he shook his head. But the dwarf was as grave as he, and slightly bent his own, clasping his hands in a gesture of supplication. Don John reflected that the matter must be one of im- portance this time, as Adonis would not otherwise have incurred the risk of passing the letter to him under the eyes of the King and the whole court. Then followed the long and tedious procession of the court past the royal pair, who remained seated, while all the rest stood up, including Don John himself, to ,m.^ V A LOVK KTORY OP ()\.D MADRID 111 As ado tho hn's and tho )WI1, im- dso I him the ^hile to whom a master of ceremonies presented tho persons unknown to him, and who were l)y far the more numerous. To tlie men, okl and younj]^, great or in- significant, lie gave his hand with frank cordiality. To the women he courteously howed his head. A full hour passed he fore it was over, and still he grasped the glove with the crumpled letter in his hand, while tho dwarf stood at a little distance, watching in case it should fall ; and as the Duchess Alvarez and the Princess of Eboli presented the ladies of Madrid to the young Queen, the l^rincess often looked at Don John and often at the jester from beneath lier half- dropped lids. But she did not make a single mistake of names nor of etiquette, ':hough her mind was much preoccupied with other matters. The Queen was timidly gracious to every one; but Philip's face was gloomy, and his fixed eyes hardly seemed to see the faces of the courtiers as they passed before him, nor did he open his lips to address a word to any of them, though some were old and faithful servants of his own and of his father's. In his manner, in his silence, in the formality of the ceremony, there was the whole spirit of the Spanish dominion. It was sombrely magnificent, and it was gravely cruel ; it adhered to the forms of sovereignty as rigidly as to the outward practices of religion ; its power extended to the ends of the world, and the most remote countries sent their homage and obeisance to its head ; and beneath the dark splendour that surrounded its gloomy sovereigns there was passion and hatred and h', p . fri ^.1 112 IN TFTR PALACE OF THE KING intriji^ue. Bemde Don John of Austria stood Antonio Perez, and under the same roof with Doh)ros (U) Mendoza dwelt Ana do la Cerda, Princess of EIkjH, and in the midst of them all Miguel de Antona, the King's fool. K .5 i. ! ;. y| ii I, mmm mmnmm ^j^JJt^eJr CHAPTER VTI When tli« ccromnny wsus over, und every ono on tlio platform and .stops ol' {\iv, tliroiu; miovlmI a little in order to makii way for tlie rfjyal p(!rs()nil^l•^, .lakini*' a slight momentary confusion, Adonis erept np behind Don Joiin, and softly touelied his sleeve; to attract his attention. Don John looked roniul (piickly, and wius annoyed to see tiie dwarf there, lie did not notice the fact that Dofla Ana " I . .1 ■.;• ,1 J \l 1 r i i )' ! It J i'i » ^'1 it matters, being only the story of what happened in one night at the old Alcazar of Madrid. King Philip sat a little bent in his chair, apparently staring at a point in space, and not opening his lips except to drink. But his presence filled the shadowy room, his large and yellowish face seemed to be all visible from every part of it, and his still eyes domi- nated everything and every one, except his brother. It was as if the possession of some supernatural and evil being were stealing slowly upon all who were there ; as if a monstrous spider sat absolutely motion- less in the midst of its web, drawing everything within reacli to itself by tlie unnatural fascination of its lid- less sight — as if the genth i.icn in waiting were but helpless flies, circling nearer and nearer, to be caught at last in the meshes, and the Queen a bright butterfly, and Don John a white moth, already taken and soon to be devoured. The dwarf thought of this in his corner, and his blood was chilled, for three queens lay in their tombs in three dim cathedrals, and she who sat at table was the fourth who had supped with the royal Spider in his web. Adonis watched him, and the penetrating fear he had lonr known crept all through him like the chill that si;;..^"s a man before a marsh fever, so that he had to set h a teeth with all his might, lest they should chatter audibly. As he looked, he fancied that in the light of the waxen torches the King's face turned by degrees to an ashy grey, and then more slowly to a shadowy yellow again, as he had seen a spider's ugly body change colour ^i^•U;■*(''^Wj^ii!*Swi» A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 117 when the flies came nearer, and change again when one was entangled in the threads. Ho thought that the faces of all the people in the room changed, too, and that he saw in them the look that only near and certain death can bring, which is in the eyes of him who goes out with bound hands, at dawn, amongst other men who will see the rising sun shine on his dead face. That fear came on the dwarf sometimes, and he dreaded always lest at that moment the King should call to him and bid him sing or play with words. But this had never happened yet. There were others in the room, also, who knew soinething of that same terror, though in a less degree, perhaps because they knew Philip less well than the jester, who was almost always near him. But Don John sat quietly in his place, no more realizing that there could be danger than if lie had been charging the Moors at the head of his cavalry, or fighting a man hand to hand with drawn swords. But still the fear grew, and even the gentlemen and the servants wondered, for it had never happened that the King had not at last broken the silence at supper, so that all guessed trouble near at liand, and peril for tliemselves. The Queen grew nervous and ceased to eat. She looked from Philip to Don John, and more than once seemed about to speak, but recollected her- self and checked the words. Her hand shook and her thin young nostrils quivered now and then. Evil was gathering in the air, and she felt it approaching, though she could not tell whence it came. A sort of tension took possession of every one, like what people feel ia p 118 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO w m > I. M: ' southern couitries when the southeast wind Wows, or when, ahnoat without warning, the fresh sea-breeze dies away to a dead cahn and the bhickness rises like a tide of pitch among the mountains of the coast, send- ing up enormous cIouJl' « MAI>KII> 123 He crossed Iiinisrir (l(«v(»u(ly, iuid an instaiH Ijilcr Don .loliii sloo|M'(l (l(»\vu and jiIcIumI iip wlial he liad droppt'd. IMiilip ct iild not l)iit notice tlie action, and his suspicions wcn^ instantly roused. "What have you found?" he asked sluirply, his eyes fixing tlu!nis(dves ac^'ain. "My gh)ves, Sire. I dropped them." " And are jj^h)ves sucli precious possessions that Don John of Austria must stoop to pick them uj) liimself ? " Adonis began to treud)le again, and all his fear rctunuid, so that lu3 almost staggered against tlie wall. The Queen looked on in surprise, for she luul not been Philip's Avife many montlis. Don John ivas uncim- cerned, and laugluid in reply to the question. "It chances that after loug campaigning these are the only new white gloves Don .John of Austria pos- sesses," he answered lightly. " Let me see them," said the King, extending his hand, and smiling suddenly. With some deliberation Don John presented one of the gloves to liis brother, wlio took it and pretended to examine it critically, still smiling. 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's face. Would he refuse? Would he try to extract the letter from the glove under his brother's eyes ? Would he give it up ? Don John did none of those things, and there was . .f I J' 124 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 'I i r ', not the least change of colour in liis elieek. VVitliout any attempt at concealment he took the letter from its hiding-place, and held out the emp^y glove with his other hand. The King drew back, and his face grew very grey and shadowy with anger. "What have you in your other hand?" he asked in a voice indistinct with passion. " A lady's letter, Sire," replied Don John, unmoved. " Give it to me at once I " " That, your Majesty, is a request I will not grant to any gentleman in Spain." He undid a button of his close-fitting doublet, thrust the letter into the opening and fastened the button again, before the King could speak. The dwarf's heart almost stood still with joy, — he could have crawled to Don John's feet to kiss the dust from his shoes. Tlie Queen smiled nervously, between fear of the one man and admiration for the other. "Your Serene Higlniess," answered Philip, with a frightful stare, "is the first gentleman of Spain who has disobeyed his sovereign." " May I be the last, your Majesty," said Don John, with a courtly gesture which 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 got his courage back a sec- ond time. " You gave my message to his Highness, Fool ? " he asked, controlling his voice, but not quite steadying it to a natural tone. SaAiayklta^li«^Wi, »:w A LOVE STORY JF OLD MADRID 125 "Yes, Sire." "Go and tell Don Antonio Perez to come at once to me in my own apartments." The dwarf bent till his crooked })ack was high above his head, and he stepped backwards towards the door through which the servants had entered and gone out. When he had disappeared, Philip turned and, as if nothing had happened, gave his hand to the Queen to lead her away with all the prescribed cour- tesy that was her due, The servants opened wide the door, two gentlemen placed themselves on each side of it, the chief gentleman 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 four gentlemen walked last. In tlie hall beyond, Mendoza was in waiting with the guards. A little while after they were all gone, Adonis came back from his errand, with his rolling step, and searched for the other glove on the floor, where the King had dropped it. He found it there at once and hid it in his doubtlet. No one was in the room, for the servants had disappeared as soon as they could. The dwarf went quickly to Don John's place, took a Venetian goblet full of untasted wine that stood there and drank it at a draught. Then he patted himself comfortably with his other hand and looked thoughtfully at the slices of musk melon that lay in the golden disli flanked by other dishes full of late grapes and pears. ti !(1 \ i I 126 IN THE PALACE OP THE KINO V "God bless the Emperor Maximilian I " he said ill a devout tone. " Since he could not live for ever, it was a special grace of Providence that his death tshould bo by melons." Then ho went away aj,'ain, and softly closed the door behind hini, after looking l)ack once more to bo sure that no one was there after all, and perhaps, as people sometimes do on leaving a place where they have escaped a great danger, fixing its details unconsciously in his memory, with something almost akin to gratitude, as if the lifeless things had I'un the risk with them and thus earned their lasting friendship. Thus every man who has been to sea knows how, when his vessel has been hove to in a storm for many hours, perhaps during more than one day, within a few m of the same spot, the sea there grows familiar to him as a landscape to a lands- man, so that when the force of the gale is broken at last and the sea subsides to a long swell, and tlie ship is wore to the wind and can lay her course once more, he looks astern at the grey water he has learned to know sq well and feels that he should know it again if he 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, de- voutly thanking Heaven that the Emperor Maximilian had died of eating too many melons 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 !^~v\T.':.ijmrM A LOVR STORY OF OLD MADRID 127 lid res the Irle- ian a the hii in ftngry silence by a gesture only, as he went on to his study. And when there, he sunt away liis gen- tlemen and bade that no one should disturb hiiu, and that only Don Antonio Perez, the new favourite, should be admitted. The supper had scarcely lasttMl half an hour, and it was still early in tlie eveuiiiLJ^ when lie found himself alone and was able to rctlect upon what had happened, and upv>n what it would be best to do to rid himself of his orother, the hero and idol 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 command and as if he were not secretly plotting to get possession of th(3 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 more serious matter, had been steadily growing ; and with it and even faster than it, the King's jealousy and hatred had grown also, till it had become a matter of common discussion and jest among the soldiers when their officers were out of hearing. But though it was without real cause, it was not without apparent foundation. As Philip slowly paced the floor of his most private room, with awkward, ungainly steps, stumbling more than once against a cushion that lay before hi? great armchair, he saw clearly before him the whole dimensions of that power to which he had unwilli igly raised his brother. The time had been short, but the means used had >' *>**«*9#N^'- lEi^l I ) \ : » V if I' 128 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING been great, for they had been intended to be means of destruction, and the result was tremendous when they turned against him who used them. Philip was old enough to have been Don John's father, and he remembered how indifferent he had been to the grace- ful boy of twelve, whom they called Juan Quixada, when he had been brought to the old court at Valla- dolid and acknowledged as a son of the Emperor Cliarles. Though he was his brother, Philip had not even granted him the privilege of living in the palace then, and had smiled at the idea that he should be addressed as "Serene Highness." Even as a boy, he had been impatient to fight ; and Philip remembered how he was always practising with the sword or performing wild feats of skill and strength upon half-broken horses, excijpt when he was kept to his books by Doiia Magdalena Quixada, the only person in the world whom he ever obeyed without question. Every one had loved the boy from the first, and Philip's jealousy had begun from that ; for he, who was loved by none and feared by all, craved popularity and common affection, and was filled with bitter resentment against the world that obeyed him but refused him what he most desired. Little more than ten years had passed since the boy had come, and he had neither died a natural death nor fallen in battle, and wa'*, grown up to young manhood, and was by far the greatest man in Spain. He had been treated as an inferior, tlie people had set him up as a god. He had been sent out to command ex- 1 A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 129 peditions that he might fail and be disgraced ; but he had shown deeper wisdom than his elders, and had come back covered with honour ; and now he had been commanded to fight out the tinal battle of 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 in triumph, having utterly subdued the fiercest warriors in Europe, to reap the ripe harvest of his military glory at an age when other men were in the leading-strings of war's school, and to be acclaimed a hero as well as a favourite by a court that could hardly raise a voice to cheer for its own King, Ten years had done all that. Ten more, or even five, might do the rest. The boy could not be without ambition, and there could be no 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 was charmed, as his life was. In vain Philip had bidden Antonio Perez and the Princess of Eboli use all their wits a^id skill to prove that he wiis plotting to seize the crown. They answered that he loved a girl of the court, Mendoza's daughter, and that besides war, for war's sake, he cared for nothing in the world but Dolores and his adopted mother. They spoke the truth, for they had reason to know it, having used every means in their power to find out whether he could be induced to quarrel with Philip and enter upon a civil war, which could have had but one issue, since all Spain would have risen to proclaim him king. He had been tempted by questions, and led into T m^ i / m i .; • ^i' 130 IN THE PALACE OF TTIE KINO discussions in which it seemed certain that he must give them some hope. But tlioy and their agents lost heart before the insuperahlo obstacle of the young prince's loyalty. It was simple, unaffected, and without ex- aggeration. He never drew his sword and kissed tho blade, and swore by the Blessed Virgin to give his last drop of blood for his sovereign and his country. Ho never made solemn vows to accomplish ends that h)oked impossible. But when the charge sounded, he pressed his steel cap a little lower upon his brow, and settled himself in the saddle without any words and rode at death like the devil incarnate ; and then men followed him, and the impossible w;is doiu% and that was all. Or he could wait and watch, and manonivre for weeks, until he had his foe in his hand, with a patience that would have failed his ollicers and his men, had they not seen him always read}" and cheerful, and fully sure that although he might fail twenty times to drive the foe into the pen, he should most certainly succeed in the end, — as he always did. Philip paced the chamber in deep and angry thought. If at that moment any one had offered to rid him of his brother, the reward would have been ready, and worth a murderer's taking. But the King had long cherished the scheme of marrying Don John to Queen Mary of Scotland, — whose marriage with Bothwell could easily be annulled — in order that his presump- tuous ambition might be satisfied, and at the same time that he might make of his new kingdom a powerful ally of Spain against Elizabeth of England. It was for ww'f^m^^. A LOVE STORY OK OLD MADRID 131 pive leart iice'8 , ex- L the 3 last Ho )oked esscd Bttled »de at lowed 18 all. iveeks, e that ey not •e that le foe in the ought. him of and d long Queen thwell jsump- le time werful vas for this reason that he had long determined to prevent his brother*s marriage with Maria Dolores de Mendoza. Perez and Dona Ana do la Ccrda, on the other hand, feared that if Don John were allowed to marry the girl he 80 devotedly loved, he would forget everything for her, give up campaigning, and settle to the invsignifi- cance of a thoroughly happy man. For they knew the world well from their own point of view. Happiness is often like sadness, for it paralyzes those to whose lot it falls; but pain and danger rouse man's strength of mind and body. Yet though the King and his treacherous favourite had diametrically opposite intentions, a similar thought had crossed the minds of both, even before Don John had ridden up to the palace gate late on that afternoon, from his last camping ground outside the city walls. Both had reasoned that whoever was to influence a man so straightforward and fearless must have in his power and keeping the person for whom Don John would make the greatest sacrifice of his life ; and that person, as both knew, was Dolores herself. Yet when Antonio Perez cmtered Philip's study, neither had guessed the other's thought. m CHAPTER VIII ^li- I'- 1 1, 1 The court had been still at supper when Adonis had summoned Don Antonio Perez to the King, and the Secretary, as he was usually cjilled, liad been obliged to excuse his sudden departure by explaining tliat the King had sent for him unexpectedly. He was not even able to exchange a word with Dona Ana, who was seated at another of the three long tables and at some distance from him. She understood, however, and looked after him anxiously. His leaving was not a sig- nal for the others, but it caused a little stir which unhinged the solemn formality of the supper. The Ambassador of the Holy Roman l^^mpire presently pro- tested that he was suffering from an unbearable head- ache, and the Princess of Eboli, next to whom he was seated, begged him not to stand upon ceremony, since Perez was gone from the room, but to order his coach at once ; she found it hot, she said, and would be glad to escape. The two rose together, and others followed their example, until the few who would have stayed longer were constrained to imitate the majority. When Mendoza, relieved at last from his duty, went towards the supper-room to take the place that was kept for him at one of the tables, he met Dona Ana in the A LOVK STOKY OF ()M> MADKID 13B private corridor tlirou^li wliicli tlio oHJinors and ladies of the household pjiHscd to tlic, state apartments. He stood still, surprised to see her there. "The supper is over," sh(? said, stopping also, and trying to serutinize the hard old face hy the dim light of the lamps. " May 1 have a word with you, General? Let us walk together to yoni* apartnuMits." " It is far. Madam," observed Mendoza, who sus- pected at once that she wished 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 rememl)er." She began to walk, and he was obliged to accompany her. " Yes," slie continued indifferently, " we have had such changeable weather to-day ! This morning it almost snowed, then it rained, then it began to freeze, and nt)w it feels like summer ! I hope Dolores has not taken cold ? Is she ill? She was not at court before supper." "The weather is indeed very changeable," replied the General, who did not know what ^.o say, and con- sidered it beneath his dignity to lie except by order of the King. " Yes — yes, I was saying so, was I not ? But Do- lores — is she ill? Please tell 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 sent an excuse for Dolores' not appear- ing. That is th.3 rule, you know. May I ask why ^ 'I M li h. . '''' n I ' i 134 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING you ventured to break it ? " Her tone grew harder by degrees. " It was very sudden," said Mendoza, trying to put her off. " I hope that your Grace will excuse my daughter." " What was sudden ? " enquired Dona Ana coldly. ** You say she was not taken ill." "Her — her not coming to court." Mendoza hesi- tated and pulled at his grey beard as they went along. "She fully intend^u to come," he added, with perfect truth. Dona Ana walked more slowly, glancing sideways at his face, though she could hardly see it except when they passed by a lamp, for he was very tall, and she was short, though exquisitely proportioned. " I do not understand," she said, in a clear, metallic voice. " 1 have a right to an explanation, for it is quite impossible to give the ladies of the court who live in the palace full liberty to attend upon the Queen or not, as they please. You will be singularly fortu- nate if Don Antonio Perez does not mention the matter to the King." Mendoza was silent, but the words had their effect upon him, and a very unpleasant one, for they contained a threat. " You see," continued the Princess, pausing as they reached a flight of steps which they would have to ascend, "every one acknowledges the importance of your services, and that you have been very poorly rewarded for them. But that is in a degree your _.?;nri..j)^l.:2^Ji>.'/Ut'(LJ«l^>ik^.ijiu^^^ A LOVE STOUY OF OLD MADllID 185 own fault, for you have; n^fused to niako friends when you might, and you have little interest with the King." " I know it," said the old soldier, rather bitterly. " Princess," he continued, without giving her time to say more, "this is a private matter, which concerns only me and my daughter. I entreat you to overlook the irregulxrity and Ut.t to question me further. I will serve you in any way in my power — " " You cannot serve me in any way," answered Dona Ana cruelly. " I am trying to help you," she added, with a sudden change of tone. " You see, my dear General, you are no hmger young, At your age, with your name and your past services, you should have been a grandee and a rich man. You have thrown away your opportunities of advancement, and you have con- tented yourself with an office which is highly honour- able — but poorly paid, is it not? And there are yourger men who court it for the honour alone, and v;ho are willing to be served by their friends." " VV^ho is my successor ? " asked Mendoza, brpvely controlling his voice though he felt that he was ruined. The skilful and cruel woman began to mount the steps in silence, in order to let him suifer a few mo- ments, before she answered. Reaching the top, she spoke, and her voice was soft and kind. " No one," she answered, " and there is nothing to prevent you from keeping your post as long as you like, even il you become infirm and have to appoint a deputy — but if there were any serious cause of com- 1 i* ri 186 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ^ll plaint, like this extraordinary behaviour of Dolores — why, perhaps — *' She paused to givo her words weight, for she knew their value. " Madam," said Mendoza, " the matter I keep from you does not touch my honour, and you may know it, so far as that is concerned. But it is one of which I entreat you not to force me to speak." Dona 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 do not think that I shall let what you tell me go further and reach any one else — do you ? Hov/ e^n I be of any rise to you, if you have no confidence in me? Are we not relatives? You must t me as I treat you." Mendoza »vished that he could. " Madam," he said almost roughly, " I have shut my daughter up in her own room and lolted the door, and to-morrow I intend to send her to a convent, and there she shall stay until she changes her mind, for I will not change mine." " Oh I " ejaculated Dofia Ana, with a long intona- tion, as if grasping the position of affairs by degrees. "I understand," she said, after a long time. "But then you and I are of the same opinion, my dear friend. Let us talk about this." Mendoza did not wish to talk of the matter at all, and said nothing, as they slowly advanced. They had at last reached the passage that ended at his door, and ' V A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 187 he slackened his pace still more, oblifjin^ his com- panion, whose arm was still in his, to keep pace witli him. The moonlight no longer shone in straight through the open embrasures, and there was a dim twilight in the corridor. "You do not wish Dolores to marry Don John of Austria, then," said the Princess 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 such a very great marriage." " Simple enough. Madam. Whenever it should please his Majesty's policy to marry his brother to a royal per- sonage, such as Queen Mary of Scotland, the first mar- riage would be proved null and void, because the King would command that it should be so, and my daughter would be a dishonoured woman, fit for nothing but a convent." "Do you call that dishonour?" asked the Princess thoughtfully. "Even if that happened, you know that Don John would probably not abandon Dolores. He would keep her near him — and provide for her generously — " " Madam ! " cried the brave old soldier, interrupting iier in sudden and generous anger, "neither man nor Vv'oman shall tell me that my daughter could ever fall to that I" 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 the world would say — no, let me . i ! I SI 'J 138 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO 'i.'^' 'I M 1 . ' b speak I I am quite of your opinion that Dolores should be kept from seeing Don Jonn, even by quiet force if necessary, for tliey will certainly be married at the very first opportunity they can find. But you cannot do such things violently, you know. You Avill make a scandal. You cannot take your daughter away from court suddenly and shut her up in a convent without doing her a great injury. Do you not see that? Peo- ple will not understand that you will not let her marry Don John — I mean that most people would find it hard to believe. Yes, the world is bad, I know ; what can one do ? The world would say — promise me that yon will not be angry, dear General I You can guess what the world would say." " I see — I see I " exclaimed the old man, in sudden terror for his daughter's good name. " How wise you are ! " "Yes," answered Dona Ana, stopping at ten paces from the door, "I am wise, for I am obliged to be. Now, if instead of locking Dolores into her room two or three hours ago, you had come to me, and told me the truth, and put her under my protection, for our common good, I would have 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 gossip- ing about her, the world would have said that she was high in favour, and would have begun to pay court to her. You know that I have the power to do that." " How very wise you are I " exclaimed Mendoza again, with more emphasis. '^Trr-Tl" li^iijtH!Sv*^-.:1!«4|.*l . A hOVK STORY OK OM) MADRID 189 "Very well. Will y(»u lot nw take her with me now, my dvmv friend? I will console her a little, for I daresay she has been eryincf all alone in her room, poor girl, and I tan keep lier with nie till Don John goes to Villagarcia. Then we sliall see." Old Mendoza was a very simple-hearted man, as brave men often are, and a singularly sj)otless life spent chiefly in war and austere devotion had left him more than ignorant of the ways of the world. He had few friends, chiefly old comrades of his own age who did not live in the palace, and he detested gossip. Had he known what the woman was with whom he was speak- ing, he would have risked I)(>lores' life rather than give her into the keeping of Doiia Ana. But to him, the latter was simply the wife of old Don Ruy (xcmiez de Silva, the Minister of State, and she was the head of the Queen's household. No one would have thought of repeating the story of a court intrigue to Mendoza, but it was also true that every one feared Dona Ana, whose power was boundless, and no one wished to be heard speaking ill of her. To him, therefore, her proposition seemed both wise and kind. *' I am very grateful," he said, with some emotion, for he believed that she wa.s helping him to save his fortune and his honour, as was perhaps really the case, though she would have helped him to lose both with equally persuasive skill could his ruin have served her. " Will you come in with me. Princess ? " he asked, beginning to move towards the door. " Yes. Take me to her room and leave me with h l! »» I ' p, • ', r I (I I 140 IN THE I'ALACE OF THE KlN(i "Iiidocd, I would rather not see tier myself this eveninpf," said Mendoza, fee]iij<:f liis anger still not rery far from the surface. " You will be able to speak more wisely than I should." " I daresay," answered Dona Ana thoughtfully. " If you went with me to her, there might be angry words again, and that would make it much harder for nie. If you will leave me at the door of her rooms, and then go away, I will promise to manage the rest. You are not sorry that you have told me, now, are you, my dear friend ? " " I am most grateful to you. I shall do all I can to be of service to you, even though you said that it was not in my power to serve you." "I was annoyed," said Dofia Ana sweetly. "I did not mean it — please forgive me. " They reached the door, and as she withdrew her hand from his rm, he took it and ceremoniously kissed her gloved fingers, while she smiled graciously. Then ho knocked three times, and presently the shuffling of Eudaldo's slippers was heard within, and the old servant opened sleepily. On seeing the Princess ent^r first, he stiffened himself in a military fashion, for he had been a soldier and had fought under Mendoza when both were younger. " Eudaldo," said the General, in the stern tone he always used when giving orders, "her Excellency the Princess of Eboli will take Dofia Dolores to her own apartments this evening. Tell the maid to follow later with whatever my daughter needs, and do you accom- pany the ladies with a candle." ^j^m;^mmi!&ti^eik jai^i A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 141 But at this Dona Ana protested stroncfly. There was moonlight, there were lanii)s, there wius li^lit every- where, she said. She needed no one. Mun(h)za, who had no man-servant in the h(»use but Euchiklo, and eked out his meagre estahlishment by making use of his hall^erdiers when he needed any one, yiekled after very little perauiision. "Open the door of my daughter's apartments," he said to Eudaldo. "Madam," lie said, turning to the Princess, " I have the honour to wish you good-night. I am your Grace's most obedient servant. I must return tc my duty." *' Good-night, my dear friend," answered Doiia Ana, nodding graciously. Mendoza bowed low, and went out again, Eudaldo closing the door behind him. He would not be at lib- erty until the hist of the grandees had gone home, and the time he had consumed in accompanying the Prin- cess was just what he could have spared for his sup- per. She gave a short sigh of relief as she heard his spurred heels and long sword on the stone pavement. He was gone, leaving Dolores in her power, and she meant to use that power to the utmost. Eudaldo shuffled silently across the hall, to the other door, and she followed him. He drew the bolt. " Wait here," she said quietly. " I wish to see Dona 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 I f 'U' w ^ ' 1^ M 142 IN THE IWLACE OF THK KING p I 1 f-: ' it! ,1 returned to his big chair, to doze until she should come out. 3he had not taken two steps in the dim room, when a shado'.v flitted between her and the lamp, and it was almost instantly extinguished. She uttered an excla- mation of surprise and stood still Anywhere save in Mendoza's house, she would liave run back and tried to open the door as quickly as possible, in fear of her life, for she had many enemies, and was constaui ly on her guard. But she guessed that the slwulowy figure slie had seen was Dolores. She spoke, without hesitation, in a gentle voice. " Dolores I Are you tliere? " she asked. A moment later slie felt a small hand on her arm. "Who is it?" asked a whisper, whicli might have come from Dolores' lips for all Doiia Ana could tell. She had forgotten the existence of Inez, whom she had rarely seen, and never 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 be afraid." "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 Dona Ana, whispering now, to please the girl. "Can we not get a light '^ Why did you put out the lamp? I thought you were in another room." A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 143 " 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 where everything is in this room." The Princess suffered herself to be led a few steps, and presently she felt herself gently pushed into a seat. She was surprised, but realizing the girl's fear of her father, she thought it best to humour her. So far Inez had said nothing that could lead h^^ vMsitor to suppose that she was not Dolores. Intimate as the devoted sisters were, Inez knew almost at: much of the Princess as Dolores herself; the two girls were of the same height, and so long as the conversation was carried on in whispers, there was no possibility of detection by speech alone. The quick-witted blind girl reflected that it was strange if Dona Ana had not seen Dolores, who must have been with the court the whole evening, and she feared some harm. That being the case, her first impulse was to help her sister 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 her to escape. Doiia Ana began to speak quickly and fluently in the dark. She said that she knew the girl's position, and had long known how tenderly she loved Don John of Austria, and was loved by him. She sympathized deeply with them both, and meant to do all in her power to help them. Then she told how she had missed Dolores at court tliat niglit. Inez started involuntarily and drew her breath 144 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING \. ■'■■ i: I p < <' I . i quickly, but Dona Ana thought it natural that Dolores should give some expression to the disap- pointment she must have felt at being shut up a prisoner on such an occasion, 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 come with him, and how with great difficulty slie had learned the truth, and had under- taken Dolores' care for a few days ; and how Mendoza had been satisfied, never suspecting that she really syWH pathized with the lovers. That was a state secret, but of course Dolores must know it. The King privately desired the marriage, she said, because he was jealous of his brother and wished that he would tire of win- ning battles and live quietly, as happy men do. "Don John will tell you, when you see him," she continued. " I sent him two letters this evening. The first he burned unopened, because he thought 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, whis- pering 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, which would make a scandal, and injure you, too, if any one knew it, the King would arrange everything at his own pleasure, and your father would give his consent. You have not seen Don John since he arrived, have you ? " She asked the question anxiously. I I fmmmmm A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 146 " Oh no ! " answered the blind girl, with con- viction. " I have not seen him. I wish to Heaven I had ! " " I am glad of that," whispered the Princess. " But if you will come with me to my apartments, and stay with me till matters are arranged — well — I will not promise, because it might be dangerous, but perhaps you may see him for a moment." "Really? Do you think that is possible?" In the dark Inez was smiling sadly. " Perliaps. He might come to see me, for instance, or my husband, and I could 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 the Princess. " Indeed I will I But will you wait one moment while I dress ? I am in my old frock — it is hardly fit to be seen." This was quite true: but Inez had reflected that dressed as she was she could not pass Eudaldo and be taken by him for her sister, even with a hood over her head. The clothis Dolores had worn before put- ting on her court dress were in her room, and Dolores' hood was there, too. Before the Princess could answer, Inez was gone, closing the door of the bedroom behind ker. Dona Ana, a little taken by surprise again, wtis fain to wait where she was, in the dark, at the risk of hurting herself against the furniture. Then it struck "^ r ■ [ 1 i *. * h ij 'l 1 J ' w y^ ■ ; 1 I i 146 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING her that Dolores must be dressing in the dark, for no light had come from the duor as it was opened and shut. She remembered the blind sister then, and she wondered idly whether those who lived continually with the blind learned from them to move easily in the dark and to do everything without a light. The question did not interest her much, but while she was thinking of it the door opened again. A skirt and a bodice are soon changed. In a moment she 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. I have covered my head and face," she added carelessly, though always whispering, " 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 as well that neither of us should be recognized by any one in the corridors so far from my apartments." The door opened and let in what seemed a flood of light by comparison with the darkness. The Prin- cess went forward, and Eudaldo got upon his legs as quickly as he could to let the two ladies out, without looking at them as they crossed the hall. Inez fol- lowed her companion's footfall exactly, keeping one step behind her by ear, and just pausing before passing out. The old servant saw Dolores' dress .and Dolores* hood, which he expected to see, and no more suspected anything than he had when, as he supposed, Inez had gone out earlier. But Jiit'Z herself hiul ;i fur more dillicult part to per- mm y A LOVE STOKY OF OLD MADUID 147 flood Prin- |egs as ithout z foi- ls ^*^® |assing ilores* lected z had form than her sister's. Dolores had gone out alone, and no one had watched her beyond tlie door, and Dolores had eyes, and could easily enough pretend that she could not see. It was anotlier matter to be blind and to play at seeing, with a clever woman like the Princess at one's elbow, ready to detect the slightest hesitation. Besides, though, she had got out of the predicament in which it had been necessary to place her, it was quite impossible to foi*esee wliat might happen when the Princess discovered that she had been deceived, and that catastrophe must happen sooner or later, and might occur at any moment. The Princess walked quickly, too, with a gliding, noiseless step that was hard to follow. Fortunately Inez was expected to keep to the left of a superior like her companion, and was accustomed to taking tliat side when she went anywhere alone in the palace. That made it easier, but trouble might come at one of the short flights of steps down and up which they would have to pass to reach the Princess's apartments. And then, once there, discovery must come, to a certainty, and then, she knew not what. She had not run the risk for the sake of being shut up again. She had got out by a tr'ck 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 her com- panion. To go to the door of her apartments would be fatal, but she had not had time to think what she should do. She thought now, with all the concentra- tion of her ingenuity. One chance presented itself to — ■■ - '■ - 148 IN THE PALACE OP THE KING ■*• lij U' her mind at once. They must pass the pillar behind which was the concealed entrance to the Moorish gjal- lery above the throne room, and it was not at all liicely that Dona Ana should know of its existence, for she never came to that part of the palace, and if Inez lagged a little way behind, before they reached the spot, she could slip noiselessly behind the pillar and disappear. She could always trust herself not to attract attention when she had to open and shut a door. The Princess spoke rarely, making little remarks now and then that hardly required an answer, but to which Inez answered in monosyllables, speaking in a low voice through the thick veil she had drawn over her mantle under her hood, on pretence of fearing the cold. She thought it a little safer to speak aloud in that way, lest her companion should wonder at her total silence. She knew exactly where she was, for she touched each corner as she passed, 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 last turning before reaching the place where she meant to make the attempt. She hoped in this way, by walking quite noiselessly, and then stopping sud- denly just before she reached the pillar, to gain half a dozen paces, and the Princess would take three more before she stopped also. Inez had noticed that most people take at least three steps before they stop, if any one calls them suddenly when they are walking ) 11 f*mitm.im %^.^^-ip *••■ rr'*, *^.":*f*-»*j #:?■.• *• ?!*„■* ■*•; • •«*•-•• A LOVE STORY OF OI.D MADRID 149 fast. It seems to need us mucli to balance the body when its speed is checked. She noticed everything that could be heard. She grew nervous. It seemed to her that her com- panion was walking more slowly, as if not wishing to leave her any distance behind. She quickened her own pace again, fearing that she had excited suspicion. Then she heard the Princess stop suddenly, and she had no choice but to do the same. Her heart began to beat painfully, as she saw her chance slipping from her. She wait* d for Dona Ana to speak, wondering what was the matter. " I have mistaken the way," said the Princess, in a tone of annoyance. "I do not know where I am. We had better go back and turn down the main stair- case, even if we meet some one. You see, I never come to this part of the palace." " I think we are on the right corridor," said Inez nervously. " Let me go as far as the corner. There is a light there, and I can tell you in a moment." In her anxiety to seem to see, she had forgotten for the moment to mufHe her voice in her veil. They went on rapidly, and the Dona Ana did what most people do wlien a companion offers to examine the way, — she stood still a moment and hesitated, looking after the girl, and then followed her with the slow step with which a person walks who is certain of having to turn back. Inez walked lightly to the corner, hardly touching the wall, turned by the corner, and was out of sight in a moment. The Princess i 4 k' I ti ' i Hi It I \t i| 150 IN THE PALACE OF TRK KING walked faster, for ihouj^li she believed that Dolores trusted lier, it seemed foolish to give the girl ii eh.mce. She reached tlie coi'iier, where there was a lamp, — and she saw that the dim corridor was empty to the very end. CHAPTER IX The Princess was far from suspecting, even then, that she had been deceived about lier companion's identity as well as tricked at the last, -vJien Inez escaped from her. She would have laughed at the idea that any blind person could have moved as contidently as Inez, or could afterwards have run tlie length of the next corridor in what had seemed but an instant, for she did not know of the niche behind the pillar, and there were pilasters all along, built into the wall. The construction of the high, springing vault that covered the whole throne room required tliem for its solidity, and only the one under the centre of the arch was built as a detached pillar, in order to give access to the gallery. Seen from either end of the passage, it looked exactly like the rest, and few persons would have noticed that it differed from them, even in passing it. Doiia Ana stood looking in the direction she supposed the girl to have taken. An angry flush rose in her cheek, she bit her lips till they almost bled, and at last she stamped once before she turned away, so that her little slipper sent a sharp echo along the corridor. Pursuit was out of the question, of course, though she could run like a deer; some one might meet her at 151 « 152 IN THK PALACE OK THE KINO i [y any tnnjing, and in an honr the wliohi i)alaco would know that slic had been seen runninj^ at full Hi)ued after some unknown person. It would be bad enough if she were recognizt'd walking alone at night at a distance from her own apartments. She drew her veil over lier face so closely that she could hardly see her way, and began to retrace her steps towards the princi- pal staircase, pondering as to what she should say to Mendoza when he discovered that she had allowed liis daughter to escape. She was a woman of manlike in- telligence and not easily unbalanci I by a single reverse, hov ever, and before she had gone far her mind began to work clearly. Dolores, she reasoned, would do one of 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 would protect lier, or she would go to tilt! Duchess Alvarez and seek protection there. Under no circumstances would she go down to the throne room without her court dress, for her mere appearance there, dressed as she was, would produce the most profound astonishment, and could do her no possible good. And as for her going to the Duchess, that was impossible, too. If she had run away from Dona Ana, she had done so because the idea of not seeing Don John for two days was intolerable, and she meant to try and see him at once. The Duchess was in all probability with the Queen, in the latter's private apartments, as Dolores would know. On the whole, it seemed far more likely that she had done the rashest thing that had suggested itself A LOVE STOKY Ol« OLD MADUID 163 to her, anrl hmX j^oiic dircftly to llir man slu' loved, — a man powerful eiHiiij]fli to protect Inn- a^'aiiist all coiners, at the present tinu-, iUid quite capable of fac- ing even the King's displeasure. Hut the whole object of Dona Ana's manonivre luul been to get possession of Dolores' person, as a means of strongly infiuencinf; Don John's actions, in order thus to lead him into a false position from which he should not be able to escape without a serious quarrel with King Philip, whie would be the first slep towards the execution of the plot elaborated bv Dona Ana and Perez together. Anything which could pro- duce an open difference betw(!en the brothers would serve to produce two parties in Spain, of which the one that would take Don John's side would be by far the stronger. His power w(mld be suddeidy much increased, an organized agitation would be made throughout the country to set him on the throne, and his popularity, like Caesar's, would grow still more, when he refused the crown, as he would most certainly do. Hut just then King 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 to the throne but Don John himself, the acknowledged son of the Emperor Charles ; and even Don John would then be made to see that he could only serve his country by ruling it, since it cried out for his rule and would have no other. It was a hard and danger- ous thing to lead King Philip; it would be an easy matter to direct King John. An honest and unsus- , <• 1' i . U- '1 V' . Id ( i *• f «;l i I Ik i:< fi- •! ir,4 IN THK PAIiACK OK THK KINO picious HoldiiT won''' In- luit as a cliilil in suoh skilful hands. Dona Ana and Perez would rule Spain as they pleased, and by and by Don John should be ehosen Emperor also by the Eleetors of the Holy Koniau Empire, and the conspirators would rule the worhl, as (/harles the Fifth had ruled it. There was no limit to their ambition, and no scruple would stand between them and any crime, and the stake was high and worth many risks. The l^rincess walked slowly, wei^diinj^ in the balance all there was to lose or piin. When she reached the head of the main staircase, she had not yet altogether decided how to act, and lest she should meet some one she returned, and walked up and down the lonely corridor nearly a (luarter of an hour, in deep thought. Suddenly a plan of action flashed upon her, ami she went quickly on her way, to act at once. Don John, meanwhile, had read the letter she had sent him by the dwarf jester. When the King had retired into his own apartments, Don John found him- self unexpectedly alone. Mendoza and the guard had filed into the antechamber, the gentlemen in waiting, being temporarily at liberty, went to the room leading out of it on one side, which was appropriated to their use. The sentries were set at the King's door, and Mendoza marched his halberdiers out again and off to their quar- ters, while the servants disappeared, and the hero of the day was left to himself. He smiled at his own sur- prise, recollecting that he should have ordered his own 1 ■/ 2, - 2 ;; y s r ance <" 2 •*• c * .. tlie 1=5 J- * ^ itlier i ^'1 " ^ * y. — 4()ine k ^"^ =• tlie * ^ — - S y r, ^ - ik't'p 1 T" A ipon t at ~ " — < 7; 'Ti — r =-'3 =. ^ r. — had ■■ ~i ^ < a- had XT 'S • r. ^_ iim- — ii a^ BV liad — '5 I- ¥ ing, ti« -w« ling ii "^ "H use. fl ^ w loza lar- ^ 1 ^^ 1 ^ ^' H ft ^ ) of ^H ^B H'* ^rf ^B ^ mr- ■ c p wsrn ■ s?- >r ' It ! 1 II J ;■ 1 1 ' I r-i f I i wmmmrmm A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 155 attendants to he in wailinLj^ afuu liic sH[)per, whereas he had dismissed them nntil niidnitrht. He turned on his heel and walked away to find a quiet place where he niiglit read the paper whieli had suddenly become of such impoitaiice, and p-uised at a Moorish niche, where Philip iiad caused a sacred pic- ture to be placed, and before which a hanging silver lamp shed a clear light. The small slieet of paper contained but little writing. There were half a dozen sentences in a clear liand, without any signature — it was what has since then come to be called an anonymous letter. But it con- tained neither any threat, nor any evidence of spite ; it set forth in plain language that if, as the writer sup- posed, Don John wished to marry Dolores de Mendoza, it was as necessary for her personal safety as for the accomplishment of his desires, that lie should make no attempt to see her for at least two days, and that, if he would accept this advice, he should have the support of every noble and minister at court, including the very highest, with the certainty that no further hindrance would be set in his way ; it added that the letter he had burned had contained the same words, and that the two flowers had been intended to serve as a signal which it was now too late to use. It would be suflicient if he told the bearer of the present letter that he agreed to take the advice it contained. His assent in that way would, of course, be taken by the writer to mean that he promised, on his word. That was all. He did not like the last sentence, for it placed him in pi 156 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ) : ^ I U) an awkward [)()siti(>n, as a man of honour, since ho liad rlready seen Dolores, and therefore could not under any circumstances agree to take advice contrary to which he had already acted. The most he could now say to the dwarf would be that he could give no answer and would act as carefully as possible. For the rest, the letter contained nothing treasonable, and was not at all what he had expected and believed it to be. It appeared to be written in a friendly spirit, and with the exception of liis own brother and Mendoza, he was not aware that ho had an enemy in Spain, in which he was almost riglit. Nevertheless, bold and frank as he was by nature, he knew enough of real warfare to dis- trust appearances. The writer was attached to the King's person, or the letter might have been composed, and even written in an assumed hand, by the King him- self, for Philip was not above using the methods c»f a common conspirator. The limitation of time set upon his prudence was strange, too. If he had not seen her and agreed to the terms, he would have supposed that Dolores was being kept out of his way during those two days, whereas in that time it would be possible to send her very far from Madrid, or to place her secretly in a convent where it would be impossible to find her. It flashed upon him that in shutting up Dolores that evening Mendoza had been obeying the King's secret orders, as well as in telling her that she was to be taken to Las Hnelgas at dawn. No one but Philip could have written the letter — only the dwarfs fear of Plulip*s displeasure could have made him so anxious 1 A LOVK ST'JllV or OLl> MADRID 157 that it should be read at once. It was all as clear as daylight now, and the King- and INIendoza were acting together. The first letter had heen l)rought by a woman, who must have got out through the window of the study, which was so low tiiat she could almost have stepped from it to the terrace without springing. She had watched until 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 he not feared that some one might see him do it, and he folded it again and thrust it back under his doublet. His face was grave as he turned away, for the position, as he understood it, was a very des})erate one. He had meant to send Dolores to Vil- lagarcia, but it was almost impossible that such a mat- ter should remain uid\nown, and in the face of the King's personal opposition, it would probably ruin Quixada and his wife. He, on his side, might send Dolores to a convent, under an assumed name, and take her out again before she was found, and marry her. Hut that would be hard, too, for no places were more directly under the sovereign's control than con- vents and monasteries. Somewhere she must go, for she could not possibly remain concealed in his study more than three or four hours. Suddenly he fancied that she might be in danger even now. The woman who had brought the first letter had of course left the window unfastened. She, or the King, or any one, might gt;t in by that way, and z^-^SI^gfilitmw >■■ 158 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING » ■ ^ ^v Dolores was alone. They might have taken her away already. He cursed himself for not having looked to see that the window was bolted. The man who had won great battles felt a chill at his heart, and he walked at the best of his speed, careless whether he met any one or not. lint no place is more deserted than the more distant parts of a royal palace when there is a great assembly in the state apartments. He met no one on his way, and entered his own door alone. Ten minutes had not elapsed since the King had left the supper-room, a I it was almost at that moment that Doiia Ana met . endoza. Dolores starteu to her feet as she heard his stv.^i in the next room and then the key in the lock, and as he entered her hands clasped themselves round his neck, and her eyes looked into liis. He was very pale when he saw her at last, foj- the belief that she had been stolen away had growi. dth his speed, till it was an intolerable certainty. " What is it ? What has happened ? " she c 'ied anx- iously. " Why are you so white ? Are you ill ? " " I was frightened," he said simply. " I was afraid you were gone. Look here ! " He led her to the window, and drew the curtain to one side. The cool air rushed in, for the bolts were unfastened, and the window was ajar. He closed it and fastened it securely, and they both came buck. " The woman got out that way," he said, in explana- tion. " I understand it all now — and some one might have come back." A LOVE STOIIY OF OLD MADRID 169 He told her quietly what had happened, and showed her the letter, which slie read slowly to the end before she gave it back to liiui. " Then the other was not a love letter, after all," she said, with a little laugh tluit had more of relief in it than amusement, though slie did not know it herself. "No," he answered gravely. "I wish I liad read it. I should at least have shut the window before leaving you ! Careless of any danger to herself, she sat looking up into his anxious face, her cl.asped hands lying in his and quite covered by them, as he stood beside her. There was not a trpcc of fear in her own face, nor indeed of any feeling but perfect love and confidence. Under the gaze of her deep "■ 3y eyes his expression relaxed for a moment, and j^ew like hers, so that it would have been hard to say which trusted the other the more. " What does anything m.atter, since we are together now ? " she asked. " I am with you, can anything happen to me ? " *' Not while I am alive," he answered, but the look of anxiety for her returned at once. " You cannot stay here." " No — you will take me away. I am ready — " " I dc :^ot 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 may do — he may insist on seeing whether any one is here, listening, for he is very suspicious, and he only comes here because i i 160 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ^. 1 1 1 1' 1 w ■ |i m f tt i 1 111 : 1 he does not e\ n trust 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 that you have not the key. If he calls men to open it, T will escape by tlie window, and hide in the old sentry-box. He will not stay talking with you till morning ! " She laughed, and he saw that she was right, simply because there was no other place where she could be even as safe as where she was. He slowly nodded as she spoke. "You see," she cried, with another little laugh of happy satisfaction, "3'()U must keep me here whether you will or not ! You are really afraid — frightened like a boy ! You ! How men would stare if they could see 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. Tliey will talk at least half an hour, and it is very likely that Perez will persuade him not to come at all, because he is angry with you. Perhaps Perez will come instead, and he will be very smooth and flattering, and bring messages of reconciliation, and beg to make peace. He is very clever, but I do not like his face. He makes me think of a beautiful black fox! Even if the King comes himself, we have more than half an liour. You can stay a little while with me — then go into your room and sit down and read, as if you were waiting for him. You can read I .-. *.> A LOVE STOKY OF OLD MADRID 161 my letter over, and I will sit here iiiul say all the things I wrote, over and over again, and you will know that 1 am saying them — it will he almost as if I were with you, and could say them quite close to you — like this — I love you I " She had drawn his hand gently down to her while she was speaking, and she whispered the last words into his ear with a delicate little kiss that sent a thrill straight to his heart. " You are not afraid any more now, are you ? " she asked, as she let him go, and he straightened himself suddenly as a man drawing back from something he botl" fears and loves. He opened and shut his hands quickly two or three times, as some nervous men 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 her face, as he turned and turned again. "I cannot send you to Villagarcia — there are things that neither you nor I could do, even for each other, things you would not have me do for you, Dolores. It would be ruin and disgrace to my adopted mother and Quixada — it might be worse, for tlic King lan call anything he pleases high treason. It is impossible to take yoi! there without somy one knowing it — can I carry you in my arms ? There are grooms, coachmen, servants, who will tell anything under examination — under torture ! How can I send you there ? " "I would not go," answered Dolores quietly. |\*. • 11 t! w Imli 1'^ I! 162 IN TTTK PALACE OF THE KTNO " I cannot send you to a convent, either," he went on, for he had taken her answer for granted, as lovers do who trust each other. " You would be found in a day, for the King knows everything. There is only one place, where 1 am master — " He stopped short, and grew very pale again, looking at the wall, but seeing something very far away. " Where ? " asked Dolores. *' Take me there ! Oh, take me where you are master — wliere tliere is no king but you, wliere we can be together all our lives, and no one can come between us ! " He stood motionless, staring at the wall, contou»- plating in amazement the vastness of the temptation that arose before him. Dolores could not understand, but she did what a loving women does when the man she loves seems to be in a great distress. She came and stood Ix'side him, passing one arm through his and pressing it tenderly, without a word. There are times 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 ilyjng to resist her eyes and could not. He took his arm from hers and his liands frain«;d lier face softly, and pushed the gold hair gently back on her forehead. Put she grew frightened by degrees, for there was a look in his eyes she had never seeji there, and that had never been in them before, neithcsr in love nor in battle. His hands were quite cold, and his face was like a beautiful marble, but there was an evil sometlii//g in it, A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADKIl* 163 went lovers 1 in a i only joking ! Oh, ia no I' lives, onton\- ptation rstand, le man e canio his and D times id give always le were )ok his softly, head. was a at had battle. il<«' a H in it, I'U ;t a as in a fallen angel's, a defiance of God, an irresistible strength to do harm, a terror such as no man would dare to meet. '='You are worth it," he said in a tone so different from his natural voice that Dolores started, and would have drawn back from him, but couhl not, for his hands held her, shaking a little fiercely. "What? What is it?" hhc asked, growing more and more frightened — half believing that he was going mad. "You are worth it," he repeated. "1 tell you, you are worth that, and much more, and the world, and all the world holds for nic, uiid all earth and heaven besides. You do not know how 1 love you — you can never guess — " Her eyes grew tender again, and her hands went up and pressed his that still framed her face. " As I love you — dear love ! " she answered, won- dering, but happy. "No — not now. I love you more. You cannot guess — you shall see what I will do for your sake, and then you will understand." He uttered an incoherent exclamation, and his eyes dazzled her as he seized her in his arms and pressed her to him so that she could have cried out. And suddenly he kissed her, roughly, almost cruelly, as if he meant to hurt lier, and know that ho could. Slio struggled in his arms, in an unknown terror of him, and her senses reeled. Then all at once, he let her go, and turned from her 11 164 IN THE I'ALACK OF THK KING iiiw ;' i, f^ ■^i quickly, leaving her half fainting, so that she leaned against the wall and pitsHcd her cheek to the rough lianging. She felt a storm of tears, that she could not understand, rising in her lieart and eyes and throat. He had crossed the room, getting as far as he could from her, and stood tliere, turned to the wall, his arms bent against it and his face buried in his sleeve. He l)reathed 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 Dolores forgot herself and stood up listening, suddenly tilled with anxiety for him 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 help the suffering man over- ruling everything else. It was for his sake that she stayed where she was, lest if she touched him he should lose his senses 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 a trumpet call, straight and strong, with fixed eyes and set lips, that spoke deliberately. "There is Granada," he said. "Do you understand now ? " WiilMiWHlWWP'<«W«'il»i^gUf Iwilpiy^yiwi « A LOVK STOIIY OK OLD MA1»|'TI» 166 ! leaned 9 rough tuld not throat, le could lis arms re. He broken ou not jling in ood up I again, gone to ly past, ,n over- hat she ! should "No,"she answered timidly. '• I do not understand. Granada? Why there? It is so far away — " He lauf,du'd liarshly. '' Vou do not understand' V'es, (Jranada is far away — far enougli to l)e another kingdom — so far tliat Joini of Austria is master there — so far that with liis army at his h ick he can he not only its master, but its Kini:^? Do you understand now? Do you see what I will d) for your sake?" He made one step towards iier, and she was very white. " I will take you, and go back to-morrow. Do you think the Moors are not men, because I beat them? I tell you that if I set up my standard in (iranada and call them to me, tliey will follow me — if I lead them to tlie gate of Madrid. Yes — and so will more than half the Spanish army, if I will I But I do not want that — it is not the kingdom — what sliould I care for that? Could I not have taken it and held it? It is for you, dear love — for your sake only — that we may have a world of our own — a kingdom in whicli you are queen! Let there be war — wliy should I care? I will set the world ablaze and let it burn to its own ashes, but I will not let them take you from rae, neither now, nor ever, while I am alive ! " He came quickly towards her now, and she could not draw back, for the wall was behind her. But she thrust out her hands against him to keep him off. The gesture stopped him, just when he would have taken her in his arms. y . \r IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) !.0 I.I It liS III 2.0 1.8 1:25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" ► <5> ^ yi A 9%^ J> Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 \ iV L1>^ \\ [v 6^ > 6" .■•&• J 66 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ^■,r m^ 1 i " No, no ! " she cried vehemently. " You must not say such things, you must not think such thoughts I You are beside youiself, and you will drive me mad, 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 ! Do you 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 treason to you, and worse treason than yours against your brother ! " The fierce light was sinking from his face. He had folded his arms and stood very still, listening to her. " You ! " she cried, with rising energy. " You, the brave soldier, the spotless man, the very soul of honour made flesh and blood ! You, who have but just come back in triumph from fighting your King's enemies — you against whom no living being has ever dared to breathe a slander or a slighting word. Oh, no, no, no, no ! I could not bear that you should betray your faith and your country and yourself, and be called traitor for my sake ! Not for ten lives of mine shall you ruin yours. 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 ! The shame is the more to me — I know it. I am only a woman ! But rather than let my love ruin you, make a traitor of you and lose you in this world and the next, my soul shall go first — life, soul, honour, every- 1 A Lf)VE STORY OF OLD MADRID ir>7 thing ! 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, 1 love you so dearly that I will leave you — leave you to honour, leave you to your King, leave you to the undying glory of the life you have lived, and will live, in memory of my love ! " The splendid words rang from her lips like a voice from heaven, and her eyes were divijiely lightened. For they looked up, and not at him, calling Heaven to wit- ness that she would keep her promise. As her open hand unconsciously went out, he took it tenderly, and felt her fingers softly closing on his own, as if she would lift him to himself again, and to the clear light of her own thoughts. There was silence for a moment. " You are better and wiser than I," he said, and his tone told her that the madness was past. "And you know that I am right? You see that I must leave you, to save you from me? " " Leave me — now ? " he cried. " You only said that — you meant me to understand — 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, to show you how I love you. As j^ong as I am in your life you will be in danger — you will never be safe from yourself — I see it all now! I stand between you and all the world would give you — I will not stand between you and honour I " She was breaking down, fight as she would against the pain. He could say nothing, for he could not believe that she really was in earnest. I ;^i < 1 r. '11 168 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING / i (■ *. t • v^^' U i ■.' t' " I must I " she exclaimed siuldenly. " It is all I can do for you — it is my life — take it ! " The tears broke from her eyes, but she held her head high, and let them fall unheeded. " Take it ! " she repeated. " It is all I have to give for yours and your honour. Good-by — oh, love, I love you so dearly ! Once more, before I go — " She almost fell into his arms as she buried her face on his shoulder and clasped his throat as she was wont. He kissed her hair gently, and from time to ime her whole frame shook with the sobs she was choking down. "It kills me," she said in a broken voice. "I can- not — I thought I was so strong ! Oh, I am the most miserable living woman in the world ! " She broke away from him wildly and threw herself upon a chair, turning from him to its cushion and hiding her face in her hands, choking, pressing the furious tears back upon her eyes, shaking from head to foot. " You cannot go ! You cannot ! " he cried, falling on his knees beside her and trying to take her hands in his. " Dolores — look at me ! I will do anything — promise anything — you will believe me ! Listen, love — I give you 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 at him. " I swear upon my honour that I will never raise my hand against the King — that I will defend him, and fight for him, and be loyal to him, ..*,*..,.,-■ 1 A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 169 whatever he may do to nv^ — and that even for yon, I will never strike a blow 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 lier weeping subsided, and her tearful eyes took light and life again. She' drew him close, and kissed him on the forehead. *• I am so glad — so happy ! " she cried softly. " I should never have had strength to really say good-by I " rx,' CHAPTER X if \i' . '} f " i '. Don John smoothed lier golden hair. Never since he had kriown that he loved her, had she seemed so beautiful as then, and his thought tried to hold her as she was, that she might in memory be always the same. There was colour in her cheeks, a soft flush of happi- ness that destroyed all traces of her tears, so that they only left her grey eyes dark and tender under the long wet lashes. " It was a cruel dream, dear love ! It was not true I " Finding him again, her voice was low, and sweet with joy- He smiled, too, and his own eyes were quiet and young, now that the tempest had passed away, almost out of recollection. It had raged but for a few mo- ments, but in that time both he and she had lived and loved as 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 than break it ; but though she had called herself weak, and had seemed to break down in despair, she would have left him for ever rather than believe that he was still in danger thi'ough her. She did not again ask herself whether her sudden resolution had been all for hia sake, and had not formed itself because she dreaded to 170 \MJi *-•:« 1 A IA)VK roUV OK f)M) MADKID 171 think of being bound to oiu; wlio Ix'tmyed liis (Country. She knew it and needed no fiirllu'r s(!lf-vas for me," said Dolores. That should explain all, her lieart said. But he was not satisfied, and being a man he began to insist. "Not even for you should I have thought of it," he said. " And there is the thought to forgive, if nothing else." "No — you are wrong, love. Because it was for me, it does not need ray forgiveness. It is different — you do not understand yet. It is I who should have never forgiven myself on earth nor expected pardon here- after, if I had let myself be the cause of sucli deeds, if T had let my love stand between you and honour. Do you see?" " I see," he answered. " You are very brave and kind and good. I did not know that a woman could be like you." " A woman could be anything — for you — dare any- thing, do anything, sacritice anything ! Did I not tell ^ A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADKID 173 you so, long ago? You only half believed 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, as I believe in your love — " " Yes. Tell me that you do — and tell me that you love me ! It is so good to hear, now that the bad dream is gone." "Shall I tell you?" Ho smiled, playing with her hand. " How can I ? There are so few words in which to say so much. But I will tell you this — I would give my word for you. Does that sound little ? You should know, for you know at what price you would have saved my honour a while ago. I believe in you so truly that I would stake my word, and my honour, and my Christian oath upon your faith, and promise for you before God or man that 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 that is 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 true earnestness 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, far safer now than when she had first come with him to the door. Something told her that he had mastered himself — she would not have wished f -fti A f 174 IN TIIK VAI.Af'K OK TIIK KINO to think that she Iwul ruled him ; it wiis oiiougli if she had shown liini tiio way, and had helped him. Ilo pressed lier hand to liis elieek and h)oked down thoughtfully, \»'ishing that he eould lind such simple words that eould say so much, hut iu)t trusting him- self to speak. For though, in love, a man speaks first, he always linds the least to say of love when it luis strongest hold of him ; hut a woman has words then, true and tender, that come from her licart unsought. Yet by and by, if love is not enduring, so tliat both tire of it, the man plays the blotter com-cdy, because ho has the greater strength, and sometimes wliat he says has the old ring in it, because it is so well said, and the woman smiles and wonders that his love should have lasted longer than hers, and desiring the illusion, she finds old plujuses again ; yet there is no life in them, because when love is dead she thinks of herself, and instead, it was only of him slie tliought in the good days when her heart used to beat at the sound of his footfall, and the light grew dim and unsteady as she felt his kiss. But the love of these two was not born to tire ; and because he wjis so young, and knew the world little, save at his sword's point, 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 better than mine." " Say, * I love you, dear,' very softly and gently — not roughly, as you sometimes do. I want to hear it gently now, that, and nothing else." n A LOVK STOIIY :\1AI)UID 177 yon say, and very patient. UenicnilxT that he is the nig ! " And my brothcir," said Don Jolni, willi sonio bit- terness. *'!)() not fear. Vow know wiiat I liave promised yon. I will l)ear anytliin*,' lie may say Miat concerns me as well as 1 ean, hnt if he says anythinj^ slij^hting of yon. — " "lint hi! may — that is the danger. Promise mo not to bo angry — " ''How can J promise that, if ho insnlts yon? " "No, I did not mean that exaetl\. Promise that yon will not forget everything and raise yonr hand against him. You see I know ycm won Id.'' " No, I will not raise iny liand against him. That was in i\u) i)romiso I nutde 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 little while." "For such a little time shall we say good-by? I hate the word ; it makes me 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 the other? That is all it means. It does not mean that we part for long, love. Why, I would say it for an hour I Good-by, dear love, good-by ! " She put up her face to kiss him, and it was so full of trust and hap])iiiess that the word lost all the bitterness it has gathered through ages of part- 178 IN THE PALACE OK THE KING ■A ',\l I 1 ings, 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 for less than an honr. He said it, too, to plejise her; but yet the syllables came raournfnlly, as if they meant a world more than hers, and the sound of them half frightened her, so that she was sorry she had asked him for the word. " Not so ! " she cried, in quick ^larm. " You are not keeping anything from me? 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 word to me — I will not say it again.'* He kissed her gently, as if to soothe her fear, and tlien he opened the door and set the key in the lock on the inside. Then when he was outside, he lin- gered a moment, and their lips met once more with- out a word, and they nodded and smiled to one another a last time, and he closed the door and heard her lock it. When she was alone, she turned away as if he were gone from her altogether instead of being in the next room, where she could hear him moving now and then, as he placed his chair near the light to read and arranged the candlesticks on the table. Then he went to the other door and opened it and opened the one beyond upon the terrace, and she knew that he was looking out to see if any one were there. But presently he came back and sat down, and she distinctly heard the rustle of the strong I l;i ':':^:V^'-V^;^>" ''^ .' .. 1 A LOVE STORY OK OLD MADRID 179 loving it was Lir. 1 Io- cs came an hers, so that I'd. You are ly going I sure ? " ed you. )t say it ear, and the lock he lin- re with- to one oor and IS if he being in moving |he light le table, it and bnd she ine were down, strong M writing-paper as he unfolded a letter. It was hers. He was going to read it, as tliey had agreed. So she sat down where she could look at the door, and she tried to force licr eyes to sec through it, to make him feel that she was watcliing him, that she came near him and stood beside him, and softly read the words for him, l)ut witliout looking at tlicm, be- cause she knew them all by heart. Hut it was not the same Jis if she had seen him, and it was very hard to Ix; shut off from his sight by an impenetrable piece of wood, to lose all tlic moments that might pass before the King chose to come. Another hour might piiss. No one could even tell whether he would come at all after lu* had consulted with An- tonio Perez. The skilful favourite desirtMl a quarrel between his master and Don John with all liis heart, but he w;us not ready for it yet. I!c must have possession of Dolores lirst and hide her safely; and when the quarrel came, Don John should believe tliat the King had stolen her and im[)risoued her, and that she was treated ill ; and for the woman he loved, Don John would tear down the 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 liis brother even to dtiath, and all Spain woidd cry out in sympathy and horror. But all this Dolores could neithe; know nor even suspect. She only felt sure that the King and Perez were even now consulting toL^ctluu' to i»iuder her marriage with Don John, and that Perez niigiit i >■ ■ ■■ I ;1 4 If y \ I: ^r 1 F ,1 1 t I II 180 IN THE PALACE OF TIFE ICING persuade the King not to see his brother that night. It was ahnost intolerable to think tliat she miglit wait there for hours, wasting tlie minutes for which she would have given drops of blood. Surely tliey both were overcautious. The door could be left o})en, so that they could talk, and at the first sound witiiout, she could lock it again and sit down. That would be quite jis safe. She rose and was almost in the act of opening the door again when she stopped and hesitated. It was possible tliat at any moment the King might be at tlie door; for tliougli she couhl hear every sound that came from the next room, tlie thick curtains that hid tlie window effectually sliut out all sound from without. It struck her that slie could go to the window, however, and look out. Yet a ray of light might betray her pres- ence in the room to any one outside, and if she drew aside the curtain the light would sliine out upon the terrace. She listened at Don John's door, and pres- ently she heard him turn her letter in his hand, and all her heart went out to him, and she stood noiselessly kissing the panels and saying over again in her heart that she loved him more than any words could tell. If she could only see out of the window and assure herself that no one was coming yet, there would be time to go to him again, for one moment only, and say the words once more. Then she sat down and told herself how foolisli she was. She had been separated from him for many long J^» A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADUII) 181 ler that le mi|^lit 31' which ely they be left st sound 11. That ning the It was 1)0 at the hat came hid tlio hout. It however, her pres- he drew upon the nd pres- and, and ^iselessly ler heart telL If ■e herself me to go le words nlish she any long and empty months, and now sIm^ liad lx'(!n with liim and talked long witli him twice in hiss than three hours, and yet she could not hear that he should be out of her sight five minutes witliout wishing to risk everything to see him again. She tried to laugh at herself, repeating over and <)V(;r again tliat she *vas very, very foolish, and tiiat slic should have a just contempt for any woman wlio eould he as foolish as she. For some moments she sat still, staring at the wall. In the thought of liim that filled luir heart and soul and mind, she saw that her own life had begun when he had first spoken to her, and she feit that it would end with the last good-hy, because if he shouM die or cease to love her, there would ho. nothing more to live for. Her early girlhood seemed dim and far awuy, dull aiul lifeless, as if it had not been hers iil jdl, and had no con- nection with the present. She saw herself in the i)}ist, as she could not see herself now, and the child slio remembered seemed not herself l)ut another — a fair- iiaired girl living in the gloomy old house in Valladolid, with her blind sister and an old maiden cousin of her father's, who had offered to bring up the two and to teach them, l)eing a woman of souk; learning, and who fulfilled her promise in such a conscientious and austere way as made their lives something of a burden under her strict rule. But that was all forgotten now, and though she still lived in Valladolid she had probably changed but little in the few years since Dolores had seen her ; she was part of the past, a relic of something ••«• »! 1 182 IN THE I'AI.ACK OV THE KINO ■■. t I thai lijul liiinlly i'vcr had a ical oxisloMcc, and which it was not at all ncci'ssarv to rt'iiuMuhcr. There was one great light in the girPs simple existence, it had come all at OKce, and it was with her still. There was nothing dim nor dark nor forgotten about the day when she had been presented at court by tlie Duchess Alvarez, and s.'^e Iiad (irst seen Don .John, aiul he had first seen her and had spoken to her, when he had talked with the Duchess herself. At the first glance — and it wjis her first sight of the great world — she had seen that of all the men in the great hall, there was no one at all like him. She had no sooner looked into his face and cast her eyes upon his slendei' figure, all in white then, as he was dressed to-night, than she began to compare him with the rest. She looked so quickly from one to another that any one might have thought her to be anxiously searching for a friend in the crowd. But she had none then, and she was but assuring herself once, and for jill her life, that the man she was to love was immeasurably beyond all other men, though the others were the very flower of Spain's young chivalry. Of course, as she told herself now, she had not loved him then, nor even when she heard his voice speaking to her the first time and was almost too happy to under- stand his words. But she had remembered them. He had asked her whether she lived in Madrid. She had told him that she lived in the Alcazar itself, since her father commanded the guards and had his quarters in the palace. And then Don John had looked at her very fixedly for a moment, and had seemed pleased, for he 1 ' iML> ^ \ A I-OVI<: STOKV OK (M.I) MADKIU 183 wliioh it Wits one come all nothing ►'hen she Alvarez, irst seen ked with id it was een that ne at all face and ite then, compare rom one icr to be d. But f herself s to love ugh the livalry. ot loved iking to ) under- m. He She had ince her rters in ler very , for he smih'd iiiid siiid lh;il ho IiojmmI lie miijlit sv.v. licr often, and that if it were in liis power (o lu' of use to her fatiier, he would do wliai lie eould. Slie was sure tliat she had not loved him tlien, tiioiigli she iiud di'eamed of his winning face and voice and had tlionglit of little else all the next day, and the day afUir that, with Ji sort of feverish hmging to see him again, and liiid asked the Dr.chess Alvarez so many questions about liim tliat the Duchess liad smiled oddly, luid had shaken her handsome young head a little, saying that it was better not to think too much about Don John of Austria. Surely, she had not loved him already, at first sight. lUit on the evening of the thir ^1 186 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING the two brothers were alone. Dolores* lieart beat a '•/ ■a, little faster, and her fi ah sh concen- trated her attention upon making no noise. If they could hear her as she heard them, a mere rustling of her silk gown would be enough to betray her, and if then the King bade her father take her with him, all would be over, for Don John would 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 he would, for he was moving about. There was no mistaking his heavy steps for his brother's elastic tread. "There is no one behind the curtain," said the King, by which it was clear that he was making search for a possible concealed listener. He was 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 the clumsy footfall coming nearer. " It is locked," said Don John, with undisturbed calm. "I have not the key. I do not know where it is, — it is not here." As Dolores had taken it from the lock, even the last statement was true to 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, and it shook under his hand, as if it must fly open. fip «aiH«'1*«Mp#^'*'{SignSHj A I/)VE STOUV OF OM) MADKII) 187 "It is ct'Hjiiuly locked," li(> s;iif 'I iU III. : I, v/ • t 1 ■' ' lljl f i , i i<: (i ) ;;, CIlAl'TKK XI Inez iviuaiiitMl liiddiMi a quarter of an hour in Iho pillery ovtM* (la* throiu' ro(»in, Im'Toic hIi* vcntintMl to ojHMi tlu' door iioisi'lt'ssly and liston I'or a'ly sound that niijjfht I'onu? from i\\v |)assa«:jt». Sla* wa.s (juilc safi^ th«'ns as \ou^ as slic choso to riMuain, f»)r tlu» Princu'ss had bt'licvod that sho had tU'd far beyond anil \va.s altoirctlu'r out of rcai'li of any ono wliosi^ diij^nity wouhl not aUow of runniuij^ a raw. It must Ih^ rcmomlKMi'd that at tho time shi' ontorod tlio gaUcry Mt'n(h)y,a, had rctnriH'd to his tluty hoh>w, and that somo timo afterwards ho iiad accompanied the Kim;' to Don »Iohn\s apartment«s, and liad then been sent in search of the key to tlie hi-'ked d»)or. The blind i^firl was of course wholly ijjfuorant of his whereabtmts, and believed him to be in or alxnit tlie throne room. Her instinct told her that sinc(^ Dolores had not ijone to the court, as she had intendtnl, with the Duchess Alvarez, she must have made somt^ last attempt to see Don John alone. In her perfect inno- cence such an idea seemed natural enough to Inez, and it at first occu-red to her thfit the two might have arranged to meet on the deserted terrace where they had spent so many hours in former times. She went there first, finding her way with some little difficulty 188 [i A LOVK H'nmV OK 0|J> MAIMlin m) from llio corridor wIkmv ihv ^Mllrrv wjim, I'nr \\\r rc^^non was not (he <»iio to wliicli she nv;i.s imisl iirciiHhmird, tlioiif^'li lli('i(« \\;iM liiirdly a roriin- i)\' llir ii|)|M>r slory where she had never In'en Keai;! "I'K (lie I errace, hIio lere was no answer le niidil was not, weni on', and called soj'llv, IhiI || nor c(Mdd slie liear any sonnd. 'IM cold now, linl Hie Inve/e cliille Diirhess Alvarez had she not. Immui HUH! (hat (Ik; la(ter wa,M helow with the (^nccin, and even a.s it. Wius, she wonId liav(! tuken reCn^n! in tliu Dnihtiss's apart nicnts with the w(»nieii, and she rni^dit have learned S(tnu't hin/^^ of '>ol',r!s there, lint her (oncli reminded her (hat she wa^^ dressed in her sis- ter's clotlnss, and that many (pieslioFis nii;^di( he ask(!d her wlii(!li it, wonid Im^ lia rd to aiiswnr. And aj^Min, it jJCnnv <|nitidai[ia 1 A LOVK STORY OF OLD MADRID J93 1 She would go back to her room at once, and oxi)hiin the matter of her dress to Endaklo as best she might. After all, why should he care what she wore or where she had ))een, or whether in tlie Princess's aj^artments slie had for some reason exclianged gowns with Dolores. Perhaps he would not even notice the dress at all. She meant to go at once, bit she stood ([uite still, her hands resting on the low sill of the window, while her forehead pressed against the cohl round panes of glass. Something liurt her which she could not understand, as she tried to fancy tlie two beautiful young beings who were witliin, — for she knew what l)eauty they had, and Dolores had described Don John to her as a young god. His voice came to her like strains of very distant sweet music, that connect themselves to an unknown melody in the fancy of liim who faintly hears. But Dolores was hearing every word lie said, and it was all for hv.v ; and Dolores not only heard, l)ut saw ; and seeing and liearing, she was loved by the man who spoke to her, as dearly as she loved him. Then utter loneliness fell upon the ])lind girl as she leaned against the window. She had expected nothing, slie had asked nothing, even in her heart ; and she had less than nothing, since never on earth, nor in heaven hereafter, could Don John say a loving wt)rd to her. And yet she felt that something had been taken from her and given to her sister, — something that was moro to her than life, and dearer than the thought of sight to her blindness. She had taken what had not been given her, in innocent girlish thoughts that were only dreams, I 194 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ir / and could hurt no 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 to the well-remembered music of his voice, and she had let the memory of his light touch on her fingers thrill her strangely to the very quick. It had been but the reflection of a reflection in Lor darkness, wherein the shadow of a shadow seemed as bright as day. It had been all she had to make her feel that she was a part of the living, loving world she could never see. Somehow she had unconsciously fancied that with a little dream- ing she could live happy in Dolores' happiness, as by a proxy, and she had never called it love, any more than she would have dared to hope for love in return. Yet it was that, and nothing else, — the love that is so hope- less and starving, and yet so innocent, that it can draw the illusion of an airy nourishment from that which to another nature would be the fountain of all jealousy and hatred. But now, without reason and without warning, even that was taken from her, and in its place something burned that she did not know, save that it was a bad thing, and made even blackness blacker. She heard their voices still. They were happy together, while she was alone outside, her forehead resting against the chill glass, and her hands half numb upon the stone ; and so it would always be hereafter. They would go, and take her life with them, and she should be left be- hind, alone for ever ; and a great revolt against her fate rose quickly iu her breast like a flame before the wind, •>^. p::r i':^^-x ^.:y- ; >«^i- :-.:■— yt;^.X/ir,- A LOVE STORY OV OLD MADRID 195 and then, as if findinj^ nothing to consume, sank down ai^ain into its own ashes, and left her more lonely than before. The voices had cea :;ed now, or else the lovers were speaking very low, fearing, perhaps, that some one might be listening at the window. If Inez had heard their words at first, she would have stopped lier ears or gone 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 to hear, and she missed it. Perhaps they were sitting close and, hand in hand, reading all the sweet unsaid things in one another's eyes. There must be silent voices in eyes that could see, she thought. She took little thought of the time, yet it seemed long to her since they had spoken. Perhaps they had gone to another room. She moved to tlie next window and listened there, but no sound came from within. Then she heard footfalls, and one was her father's. Two men were coming out by the corridor, and she had not time to reach the sentrv-box. With her hands out before her, she went lightly away from the windows to the outer side of the broad ter- race, and cowered down bv the balustrade as she ran against it, not knowing whether she was in the moon- light or the shade. She had crossed like a shadow and was crouching there before Mendoza and the King came out. She knew by their steady tread, that ended at the door, 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 loud and angry words, for she could not doubt that the King and her 196 IN TFJK PALACE OF TITK KING m.i h\ father had discovcM-ed that Dolores was there, and had come to take her away. The Princess must liave told Mendoza that Dolores had esca[)ed. Hut she only heard men's voices speakinrang forward in pursuit when he saw her figure in the dimness, flying before him, but as she reached the light of the lamp he stopped himself, staggering one or two steps and then reeling against the wall. He had recognized Dolores' dress and hood, and there was not the slightest doubt in his A F,()VM STOItV OK (>IJ> MAI>KII» 197 !, and had liave told mly heard , jiiid sh(3 Vliiiost at her's stop the dour , later tiie le slipped riiey were of IhidinjT the noise impt, and Thinkini; ing called had hap- I he was esitate an \ie second tlie corri- had been npon her :now it. II pursnit ng before le stopped ;ii reel 'Jig ires' dress ibt in his mind bnt thai it was herself. In ihiit same dress he had seen her in the late afternoon, sIk; liad been wcar- injT it when he had locked her into tlie sittintr-iooir, and, still clad in it, she must have come out with the Piineess. And now she was ninninL;- iMdore liini from Don .lohn's lodging. Doubtless sIk; had been in an- other room and had slipped out while he was trying the door within. He passed his hand over his eyes and breathed hard as he leaned against the; wall, for her appearance there could only mean one thing, and that was ruin to her and disgrace to his name — the very end of all things in his life, in which all had been based upon his honour and every action had been a tribnte to it. He was too much stunned to ask himself how the lovers had met, if there had been any agreement be- tween them, bnt the frightful conviction took hold of him tfiat this was not the first time, that long ago, before Don John had led the army to (Jranada, Dolores had found her way to that same door and had spent long hours with her lover when no one knew. Else die conld not have gone to him witiiout agreement, at an instant's notice, on the very night of his retnrn. Despair took possession of the unhappy man from that moment. But that the King was with Don John, Mendoza would have gone back at that moment to kill his enemy and himself afterwards, if need be. He re- membered his errand then. No doubt that was the very room where Dolores had been concealed, and she iiad escaped from it by some other way, of which I' » ■ . ', i 108 IN TinO I'ALACK OK TUK KINssession, sueh as comes upon men at very desperate times, when they must not allow themselves to stt)p antl think t)f what is betore them. I'hey were ])ietures, rather than thoughts, that formeil themselves in his brain as he went along, lor he saw all the past years again, frt)m tlit^ tlay when his yt)ung wife hatl tlietl, he being then alreatly in mitlille age, until that afternoon. One bv one the years eame back, antl the centi-al figfure in each was the fair-hairetl little ehild, growing steadily to be a \voman, all eoniinj^- nearer antl nearer to the end he hatl seen but nov. , whieh was unutterable shame and disgrace, antl beyontl which there was nt)thing. lie liearti the baby voice again, antl felt the little hands upon his brow, and saw the serious grey eyes close It) his own; antl then the girl, gravely lovely — antl her far-ofif laugh that hardly e\ev ripjded through the room A LOVK STOHV OK or, I) MADIiri) i(n> wlicii lie WHS tlicro; and then the, stealing' softne.ss of grown niai(K'nhoo(l, wiuiing the features one by one, and hiingin^^ baek from death to lifti the faee lie had loved best, and the voi(!e with long-forj^^otten tone;; that touched his soul's quiek, and dimmed his si^dit with a mist, so that he giew hard and stern as he fouLfht within him against the tenderness he loved and feared. All this he saw and heard and felt again, kn(>wing that each picture must end but in one way, in the one sight he had seen and that had told his shame — a guilty woman stealing by night from her lover's door. Not only that, either, for there was the almost certain knowledge that she had deceived him for years, and that while he had been fighting so hard to save her from what seemed but a show of marrijige, she had been already lost to him for ever and ruined beyond all hope of honesty. They were not thoughts, but pictures of the false and of the true, that rose and glowed an instant and then sank like the inner darkness of his soul, leaving only that last most terrible one of all behind them, burned into his eyes till death should put out their light and bid him rest at last, if lie could rest even in heaven with such a memory. It was too much, and though he walked upright and gazed before him, he did not know his way, and his feet took him to his own door instead of on the King's errand. His hand was raised to knock before he understood, and it fell to his side in a helpless, hope- less way, when he saw where he was. Then he turned J 4 200 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO '•^^ .1 i' I H ' il' . i i' stiflly, as a man turns on parade, and p^atliered his strength and marched away with a measured tread. For the world and what it held lie would not have entered his dwelling tlien, for he felt that his daugliter was there before him, and that if he once oaw her face he should not be able to hold his liand. lie would not see her again on earth, lest he should take her life for what she had done. He was more aware of outward things after that, though he almost commanded himself to do what he had to do, as he would have given orders to one of his soldiers. He went to the chief steward's ollice and demanded the key of the room in the King's name. But it was not forthcoming, and the fact that it could not be found strengthened his cimviction that Don John liad it in his keeping. Yet, for the sake of form, he insisted sternly, saying that the King was waiting for ifc even then. Servants were called and examined and threatened, but those who knew anything about it unanimously declared that it had been left in the door, while those who knew nothing supported their fellow-servants by the same unhesitating assertion, till Mendoza was convinced that he had done enougli, and turned his back on them all and went out with a grey look of despair on his face. He walked rapidly now, for he knew that he was going back to meet his enemy, and he was trying not to think what he should do when he should see Don John before him and at arm's length, but defended by the King's presence from any sudden violence. He knew •f. \ A LOVK STOKY OK <)M> MADRID 201 that in his heart tliere was I ho wild resolve to tell the truth before his master and then to take the i)ayinent of blood with one tlirnst and destroy himself witli the next, but thougli he was Iialf mad with despair, he would not let tlie thought become a resolve. In his soldier's nature, high above everything else and domi- nating his austere conscience of right and wrong, as well as every other instinct of his heart, tliere was the respect of his sovereign and the loyidty to him at all costs, good or bad, which sent self out of sight where his duty to the King was concerned. f /*' CHAPTER XII \i fi u i i ■ I When he had sent away Mendoza, tlie King re- mained standing and began to pace the floor, while Don John stood by the table watching him and wait- ing for him to sj^eak. It was clear that he was still angry, for his anger, though sometimes suddenly roused, was very slow to reach its height, and slower still to subside ; and when at last it had cooled, it generally left behind it an enduring hatred, such as could be sat- isfied only by the final destruction of the object that had caused it. That lasting hate was perhaps more dangerous than the sudden outburst had been, but in moments of furious passion Philip was undoubtedly a man to be feared. He was evidently not inclined to s[>eak until he had ascertained that no one was listening in the next room, but as he looked from time to time at Don John his still eyes seemed to grow almost yellow, and his lower lip moved uneasily. He knew, perhaps, that Mendoza could not at once find the servant in v/hose keeping the key of the door was supposed to be, and he grew impatient by quick degrees until his rising temper got the better of his caution. Don John instinctively drew himself up, as a man does who expects to be attacked. He was close to the table, and remained almost motion- 202 A I.OVK ST(JKV OK OLD MADKII* •J():{ n loss durinp^ the (Uscussioii that foUowfMl, while Philip [uiced up ami down, sonu'tiines pausing i)efore his brother for a moment, and then turning again to re- sume his walk. His voice was mullled always, and was hard to hear; now and then it became thick and indistinct with rage, and he cleared his throat roughly, as it he were angry with it, too. At lirst he main- tained the outward forms of courtesy in words if not in tone, but long before his wrath had reached its final climax he forgot them altogether. ** I had hoped to speak with you in privp.cy, on mat- ters of great importance. It has pleased your High- ness to make that impossible by your extraordinary behaviour." Don John raised his eyebrows a little incredulously, and answered with perfect calmness. " I do not recollect doing anything which should seem extraordinary to your Majesty." " You contradict me," retorted Philip. " That is extraordinary enough, I should think. I am not aware that it is usual for subjects to contradict the King. What have you to say in explanation ? " *' Nothing. The facts explain themselves well enough." "We are not in camp," said Philip. "Your High- ness is not in command here, and I am not your sub- ordinate. I desire you to remember whom you are addressing, for your words will be remembered." "I never said anything which I wished another to forget," answered Don John proudly. I M (■ y u i ^ '1^ ^ t It' II tli' I I 1». i I I' 1 I I't 1 20 i IN MHO I'AI.ACK OK TIIK KIN(J "Take care, tlu'ii!'* 'VW Kin^' siH)kc sullenly, and turned away, for lie wius slow 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 wjus umch more preoccupied by the serious question of Dolores' safety than by any other consideration. So far the King had said nothing which, but for some derogation from his dignity, might not have Ixjcn said before any one, and Don John expected that he would maintain the same tone until Mendoza returned. It was hard to i)rcdict what might happen then. In all probability Dolores would escape by the window and endeavour to hide herself in the empty sentry-box until the interview was over. lie could then bring her back in safety, but the discussion promised to be long and stormy, and mean- while she would be in constant danger of discovery. But there was a worse j)oasibility, not even quite l>e- yond the bounds of the probable. In his present mood, Philip, if he lost his temj^er altogether, would perhaps be capable of placing Don John under arrest. He was all powerful, he hated his brother, and he was very angry. His last words had been a meniice, or had sounded like one, and another word, when Mendoza returnrd, could put the threat into execution. Don John reflected, if such thought could be called reflec- tion, upon the situation that must ensue, and upon the probable fate of the woman he loved. He wondered whether she were still in the room, for hearing that the door was to be opened, she might have thought it best A LOVE RTORY OF OLD MADUID 2or, to escape at onoe, while her fiither wjih alweiit from the terrace on lii.s errand. If not, slie conld (•ert4iinly go out by the window an soon aw .she licurd liini coming back. It was clearly of the greatest importance to pre- vent the King's anger from going any further. Anto- nio Perez had recognized the siime truth from a very different jwint of view, and had spent nearly three- quarters of an hour in flattering his master with the consummate skill which he alone possessed. lie be- lieved thcit he had succeeded when the Iving had dis- missed him, SJiying that he would not see Don Jolin until the morning. Five minutes after Perez wjis gone, Philip was threading the corridors, completely disguised in a long black cloak, with the ever-loyal Mendoza at his heels. It was not the first time that he had deceived his deceivers. He paced the room in silence after he had last spoken. As soon as Don John realized that his lilierty might be endangered, he saw that he must say 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 by unforjseen cir- cumstances. If there had been ti. le to reflect, I might have acted otherwise." "Might have acted otherwise!" repeated Philip harshly. "I do not like those words. You might have acted otherwise than to defy your sovereign before the Queen I I trusted you might, indeed I" <. ,' 206 IN TMK PALACE OF THE KIN(J ;- < ' \t! u. He was silent again, his protruding lip working angrily, as if he had tasted something lie disliked. Don John's half apology had not been received with much grace, but he saw no way open save to insist that it was genuine. " It is certainly true that I have lived much in camps of late," he answered, " and that a camp iy not a school of manners, any more than the habit of commanding others accustoms a man to courtly sub- mission." " l*recisely. You have learned to forget that you have a superior in Spain, or in the world. You already begin to affect the manners and speech of a sovereign — you will soon claim the dignity of one, too, I have no doubt. The sooner we procure you a kingdom of your own, the better, for your Highness will before long become an element of discord in ours." " Rather than that," answered Don John, " I will live in retirement for the rest of my life." " We may require it of your Higlniess," replied Philip, standing still and facing his brother. " It may be necessary for '^iir own safety that you should spend some time at least in very close retirement — very !" He almost laughed. " I should prefer that to the possibility of causing any disturbance in 3^our 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, begin- A LOVK STOTtV ()!'" OLD MADKID 2Q1 ning to walk again. "There is too iimeli loyally in what you say, and too much of a rebellious spirit 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 may have done, but such as mv di-nU have been they have produced peace and submission in your Majesty's kingdom, and not rebellion — "' "And is it because you have beaten a handful of ill- armed Moriscocs, in the short space of two years, that the peoj)le follow you in throngs wherever you go, shouting for you, singing your praises, bringing ])eti- tions to you by hundreds, as if you were King — as if you were more than that, a sort of god before whom every one must bow down? Am I so simple as to believe that what you have done with such leisure is enough to rouse all Spain, s.ikI to make the whole court break out into cries of wonder and ap[)lause as soon as you ai)[)ear? If you publicly defy me and disoben' me, do I not know that you believe yourself abb; (o do so, and think 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 cveryvv^herc, liigh and low, forever praising you and tolling men, and women, too, of your graces, and your generosities, and your victo- ries, and saying that it is a ])ity so good and bi-ave a prince should be but a leader of the King's armies, and then contrasting the King himself with you, the cruel King, the grasping King, the scheming King, the Kin who has every fault that is not found in Don John o)' If n. ' 1/ ' r I. ft i y ^ I I I I (■ • I \! \-\ 1 ' u I / 208 IN THE PALACE OP THE KING Austria, the people's god ! Is that peace and submis- sion ? Or is it the beginning of rebellion, and revolu- tion, and civil 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 one could believe him capable of the least of the deeds Philip was attributing to him, and in spite of his resolution his anger began to rise. Then, suddenly, as if cold water had been dashed in his face, he remembered that an hour had not passed since he had held Dolores in his arms, swearing to do that of which he was now accused, and that her words only had held him back. It all seemed monstrous now. As she had said, it had been only u i\ I dream and he had wakened to himself again. Yet the thought of rebellion had more than crossed his mind, for in a mo- ment it had taken possession of him and had seemed to change all his nature from good to bad. In his own eyes he was rebuked, and he did not answer at once. " You have nothing to say I " exclaimed Philip scorn- fully. " Is there any reason why I should not try you for high treason ? " Don John started at the words, but bi.> anger was gone, and he thought only of Dolores' s ilety in the near future. " Your Majesty is far too just to accuse an innocent man who has served you faithfully," he answered. Philip stopped and looked at him curiously and long, trying to detect some sign of anxiety if not of fear. A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 209 He was accustomed to torture men with words well enough, before he used other means, and he himself had not believed what he had said. It had been oidv an experiment tried on a mere chance, and it had failed. At the root of his anger there was only jealousy and personal hatred of the brother wlio had every grace and charm which he himself had not. "More kind than just, perhaps," he said, with a slight change of tone towards condescension. " I am willing to admit that I have no proofs against you, but the evidence of circumstances is not in your favour. Take care, for you are observed. You are too much before the world, too imposing a figure to escape observation." "My actions will bear it. I only ])eg that your Maj- esty will take account of them rather than listen to such interpretation as may be put upon them by other men." " Other men do nothing but praise you," said Pliilip bluntly. " Their opinion of you is not worth having ! I thought ? had explained that matter sufficiently. You are the idol of the people, and as if that were not enough, you are the darling of the court, besides being the women's favourite. That is too much for one man to ' e — take care, I say, take care ! Be at more pains for my favour, and at less trouble for your popularity." " So far as that goes," answered Don John, with some pride, " I think that if men praise me it is because I have served the King as well as I could, and with suc- cess. If your Majesty is not satisfied with what I have 210 IN THK PALACE OF THE KING !♦, '■ !■■ i . ,i Hi f't > (lone, let me have more to do. I shall try to do even the impossible." "That will plense the ladies," retorted Philip, with a sneer. " Vou will be overwhelmed with correspond- enc(3 — your gloves will not hold it all." Don John did not answer, for it seemed wiser to let the King take this ground tiuui return to his former position. " You will have plenty of agreeable occupation in time of peace. But it is better that you should be married soon, before you b^'come so entangled with the ladies of Madrid as to make your marriage impossible." "Saving the last clause," said Don John boldly, "I am altogether of 3'our Majesty's opinion. But I fear no entanglements here." "No — you do not fear them. On the contrary, you live in them as if they were 3'our element." " No man can say that," anwered Don John. " You contradict me again. Pray, if you have no entanglements, how comes it 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's secret ? " " I had not read it then. It was not signed, and it might well have been written by a man." Don John watched the King's face. It was far from no ■ 1' \ ;i. 1 f iiJ I'ora ij IL fh V'll ' l> i I i I I i H ' i / A LOVE STORY OF OLD MAT) 11 IP 211 improbable, he thought, tliat tlie Kinp^ liad caused it to be written, or had written it himself, that he sup^tosed his brother to have read it, and desired to regnin pos- session of it as soon as possible. Pliilip seemed to hesitate whether to continue his cross-examination or not, and he looked at the door leading into the ante- chamber, suddenly wondering why jNIendoza had not returned. Then he began to speak again, but he did not wish, angry though he was, to face alone a second refusal to deliver the document to him. His dignity would have suffered too much. '"The facts of the case are these," he said, as if he were recapitulating what had gone before in his mind. " It is my desire to marry you to the widowed Queen of Scots, as you know. You are doing all you can to oppose me, and you have determined to marry the dowerless daughter of a poor soldier. I am equally determined that you shall not disgrace yourself by such an alliance." " Disgrace ! " cried Don John loudly, almost before the word had passed the King's lips, and he made half a stej) forward. "' You are braver than I thought you, if you dare use that word to me ! " Philip stepped back, growing livid, and his hand w^as on his rapier. Don John was unarmed, but his sword lay on the table within his reach. Seeing the King afraid, he stepped l)ack. "No," he said scornfully, " I was mistaken. You are a coward." He laughed as he glanced at I^hilip's hand, still on the hilt of his weapon and ready to draw it. iiii 1^ i- A it ' 1 212 IN THE PALACE OF THE KTNO (i; ^ ( In the next room Dolores drew frightened brenth, for tlie tones of the two men's voices had changed suddenly. Yet her heart had leapt for joy when she had heard Don Jolm's cry of anger at the King's insulting word. But Don John waa right, for Philip was a coward at heart, and though he inwardly re- solved that his brother should be placed under arrest as soon as jMendoza returned, his present instinct was not to rouse him further. He was indeed in danger, between his anger and his fear, for at any moment lie might speak some bitter word, accustomed as he was to the perpetual protection of his guards, but at the next his brother's liands might be on his throat, for he had the coward's true instinct to recognize 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 then you are sur- prised that I should be ready to defend myself." "I barely moved a step from where I stand,'' an- swered Don John, with profound contempt. " I am unarmed, too. There lies my sword, on the table. But since you are the King as well as my brother, I make all excuses 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 posi- tion was growing more and more desperate and unten- able at every moment ; yet she eould not blame her lover for what he had said. Even to save her, she A LOVK STORY OV OM) MADKII) 213 I lie ^he would not have lia'ays did. " Yes," he said, still scornfully. " I am the son of a German burgher's daughter, 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, when we are before the world, 3et here, we are man and man, you and I, brother and brother, and there is neither King nor prince. But I shall not hurt you, so you need fear nothing. I respect the br(»ther far too little for that, and the sovereign too much." There was a bad yellow light in Philip's face, and instead of walking towards? Don John and awa}' from him, as he had done hitherto, he began to pace up and down, crossing and recrossing before him, from the foot of the great canopied bed to one of the curtained \ r if '/■ / 214 IN TFIE PALACE OF THE KINO 9 i 'V windows, kccpiiijjf his e^es upon his l)i'othL'r iihnost vas not a sound in the room as he looked at what he had done, and two or three drops of blood fell one by one, very slowly, upon the marble. On the dazzling white of Don John's doublet there was a small red stain. As IMiilip watched it, he thought it <^rew wider and brighter. Heyond the door, Dolores had fallen upon her knees, pressing her hands to her temples in an agony beyond thought or exjjression. Her fear had risen to terror while she listened to the last words that had been exchanged, and the King's threat had chilled her blood like ice, i hough she was brave. She had longed to cry out to Don John to give uj) her letter or the other, whichever the King wanted — she had almost tried to raise her voice, in spite of every other fear, when she had heard Don John's single word of scorn, and the quick footsteps, the drawing of the rapier from its sheath, the desperate scufHe that had not lasted fi\o seconds, and then the dull fall which meant that one was hurt. It could only be the King, — but that was terrible enough, — and yet, if the King had fallen, Don John would have come to the door the next instant. All was still in the room, but her terror mide wild noises in her ears. The two men migLj have spoken now and n !i i III ! I H hi , t .f I I- :'■ 1^ Ti 218 IN THE I'ALACK OF THE KINO she could not liavt^ licard them, — nor llu' opcnijij^ of a door, nor any ordinary souiul. It was no longer the fear of being heard, either, that made her silent. Her throat was parched and her tongu« paralyzed. She remembered suddenly that Don John had been un- armed, and how he had pointed out to Philip that his sword lay on the table. It was the King who had drawn his own, then, and had killed his unarmed brotlier. She felt as if something heavy were striking her head as the thoughts made broken words, and flaslies of light danced before her eyes. With her liands she tried to press feeling and 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 tide of despair rose higher with every breath. The sensation came upon her that she was dying, then and there, of a pain human nature could not endure, far beyond the torments Philip had threat- ened, and the thought was merciful, for she could not have lived an hour in such agony, — something would have broken before then. She w^as dying, there, on her knees before the door beyond which her lover lay suddenly dead. It would be easy to die. In a moment more she would be with him, for ever, and in peace. They would find her there, dead, and per- haps they would be merciful and bury her near him. But that would matter little, since she should be with him always now. In the first grief that struck her, and bruised her, and numbed her as with material blows, she had no tears, but there was a sort of choking f 't A LOVK STORY OF OLD MADFUI) 219 on er a md firo in liur throiit, and her eyes burned licr like hot iron. She did not know how h)ng she knelt, waiting for death. Slie was dying, and tliere was no time any more, nor any outward world, nor anything but her lovers dead body on the tloor in the next room, and his soul waiting for hers, waiting beside her for her to die also, that they might go togetlier. She was so sure now, that she was wondering dreamily why it took so long to die, seeing that death had taken him so quickly. C-ould 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, — lier life clung too closely to her suffering body, her heart was too young and strong to stand still in her breast for grief. She was to live, and bear that same pain a lifetime. She rocked herself gently on her knees, bowing her head almost to the tloor. She was roused by the sound of her father's voice, and the words he was speaking sent a fresli sliock of horror through her unutterable grief, for they told her that Don Jcnin was dead, and then something else so st range that she could not understand it. Philip had stood only a few moments, sword in hand, over his brother's body, '.taring down at his face, when the door opened, (^n the threshold stood old Men- doza, half-stuimed by the sight he saw. Philip heard, stood up, and drew back as his eyes fell upon the old soldier. He knew that Mendoza, if no one else, knew the truth now, beyond any power of his to con- ■ fir I Sir \i: . 'i 220 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING 1- ceal it. His anger liad subsided, and a sort of horror, that could never be remorse, had come over him for what he had done. It must have been in his face, for jN'endoza understood, and he came forward quickly and knelt down upon the floor to listen for the beating of the heart, and to try whether there was any breath to dim the bi'ightness of his polishe " They will tear yon in pioros 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 be spared the difiiculty of j)ardoiiing a deed which will be unpardonable in the eyes of the whole world." "That is true," said the King meditatively, "lint I do not wish you to die, Mendoza," he added, as an afterthought. " You must escape to France or to England." " I could not make my escape without your Majesty's help, and that would soon be known. It would then be believed that I had done the deed by your Ahijesty's orders, and no good end would Jiave been gained." "You may be right. You are a veiy brave man, Mendoza — the bravest I have ever known. I thank you. If it is possible to save you, you shall be saved." "It will not be possible," replied the soldier, in a low and steady voice. " If your Majesty will return at once to the throne room, it may be soon over. Be- sides, it is growing late, and it must be done before the whole court." They enter'^d the corridor, and the King walked a few steps before Mendoza, covering his head with the hood of his cloak lest any one should recognize him, and graduall}^ increasing his distance as the old man fell behind. Descending by a private staircase, Philip reentered his own apartments by a small door that gave access to his study without obliging him to pass throiigli the antechamber, and by which he often came I. 1 m " S M I •■■ 1 224 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING >. '1 and went unobserved. Alone in his innermost room, and divested of his hood and cloak, the King went to a Venetian mirror that stood upon a jder table between the windows, and examined his face attentively. Not a trace of excitement or emotion was visible in the features ^e saw, but his hair was a little disarranged, and he smoothed it carefully and adjusted it about his ears. From a silver box on the table he took a little scented lozenge and put it into his mouth. No reason- able being would have suspected from his appearance that he had been moved to furious anger and had done a murderous deed less *' ^n twenty minutes earlier. His still eyes were quite calm now, and the yellow gleam in them had given place to their naturally un- certain colour. With a smile of admiration for his own extraordinary powers, he turned and left the room. He was enjoying one of his rare momenta of satisfaction, for the rival he had long hated and was beginning to dread was never to stand in his way again nor to rob him of the least of his attributes of sovereignty. CHAPTER XTIT Dolores had not understood her father's words. All that was clear to her was that Don John was dead and that his murderers were gone. Had there been danger still for herself, she could not have felt it ; but there was none now as she laid her hand upon the key to enter the bedcluniiber. At iirst the lock would not open, as it had been injured in some way by being so roughly shaken wlien Mendoza had tried it. But Dolores' desperate fingers wnund them- selves upon the key like little ropes of white silk, slender but very strong, and she wrenclied at the thing furiously till it turned. The door flew open, and she stood motionless a moment on the threshold. Mendoza had said that Don John was dead, but she had not quite believed it. He lay on his back as he had fallen, his feet towards her, his graceful limbs relaxed, one arm beside him, the other thrown back beyond his head, the colourless fingers just bent a little and showing the nervous beauty of the hand. The beautiful young face was white as marble, and the eyes were half open, very dark under the waxen lids. There was one little spot of scarlet on the wliite satin coat, near the left breast. Dolores saw it all in the bright o 225 1 f ! 226 IN THK PALACE OF THK KJNG r :';j i 1. ! light of the candles, and hIio neither moved nor closed her fixed eyes as she gazed. She felt that she was at the end of life ; she stood still to see it all and to understand. Hut though she tried to think, it was as if she had no mind left, no capacity for grasping any new thought, and no i)()wer to con- nect those that had disturbed her brain with the present that stared her in the face. An earthquake might have torn the world open Tinder her feet at that 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 as if she might stand there till her horror should s^op the beating of her own heart, unless something came to rouse her from the stupor she was ' But gradually a change came over her face, her lids drooped and quivered, her face turned a little upward, and she grasped the doorpost with one hand, lest she should reel and fall. Then, knowing that she could stand no longer, instinct made a last effort upon her ; its invisible power thrust her violently forward in a few swift steps, till her strength broke all at once, and she fell and lay almost upon the body of her lover, her face hidden upon his silent breast, one hand seeking his hand, the other press- ing his cold forehead. It was not probable that any one should find her t\ A LOVE STORY OK OLh MADKIF) 227 her little hand, that effort )lently broke ■)n the silent press- id her there for a lonp time. Tlio si^rvants and f^ont lemon had been disuiissed, and until it was known tliat Don John was dead, no one would como. Kven if she coukl liavt; thoui^^ht at all, she would not have cared who saw her lyini^ then) ; l)ut thou^dit was altofjether ^otig now, and Ihoro v as notliing left l)nt the ancient instinct of tlie juimeval woman mourn- ing her dead mate jilom;, with long-drawn, lu)i»elcss weeping and blinding tears. They came, too, when she had lain upon his breast a little while and when understanding had wholly ceased and given way to nature. Then her body shook and her l)ro{ist heaved strongly, almost throw- ing her upon her side 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 like the death agony of those who die young in their strength, when the limbs are wrung rt the joints and the light breaks in the upturned eyes, when the bosom heaves and would take in the whole world at one breath, when the voice makes sounds of fear that are beyond words and worse to hear than any words could be. Her weeping was wild at first, measureless and vio- lent, broken by sharp cries that hurt her heart like jagged knives, then strangled to a choking silence again and again, as the merciless consciousness that could have ivilled, if it had prevailed, almost had her by the throat, but was forced back again with cruel pain by the young life that would not die, though 4t 1 r 2li8 IN TIIK I'AI^ACK OK TIIK KINO '^ 411 livinp was aphony ami deatli would have been as welcome as air. Then lier loud grief subsided to a lower key, and her voice grew by degreos monotonous and despair- ing as the turning tide on a quicksand, before bad weather, — not dimiuished, but dcejKM' drawn within itself; and the low moan came regularly with each breath, while the tears llowed steadily. The first wild tempest had swe[)t by, and the more enduring storm followed in its track. So she lay a long tiuie weeping ; and then strong hands were ni)on her, lifting her u[) and dragging her away, without warning and without word. She did not understand, and she fancied herself in the arms of some supernatural being of monstrous strength that was tearing her from what was left of life and love. She struggled senselessly, but she could find no foothold as she was swept through the open door. She gasped for breath, as one does in b.ad dreams, and bodily fear almost reached her heart through its sevenfold armour of such grief as makes fear ridicu- lous and turns mortal danger to an empty show. The time had seemed an age since she had fallen upon dead Don John — it had measured but a short few minutes ; it seemed as if she were being dragged the whole length of the dim palace as the strong hands bore her along, yet she was only 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 A LOVK STOUY OK OLD MADIiri) 229 as find h its idicu- show. fallen short iigged jtrong from could stone nning lii^r face, wliilt^ ;i jj^euilu hand siipjMtrlcd Iut Iiead, — the same liand that had Ih-cii sm inastcifiilly strong a moment earlier. A tiici; she knew and did not dread, though it was nnlike (»tliiM' faces, was just at the same height with her own, thoiigli the man was standing beside lier and slu^ was seated ; and the moonlight made very soft shadows in the ill-drawn features of the dwarf, so that his thin and twisted lips were kind and his (lee[»-set eyes were oversow- ing with human synijiathy. When he understood that she saw him and was not fainting, he gently drew away his hand and let her head rest against the stone i)arapet. She was dazed still, and the tears veiled her sight. He stood before her, as if guarding her, ready in ease she slumld move and try to leave him. I lis h»ng arms hung by his sides, but not ({uite motionless, so that he could have caught her instantly had sIk; attem})ted to spring past him ; and he was wise and guessed rightly what she would do. Her eyes brightened suddenly, and she half rose before he held her again. " No, no ! " she said despei-ately. '' I must go to him — let me go — let me go back ! " But his hands were on her shoulders in an instant, and she was in a vise, forced back to her seat. " How dare you touch me I " she cried, in the furious H ow you anger of a woman beside herself with grief. ne out of fashion alto- gether at the imperial court of \'ienna, had long been relegated to the past in Spain, and the beautiful "-pa- vane" dances, of which awkward travesties survive in our day, had been introduced instead. As now, the older ladies of the court withdrew to the sides of the Ld,il, leaving the polished floor frt-e for those who danced, and sets formed themselves in the order of their rank from the foot of the throne dais to the h)wer end. As now, too, the older and graver men congregated to- gether in ou^er rooms ; and there gaming-tables were set out, and the nobles lost vast sums at games now autliorization of the 'It n I. long forgotten, by 3xpr( 2^ 236 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING pious Philip, who saw that everything which could injure the fortunes of the grandees must consolidate his own, by depriving them of some of that immense wealth which was an ever-ready element of revolution. He did everything in his power to promote the ruin of the most powerful grandees in the kingdom by encour- iging gaming and all imaginable forms of extrava- gance, and he looked with suspicion and displeasure upon those more prudent men vvho guarded their riches carefully, 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 money without the slightest outward sign of emotion or annoyance. It had been announced that the King and Queen would not return after supper, and the magnificent gravity of the most formal court in the world was a littlii relaxed when this was known. Between the strains of music, the voices of the courtiers rose in unbroken conversation, and now and then there was a rippl*^ of fresh young laughter that echoed sweetly under the high Moorish vault, and died away just as il rose again from below. Yet the dancing was a matter of state, and solemn enc^gh, tliough it was very graceful. Magnificent young nobles in sicarlet, in pale green, in straw colour, in tender shades of blue, all satin and silk and velvet and embroidery, led lovely women slowly forward with long and gliding steps that kept perfect time to the music, and turn*-d and went back, and wound mazy figures with ihe rest, under the waxen light of the waxen A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 237 torches, and .eturned to their places with deep curt- sies on the one side, and sweeping obeisance on the other. The dresses of the women were richer by far with gold and silver, and pearls and other jewels, than those of the men, but were generally darker in tone, for that was the fashion then. Their skirts were sti-aicfht and barely touched the floor, being made for a time Vvhen dancing was a part of court life, and when every one within certain limits of age was expected to dance well. There was no exaggeration of the ruflle tlien, nor had the awkward hoop skirt been introduced in Spain. Those were the earlier days of Queen Elizabeth's reign, before Queen Mary was imprisoned ; it was the time, indeed, when the rough Bothwell had lately carried her off and married her, after a fashion, with so little ceremony that Philip i)aid no attention to the marriage at all, and deliberately proposed to make her Don John's wife. The matter was freely talked of on that night by the noble 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 ever seen again, whether one count beauty first, or riches and magnificence, or the marvel of splendid ceremony and the faultless grace of studied manners, or even the cool recklessness of great lords and ladies who could lose a fortune at play, us if they were throwing a handful of coin to a beggar in the street. The Princess of Eboli stood a little apart from the rest, having just returned to the ball-room, and her I i • 1 i i i r **\ i\ m i ) i : t 238 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO eyes searched for Dolores in the crowd, though she scarcely expected to see her there. It would have been almost impossible for the girl to put on a court dress in so short a time, though since her father had allowed her to leave her room, she could have gone back to dress if she had chosen. The Princess had rarely been at ii loss in her evil life, and had seldom been baflled in anvthincf slie had undertaken, since that memorable occasion on which her husband, soon after her marriage, had forcibly shut her up in a convent for several months, in the vain hope of cooling her indomi- table temper. But now she was nervous and uncertain of herself. Not only had Dolores escaped her, but Don John had disappeared also, and the Princess had not the least doubt but that the two were somewhere together, and she was very far from being sure that they had not already left the palace. Antonio Perez had informed her tliat the King had promised not to see Don John that night, and for once she was foolish enough to believe the King's word. Perez came up to her as she was debating what she should do. She told him her thoughts, laughing gaily from time to time, as if she were telling him some very witty stoiy, for she did not wish those who watched them to guess that tlie conversation was serious. Perez laughed, too, and answered in low tones, with many gestures meant to deceive the court. " The King did not take my advice," he said. *' I had scarcely left him, when he went to Don John*s apartments." A LOVE STORY OK OLD MADIUI) 230 " IIow do you know that ? " asked the Princess, with some anxiety, '" He found the door of an inner room locked, and he sent Mendoza to find the 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 horn- — 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. " Better two than one," he added. "You are wrong," said the Princess, and her face darkened. ** Don John has not so much as deigned to look at any other woman these two years.'" "You should know that best," returned the Secre- tary, with a little malice in his smile. It was well known in the court that two or three years earlier, during the horrible intrigue that ended in the death of Don Carlos, the Princess of Eboli had done her best to bring Don John of Austria to her feet, and had failed notoriously, because he was already in love with Dolores. She was angry now, and the rich colour came into her handsome dark face. " Don Antonio Perez," she said, " take care ! I have made you. I can also unmake you." Perez assumed an air of suuple and innocent sur- 240 IN TFTK PALACE OF THE KINfl If* ■t prise, as if he were quite sure that he had said nothing to annoy her, still less to wound her deeply. He be- lieved that she really loved him and that he could play with lier as if his own intelligence far surpassed hers. In the first matter he wfis 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 of your most faithful slave." His dark eyes became very expressive as he bowed a little, with a graceful gesture of deprecation. The Princess laughed lightly, but there was still a spark of aiiuoyance in her look. "Why does Don John not come?" she asked impa- tientlyc " We should have danced together. Some- thing must have happened — can you not find out ? " Others were asking the same question in surprise, for it had been expected that Don John would enter imraediatel)'^ after the supper. His name 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 h .s popularity, everywhere and in everything, and the expectation of his coming produced a sort of tension that was felt by every one. The men grew more witty, the younger women's eyes brightened, though they constantly glanced towards the door of the state apartments by which Don John should enter, and as the men's conversation became more brilliant the women paid less attention to it, for A I/)VE STORY 07 OLD MADRID 241 there was hardly one of them who did not hope that Don John might notice her In'fore the evening wa*s over, — there was not one who did not fancy luTself a little in love witli him, jus there wius hardly a ninn there who wonld not have drawn his sword for him and fought for him with all his heart. Many, thougli tliey dared not say so, secretly wished tliat some evil might l)efall IMiilip, cind tliat he might soon die child- less, since lie had destroyed his only son and only heir, and that Don John might be King in his stead. The Princess of Eboli and Perez knew well enough that their plan would be popular, if they could ever bring it to maturity. Tlie music swelled and softened, and rose again in those swaying strains that inspire an irresistible bodily longing for rhythm! -al motion, and which have infinite power to call up all manner of thoughts, passionate, gentle, hopeful, regretful, by turns. In the middle of the hall, more than a hundred dancers moved, swayed, and glided in time with the sound, changed places, and touched hands in the measure, tripped forward and back and sideways, and met and parted again without pause, tiie colours of their dresses min- gling to rich unknown hues in the soft candii'-light, as the figure brought many together, and separating into a hundred elements again, when the next steps scattered them again; the jewels in the women's hair, the clasps of diamonds and precious stones at throat, and shoulder, and waist, all moved with an intricate moti(m, in orbits th\t crossed and recrossed in tlie tinted sea of silk, and K THK KING flashed all at onco, as the returning burden of ''le mubic brought the dancers to stand and turn at tha same beat of the measure. Yet it was all unlike the scjuare dancing of these days, which is either no dancing at all, but a disorderly walk, or else is so stiffly regular and awkward that it makes one think of a squad of recruits exercising on llie drill ground. There was not a motion, tlien, tliat lacked grace, or ease, or a certain purpose of beauty, nor any, perliaps, that was not a ])hiase in tljc allegory of love, from which all dancing is, and was, and always must be, drawn. Swift, slow, ])y turns, now languorous, now passionate, now full of delicious regret, singing love's triumph, 1 reathing love's fire, sigliiiig in love's despair, the dance and its music were one, so was sight inter- mingled with sound, and motion a part of both. And at each pa ise, lips parted and glani i; sought glance in the light, while hearts found words in the music that answered the language of love. Men laugli at danc- ing and love it, and women, too, a):d no one can tell where its charm is, but few have not felt it, or longed to feel it, and its beginnings are very far away in primeval humanity, beyond the reach of theory, unless instinct may explain all simply, as it well may. For light and grace and sweet sound are things of beauty which last for ever, and love is the source of the future and the explanation of the past ; and that which 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, A LOVK STOHV op oi,h MAIH:n> 243 th3 lUke r no s 80 hiiik )und. !e, or liaps, from [nt be, , now love's ?8piiir, inter- And nee in ic that danc- an tell longed vay in unless . For I beauty future Lch can Lce and omen, night, for Don .lolm's retuii had set fron tluit most intoxi- cating essence of victory, wliioh turns to a mad fire in tlio veins of a rejoicing poople, making the least man of them feel himiiclf a soklior. ami a conqncror, and a sharer in undying- fame. Tlicy had loved iiim from a chiUl, tliey liad setMi liim outgrow them in beauty, aud skill, and courage, and they had loved liim still the more* f(U' being the better man: and now he had done a great deed, and liad fullilled and over- lilled their greatest expectations, and in an instant lie leapt from the favourite's place in their hearts to the hero's height on the altar of the!" wonder, to be the young god of a nation tliat lovetl him. Not a man, on that night, but would have sworn that Don .John was braver than Alexand(>r, wiser than Charlemagne, greater than Ciesar liimself; not a .nan but would have drawn his sword to prove it on tlie body of any who should dare to contradict him, — not a mollu'r was there, "wlio did not pray thai her sons might be ])ut ever so little like him, no girl of S[)ain but dreamt she heard his sof» voice speaking low in her ear. Not often in the world's story has a man so young done such great things as he liad don * and was to do before his short life was ended j never, perhiips, wjis any man so honoured by his own people, so trusteo, as often happens when a dance is just over, antl at that moment the great door beside the throne was t)pened, with a noise that attracted the attention of all; and all believed that Don John was returning, while all eyes were tixcd upon the entrance to catch the first glimpse of him, and every one pronounced his name at once in short, glad tones of satisfaction. " Don John is coming ! It :s Don John of Austria ! Don John is there ! " It was almost a universal cry of welcome. An I rr 216 TN THE PALACE OF THE KTNO ' I \i If i insiani lain- a val presence, and King Philip advanced n[)()ii tlie j)latf()nn of the throne. For several seconds not a sonnd l)r()ke the stillness, and ho came slowly forwanl followed by half a dozen nobles in immediate attendance upon him. I5ut though he must have heard his brother's name in the general chorus of voices as soon as the door had been thrown open, he seemed by no means disconcerted; on the contrary, he smiled almost affably, and his eyes were less fixed than usual, as he looked about him with something like an air of satisfaction. As soon as it was clear that he meant to descend the steps to the floor of the hall, the chief courtiers came 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 Ambassaelors of Queen Elizabeth of England and of France, and a dozen others, bowing so low that the plumes of their hats literally touched the floor beside them. " Why is there no dancing ? " asked Philip, address- ing Ruy Gomez, with a smile. The Minister explained tliat one of the dances was but just over. '' Let there be more at once," answered the King. " Let there be diMicing and music without end to-night. We have good reason to keep the day with rejoicing, since the war is over, and Don John of Austria has come back in triumph." A r.OVE STOKV OK OLD MADRID 247 Tlio comniiiiHl \v;is oltcycd iiislanlly, us Hiiy Gomez made a sign to tlic Iciidcr of llu' imisiciaiis, who was watchinR1I> tho death wound at the breast. Her iiiHtinct — she could not have reasoned then — told her that lier fatlier must have found tlie lovers together, and that in sudden rage he had stabbed Don John, defenceless. Dolores' tears answered her sister's question well enough when the two girls were clasped in one an- other's arms at hist. There was not :i doubt hjft in the mind of either. Inez spoke first. She said that she had hidden in the gallery. "Our father must have conu5 in some time after the King," she said, in broken sentences, and almost cliok- ing. ** Suddenly the music stopped. I could hear every word. lie haid that he had done it, — that he had murdered Don John, — and then 1 ran here, for I was afraid he had killed you, too." "■ Would God he had I " cried Dolores. '' Would to Heaven that I were dead beside the man I love! " "And I ! " moaned Inez pitifully, iind she began to sob wildly, as Dolores had sobbed at first. But Dolores was silent now. as if she had siied. all her tears at once, and had none left. She held her sister in her arms, and soothed her almost unconsciously, as if she had been a little child. But her own thoughts were taking shape quickly, for she was strong ; and after the first paroxysm of her grief, she saw the immediate future as clearly as the present. Wlien she spoke again she had the mastery of her voice, and it was clear and low. " You say that our father coiifcMsed beftu'e the whole court that he had murdered Don John?" she said, with a 4 1, \' il .!;■ r I ! I' I l! 256 IN THE l»ALACE OF THE KINO question. " What hiij)ponLHl llieri ? Did the Kinp speak ? Whs our father arrested? Can you remember?" " I only heard loud eries," sobbed liu'Z. *' I eame to you — as quickly as I could — I was afraid." " We shall never see our father apiin — unless we see him on the morninnr when he u to die." "Dolores ! They will not kill him, too? " In sudden and ^'reater fear than before, Inez ceased sobbinjr. " He will die on tiie scaft'old," answered Dolores, in the same clear tone, as if she were speakin*^ in a dream, or of thiiiL,'8 that did not come near her- "There is no pardon possible. He will die to-morrow or the next day." The present truth stood out in all its frightful distinctness. Whoever had done the murder — since Mendoza had confessed it, he would be made to die for it, — of that she was sure. She; could not have guessed what had really hiq)pened ; and though the evidence of the sounds she had heard through the door would have gone to show that Philip had done the deed liimself, yet there had been no doubt about Mendoza's words, spoken to the King alone over Don John's dead body, and repeated before the great assembly in the ball-room. If slic guessed at an explanation, it was that her father, entering the bedchamber during the quarrel, and supposing from what he saw that Don John was about to attack the King, had drawn and kill.'d the I'rinee without hesitation. Tlie oidy thing quite clear was that Min(h»za was to sutfei", and seemed strangely determined to suffer, for what he had or had A LOVE STOUV OF OLD MADKID •J57 eetl ozh's (lead the was the Don and hinir not done. The dark shadow of the scaffold rose before Dolores' eyes. It had seemed impossihle that slie could he made to bear more than she had home that night, when she had fallen npon Don John's body to weep hci- heart out f«»r her dead love. Hut she saw that there w;is more to l)ear, and dindy she guessed that there might be some- thing for her to do. Then' was Inez first, and shi; must })e eared for and jdactfd in safety, for she was beside herself with grief. It was only on that after- noon by the window thi«t T>olores had guessed the blind girl's secret, which Inez herself hardly suspected even now, though she was half mad with grief and utterly brokcii-luiarted. Dolores felt almost helplcvss, but she understood that she and her sister were heiioeforth to be more rt^ally alone in what remained of life than if they ha«l been orphans from their earliest childhood, 'i'he vision of the convent, that had been unbearable but an hour since, held all her hope of peace and safety now, unless her father could be saved from his fate by some miracle of heaven. But that was impossible. He had given himself up as if he were determined to die. He had been out of his mind, beside himself, stark mad, in his fear that Don John miglit bring harm upon his daughter. That was why he had killed him — there could be no other reason, unless he had guessed that she was in the locked room, and had judged her tlu n and at once, and forever. The thought had not crossed her mind till then, and it wad a new torture now, so that h \ 1 i ^> nS> .^T. V\^.-^'-s^^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 | 50 "*^* IfflaBflSfi: 1^ 1112.2 1.1 l*^^ 1.8 1.25 1 1.4 1.6 ■^ 6" ► V] <^ /2 ^p}. /> 7 F Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 1° ./m? O^ I l! * ♦■ 258 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING ■ I i t she shrank under it as under a bodily blow ; and her grasp tightened violently upon her sister's arm, rousing the half-fainting girl again to the full consciousness of pain. It was no wonder that Mendoza should have done such a deed, since he had believed her ruined and lost to honour beyond salvation. That explained all. He had guessed that she had been long with Don John, who had locked her hastily into the inner room to hide lier from the King. Had the King been Don John, had she loved Philip as she loved his brother, her father would have killed his sovereign as unhesitatingly, and would have suffered any death without flinching. She believed that, and there was enough of his nature in herself to understand it. She was as innocent as the blind girl who lay in her arms, but suddenly it flashed upon her that no one would believe it, since her own father would 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 the world. She cared little for the court now, but she cared tenfold more earnestly for her father's thought of her, and she knew him and the ter- rible tenacity of his conviction when he believed him- self to be right. 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 fullest intention, to avenge her, and almost knowing that she was within hearing, as indeed she had been. He had taken a royal life in atonement for her honour, but he was to give A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID LV.) his own, and \vas to die a shameful death on the scaf- fold, within a few hours, or, at the latest, within a few days, for her sake. Then she remembered liow on that afternoon she had seen tears in his eyes, and luid Iieard the tremor in his voice when he had snid that slic was everything in him, that she had been all his life since her mother^'had died — he had proved that, too; and though he liad killed the man she loved, she shrank from hei-self again as she thought what he must have suffered in her ''dis- honour. For it was nothing else. Tliere was neither man nor woman nor girl in Spain who would believe her innocent against such evidence. The world micrht have believed Don John, if he had lived, .because the world had loved him and trusted him, and could never liave heard falsehood in his voice ; but it would not believe her though she were dying, and though she should swear upon the most sacred and true things. The world would turn from lier with an unbelievinj^ laugh, and she was to be left alone in her dishonour', and people would judge that she was not even a fit companion for her blind sister in their solitude. The King would send her to Las Huelgas, or to some other distant convent of a severe order, that she might wear out her useless life in grief and silence and penance as quickly as possible. She bowed her head. It was too hard to bear. Inez was more quie^ now, and the two sat side by side in mournful silence, leaning against the parapet. They had forgotten the dwarf, and he had disappeared, wait- 1 \ 'J i ii "B«(M'>»-imHt«r -f _ 260 IN THE IMLACE OF THE KING it ! ' I' I II li f!^' ing, perhaps, in the shadow at a distance, in case he might be of use to them. But if he was within hear- ing, they did not see him. At last Inez spoke, almost in a whisper, as if she were in the 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 I heard. 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 there nothing 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 was mad when he struck the blow. He did it for my sake, because he thought Don John had ruined my good name. And we should have been married the day after to-morrow ! God of heaven, have mercy ! " Her grief took hold of her again, like a material power, shaking her from head to foot, and bowing her down upon herself and wringing her hands together, so that Inez, calmer than slie, touched her gently and tried 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, and Dolores sat up- !/ A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 2CA right. Hut Inez ^vils tliiiikiiiiTf still, and even in lior sorrow and fright she was gatlu'ring all her innocent ingenuity to her aid. "• Is there no way? " she asked, speaking more to her- self than to her sister. '' Could we not say that we were there, that it was not our father but some one else? Perhaps some one would believe us. If we told the judges that we were quite, quite sure that he did not do it, do you not think — but tlien," she checked herself — "then it could only liave been the King." "Only the King himself," echoed Dolores, ludf un- consciously, and in a dreamy tone. " That would be terrible," said Inez. " Hut we could say that the King was not there, you know — that it was some one else, some one we did not know — " Dolores rose abruptly from the seat and laid her hand upon the parapet steadily, as if an unnatural strength had sue lenly grown up in her. Inez went on speaking, confusing herself in the details she was trying to put together to make a plan, and losing the thread of her idea as she attempted to build up false- hoods, for she was truthful as their father was. But Dolores did not hear her. " You can do nothing, child," she said at hist, in a firm tone. "But I may. You have made me tliink of something that I may do — it is just possible — it m.ay help a little. Let me think." Inez waited in silence for her to go on, and Dolores stood as motionless as a statue, contemplating in thought the step she meant to take if it offered the H iO * .»., *,|M*...«^-^.«.'«^. ■ r w I 1 j i ' . . 1 I I 202 IN THE PALAflK OF THE KINO slipfhteat hope of savitiq- lier fatlior. The thoiijTlit was worthy of her, hut the sjicrilice was great even then. She had not believed that the world still held anything with which she would not willingly part, but there was one thing yet. It might ))e taken from her, though her father had slain Don John of Austria to save it, and was to die for it himself. 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 her own free will, and call herself what she was not. In words she could give her honour to the dead man, and the dead could not rise up and deny her nor refuse tlie gift. And it seemed to her that when the people should hear her, they would believe her, seeing that it was her shame, a shame 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 now that all was taken from her. It was not the so-called honour of society, either, based on long-forgotten traditions, and depending on convention for its being — not the sort of honour within which a man may ruin an honest woman and suffer no retribution, but which decrees that he must take his own life if he cannot pay a debt of play made on his promise to a friend, which allows him to lie like a cheat, but ordains that he must give or require satisfaction of blood for the imaginary insult of a hasty word — the honour which is to chivalry what black superstition is to the true Christian faith, which A LOVK STORY OF OLD MADRID i!r)3 11 n er ke de ie re a ■at compares with real courage and truth and honesty, as an ape compares with a man. It was not that, and Dolores knew it, as every maiden knows it ; for the honour of woman is the fact on which the whole world turns, and has turned and will turn to the end of things ; but what is called the honour of society has been a fiction these many centuries, and though it came first of a high parentage, of honest thought wedded to brave deed, and though there are honourable men yet, these are for the most part the few who talk least loudly about honour's code, and the belief they hold has come to be a secret and a persecuted faitli, at which the common gentleman thinks fit to laugh lest some one should presume to measure him by it and should find him wanting. Dolores did not mean to hesitate, after she had decided what to do. But she could not avoid the struggle, and it was long and hard, though she saw the end plainly before her and did not waver. Inez did not understand and kept silence while it lasted. It was only a word to say, but it was the word which would be repeated against her as long as she lived, and which nothing she could ever say or do afterwards could take back when it had once been spoken — it would leave the mark that a lifetime could not efface. But she meant to speak it. She could not see what her father would see, that he would rather die, justly or unjustly, than let his daughter be dishonoured before the world. That was a part of a man's code, perhaps, but it should not hinder her from saving her H 1 1 \ I a 264 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING father's life, or trying to, at whatever cost. Wliat she was fighting against was something much liarclor to understand in herself. What could it matter now, tliat the worla should think her fallen from her maiden estate ? The world was nothing to her, »surely. It held nothing, it meant nothing, it was nothing. Her world had been her lover, and he lay dead in his room. In heaven, he knew that she was innocent, as he was himself, and he would see that she was going to accuse herself that she might save her father. In heaven, he had forgiven his murderer, and he would understand. As for the world and what it said, she knew that she must leave it instantly, and go from the confession 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 true lover beyond the earth. There was no reason why she should find it hard to do, and yet it was harder than anything she had ever dreamed of doing. But she was fighting the deepest and strongest instinct of woman's nature, and the fight went hard. She fancied the scene, the court, the grey-haired nobles, the fair and honourable women, the brave young soldiers, the thoughtless courtiers, the whole throng she was about to face, for she meant to speak before them all, and to her own shame. She was as white as marble, but when she thought of what was coming the blood sprang to her face and tingled in her forehead, and she felt her eyes fall and her proud head bend, as the storm of humiliation de- A LOVH SroilY OK OI.I) MAIMIID 2fi/i red /■as hat ied ler le- scended upon lier. Slie could hear hrforeluuid tlio sounds that would follow her words, tlie sharp, short laugh of jealous women who hated her, the murmur of surprise among the men. Then the sea of faces would seem to rise and fall before her in waves, the lights would dance, her cheeks wouhl burn like flames, and she would grow dizzy. That would be the end. Afterwards she could go out alone. Perhaps the women would shrink from her, no man would be brave enough to lead her kindly from the room. Yet all that she would bear, for tlie mere hope of saving her father. The worst, by far the worst and hardest to endure, would be something within herself, for which she had neither words nor true understanding, but which was more real than anything she could defuie, for it was in the very core of her heart and in the secret of her soul, a sort of despairing shame of herself and a desolate longing for something she could never recover. She closed her tired eyes and pressed her hand heavily upon the stone coping of the parapet. It was the supreme effort, and when she looked down at Inez again she knew that she should live to the end of the ordeal without wavering. " I am going down to the throne room," she said, very quietly and gently. " You had better go to our apart- ment, dear, and wait for me there. I am going to try and save our father's life — do not ask me how. It will not take long to say what I have to say, and then I will come to you." 1 I p.- A .— ■ im» ^ 4t *->*w.i^y^^ ..!^ .V* — — — ■ 260 IN THK PALACK OF THE KING Inez had risen now, and \va.s standing boaide her, lay- ing a hand upon her arm. " Let me come, too," she said. " I can help you, I am sure I can help you." " No," answered Dolores, with authority. " You can- not help me, dearest, and it would hurt you, and you must not come." " Then I will stay here," said Inez sorrowfully. *' I sliall be nearer to him," she added under her breath. " Stay here — yes. I will come back to you, and then — then we will go in together, and say a prayer — his soul can hear us still — we will go and say good-by to him — together." Her voice was almost firm, and Inez could not see the agony in her white face. Then Dolores clasped her in her arms and kissed her forehead and her blind eyes very lovingly, and pressed her head to her own shoulders and patted it and smoothed the girl's dark hair. "I will come back," she said, "and, Inez — you know the truth, my darling. Whatever evil they may say of me after to-night, remember that I have said it of myself for our father's sake, and that it is not true." "No one will believe it," answered Inez. "They will not believe anything bad of you." " Then our father must die." Dolores kissed her once more and made her sit down, then turned and went away. She walked quickly along the corridors and descended the second staircase, to enter the throne room by the side door reserved for the officers of the household and the maids of honour. A LOVE STOIIY OF OLD MAI»ItII) 267 ley kvn, to the ir. She walked swiftly, her liead ci-eft, oiki hand lioldinc^ the folds of lier cloak pressed to iier bosoin, and the other, nervously clenched, and hanging down, as if she were expecting to strike a blow. She reached the door, and for a moment her heart stopped beating, and licr eyes closed. She heard many loud voices within, and she knew that most of the court must still be assendded. It was better that all the world should hear her — even the King, if he were still there. She pushed the door open and went in by the familiar way, letting the dark cloak that covered her court dress fall to the ground as she passed the threshold. Half a dozen young nobles, grouped near the entrance, made way for her to pass. When they recognized her, their voices droi)ped sud- denly, and they stared after her in astonishment that she should appear at such a time. She was doubtless in ignorance of what had happened, they thought. As for the throng in the hall, there was no restraint upon their talk now, and words were spoken freely which would have been high treason, half an hour earlier. There was the noise, the tension, the ceaseless talking, the excited air, that belong to great palace revolutions. The press was closer near the steps of the throne, where the King and Mendoza had stood, for after they had left the hall, surrounded and protected by the guards, the courtiers had crowded upon one another, and those near the further door and outside it in the outer apartments had pressed in till there was scarcely standinsT room on the floor of the hall. Dolores found r 268 IN THE PAI.ACK OF THE KING i I . ri { it hard to advanrn. Some niado way for her \\\i\\ low exclamations of surprise, but others, not looking to see who she was, offered a passive resistance to her move- ments. *' Will you kindly let me pass ? " she asked at last, in a gentle tone. " I am Dolores de Mendoza." At the name the group that barred her passage started and made way, and going thiough she came upon the Prince of Eboli, not far from the steps of the throne. The English Ambassador, who meant to stay as long as there vvius 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, and I can prove it. But the court must hear me — every one must hear the truth, Will you help me ? Can you make them listen ? '* Ruy Gomez looked down at Dolores' pale and deter- mined features in courteous astonishment. " I am at your service," he answered. " But what are you going to say? The court is in a dangerous mood to-night." " I must speak to all,'* said Dolores. " I am not afraid. What I have to say cannot be said twice — not even if I had the strength. I can save my father — " "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 I " Dolores grasped his arm, and spoke with an effort. " Let me tell them all, how I know that my father is lat )US lot lot »> the I" Irt. is A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 269 not guilty of the murder. After that take me to the King if you will.'* She spoke very earnestly, and he no longer opposed her. He knew the temper of the court well enough, and was sure that whatever proved M'^ndoza innocent would be welcome just then, and though he was far too loyal to wish the suspicion of the deed to be fixed npon the King, he was too just not to desire Mendoza to bo exculpated if he were innocent. " Come with me," he said briefly, and he took Dolores by the hand, and led her up the first three steps of the platform, so that she could see over the heads of all present. It was no time to think of court ceremonies or cus- toms, for tiiere was danger in the air. Ruy Cioniez did not stop to make any long ceremony. Drawing liiinself up to his commanding height, he held up his white gloves at arm's length to attract the attention of the courtiers, and in a few moments there was silence. They seemed an hour of torture to Dolores- Ruy Gomez raised his voice. " Grandees I The daughter of Don Diego de Men- doza stands here at my side to prove to you that he is innocent of Don John of Austria's death I " The words had hardly left his lips when a shout went up, like a ringing cheer. But again he raised his hand. '* Hear Dona Maria Dolores de Mendoza I '* he cried. Then he stepped a little away from Dolores, and looked towards her. She was dead white, and her lips trembled. There was an almost glassy look in her ,tl r \ ! , i • 270 IN THE PALACE OF THE KIxNG eyes, and still she pressed one hand to her bosom, and the other hung by her side, the fingers twitching ner- vously against the folds of her skirt. A few seconds passed before slie could speak. " Grandees of Spain I " she began, and at the first words slie found strength in her voice so tliat it readied the ends of the hall, clear and vibrating. The silence w.is intense, as she proceeded. " My father lias accused himself of a fearful crime. He is innocent. He would no more have raised his hand against Don John of Austria than against the King's own person. I cannot tell why he wishes to sacrifice his life by taking upon himself the guilt. But this I know. He did not do the deed. You ask me how I know that, how I can prove it ? I was there, I, Dolores de Mendoza, his daughter, was tliere unseen in my lover'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 had been with him long. But now that he is dead, I will pny for my father's life with my dishonour. He must not die, for he is innocent. Grandees of Spain, as you ave 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 she swayed a little as she stood. Ruy Gomez made one long stride and held her, for he thought she was fainting. But she bit her lips, and forced her eyes to open and face the crowd again. " That is all," she said in a low voice, but distinctly. A LOVK STOKY OF OLD MADRID 271 le ot e If y e d " It is done. I am a ruined woman. Help me to go out." The old Prince gently led her down the steps. The silence had lasted long after she had spoken, but people were beginning to talk again in lower tones. It was as she had foreseen it. She heard a scomfvil woman*s laugh, and as she passed along, she saw how the older ladies shrank from her and how the young ones eyed her with a look of hard curiosity, as if she were some wild creature, dangerous to approach, though worth seeing from a distance. But the men pressed close to her as she passed, and she heard them tell each other that she was a bravo woman who could dare to save her father by such means, and there were quick applauding words as she passed, and one said audibly that he could die for a girl who had such a true heart, and anotlier answered that he would marry her if she could forget Don John. And they did not speak without respect, but in earnest, and out of the 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 kind face. " Will they believe me ? " " They believe you," he answered. " Hut your father's life is in the King's hands. You should go to his Majesty without wasting time. Shall I go 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 it all — he knows the truth." She hardly realized what she was saying. ■I CHAPTER XVI RuY Gomez was as loyal, in his way, as Mendoza himself, but his loyalty was of a very different sort, for it was tempered by a diplomatic spirit which made it more serviceable on ordinary occasions, and its object was altogether a principle rather than a person. Men- doza could not conceive of monarchy, in its abstract, without a concrete individuality represented by King Philip ; but Ruy Gomez could not imagine the world without the Spanish monarchy, though he was well able to gauge his sovereign's weaknesses and to deplore his crimes. He himself was somewhat easily deceived, as good men often are, and it was he who had given the King his new secretary, Antonio Perez ; yet from the moment when Mendoza had announced Don John's death, he had been convinced that the deed had either been done by Philip himself or by his orders, and that Mendoza had bravely sacrificed himself to shield his master. What Dolores had said only confirmed his previous opinion, so far as her father's innocence was at stake. As for her own confession, he believed it, and in spite of himself he could not help admiring the girl's heroic courage. Dolores might have been in reality ten times worse than she had chosen to represent herself ; she would still have been a model of all virtue com- 272 A LOVE STORY OF OLD >rADRir) 273 pared with his own wife, though he did not know half of the Princess's doings, and was certainly ignorant of her relations with the King. He was not at all surprised when Dolores told him at the door that Philip knew the truth about the sup- posed murder, but he saw how dangerous it might be for Dolores to say as much to others of the court. Slio wished to go away alone, as she had come, but he insisted on going with her. " You must see his Majesty," he said authoritatively. ** I will try to arrange it at once. And I entreat you to be discreet, my dear, for your father's sake, if not for any other reason. You have said too much already. It was not wise of you, though it showed amazing cour- age. You are your father's own daughter in that — he is one of the bravest men I ever knew in my life." " It is easy to be brave when one is dead already ! " said Dolores, in low tones. " Courage, my dear, courage ! " answered the old Prince, in a fatherly tone, as they went along. " You are not as brave as you think, since you talk of death. Your life is not over yet." "There is little left of ito I wish it were ended already." She could hardly speak, for an inevitable and over- whelming reaction had followed on the great effort she had made. She put out her hand and caught iier com- panion's arm for support. He led her quickly to the small entrance of the King's apartments, by which, it was his privilege to pass in. They readied a small f iVi 274 IN TIIK l'ALA(U<: OK TIIK KIN(} i I i f' u* , Nvaitini:]f-rooni wlioro (hero wcro si few cliaira and a inarhli' tal)l(\ on wliitih Uvo big wax oandlos won^ burn- inuf. Dolores sunk into a seat, and leaned back, (dosiiiLj ber ey»'s, wbile liny (loniez wenl into Ibe anteeband)er beyond and exebani^ed a few words with the ehambor- lain on dnly. lie came back almost innnedialely. *' Yonr father is alone with the King," ho said. "Wo innst wait." Dolores seari;ely licard what he said, and did not change her position nor open her eyes. The old man looked at her, sighed, and sat down near a brazier of wood eoals, over which he slowly warmed his transpar- ent hands, from time to time tnrning his rings slowly on his fingers, as if to warm them, too. Outside, the ehand)erlain in attendance walked slowly np anil ilown, again and again passing the open door, throngh which lie glanced at Dolores* face. The antt^clKunber was little more than a short, broad corri- dor, and led to the King's study. This corridor had other doors, however, and it was through it that the King's private rooms connnunicated with the liall of the royal apartments. As liny Gomez had learned, Mendoza was with Philip, but not alone. The old officer was standing on one side of the room, erect and grave, and King Philip sat opposite him, in a huge chair, his still eyes staring at the fire that blazed in the vast chimney, and sent sndden flashes of yellow through the calm atmosphere of light shed b}' a score of tall candles. At a table on one 3ide sat Antonio Perez, the Secretary. He was pro- A LOVK sroUY OK OM) IMAIMCII) 1:7.0 id a urn- mluT nber- "Wo I not I inim ior of ispiir- ;lo\vly itsulo, ly ^»P The corii- r hii'l it tlio nail of with fng on Philip Itarinpf ll sent q)hei'e Ible on IS pro- vided with writinpf-nialcvi.'ilH ;nid appeared to ho takinp^ down th(; (!onv(M'Hjition as it pro(M!e(h'd. IMiilip asked a (piestion from tiiiu; to time, vvliieli Mimdoza. jinswenMl in a strani^e voie.ii nnlike liis own, and luilwetin tlic qneHtloiiH tliert^ wer(5 hyw^ inter^'als of silence. "Yon say that you had lon|i^ ontertaincMl feelinijrs of resent nuMit against his Jlighncs; *' said tire King. *' Von admit that, do yon?" " I heg yonr Majesty's pardon. I did not say r(\sent^ inent. I said that I had long lof)iv(Ml n])on his High- ness's passion for my daughter with great anxiety." "Is that what he said, Perez .■*" asked r'hilip, sp(;ak- ing to the Secretary without looking at him. '' iiv.dd that." "He said: I have long resented his Ilighness's ad- miration for my daughter," answered Penjz, reading from his notes. "You see," said the King. "Yon resented it. That is resentment. I was right. lie careful, Mc^ndoza, for your words may he used .against you to-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 for the Secretary 'i-j benefit. It seemed an unworthy interlude in what was really a solemn tragedy. "Why did you resent his Ilighness's eourtship of your daughter?" en(}uired Philip presently, eontinu- intr his cross-examination. t ij 'f 276 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINC, . t I ' > ! is "Because T never believed that there could be a real marriage," answered Mendoza Ijoldly. " I believed that my child must become the toy and plaything of Don John of Austria, or else that if his Highness mar- ried her, the marriage would soon be declared void, in order that he might marry a more important personage." " Set that down," said the King to Perez, in a sharp tone. " Set that down exactly. It is important." He waited till the Secretary's pen stopped before he went on. His next question cam.e suddenly. " How could a marriage consecrated by our holy religion ever be declared null and void ? " " Easily enough, if your Majesty wished it," answered Mendoza unguardedly, for his temper was slowly heating. " Write down that answer, Perez. In other words, Mendoza, you think that I have no respect for the sac- rament of marriage, which I would at any time cause to be revoked to suit my political purposes. Is that what you think ? " *' I did not say that, Sire. I said that even if Don John married mv daughter — " " I know quite well what you said," interrupted the King suavely. "Perez has got every word of it on paper." The Secretary's bad black eyes looked up from his writing, and he slowly nodded as he looked at Men- doza. He understood the situation perfectly, though the soldier was fnv too honourable to suspect the truth. " I have confessed publicly that 1 killed Don John .-i4»-_, A LOVE STORY OK OLD MADRID 277 Den n his iMen- lough initli. John defenceless," he saiil, in rough tones. " Is not tliiit enough?" "Oh, no!" Pliji'p almost smiled. "That is not enough. We must also know wiiy you t'onimitted such an ahominable crime. You do not seem to understand that in taking your evidence here myself, I am sparing you the indignity of an examination before a tribunal, and under torture — in all 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 long standing, and you had prob- ably determined some time ago that you would mui'der him OM his return." The King paused i. moment and then continued. " Do you deny that on this very afternoon you swore that if Don John attempted to see your daughter, you would kill liim at once ? " Mendoza was taken by surprise, and his haggard eyes opened wide as he stared at Philip. " You said that, did you not ? " asked the King, in- sisting upon the point. "On your honour, did you say it?" "Yes, I said that," answered Mendoza at last. "But how did your Majesty know that I did ? " The King's enormous under lip thrust itself forward, and two ugly lines of 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 ^ J. i i 278 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO i served in my own ]H)U.s(^ Perez, 1)e eaiefnl. Write down everything. We also know, I think, that your daughter met his Highness this evening. You no doubt found that out as others did. The girl is im- prudent. Do you confess to knowing that the two had met this evening ? " Mendoza ground his teeth as if he were suffering bodily torture. His brows contracted, and as Perez looked up, he faced him with such a look of hatred and anger that the Secretary could not meet his eyes. The King was a sacred and semi-divine per- sonage, privileged to ask any question he chose and theoretically incapable of doing wrong, but it was unbearable that this sleek black fox should have the right to hear Diego de Mendoza confess his daughter's dishonour. Antonio Perez was not an adventurer of low birth, as many have gratuitously supposed, for his father had held an honourable post at court be- fore him ; but he was very far from being the equal of one who, though poor and far removed from the head of his own family, bore one of the most noble names in Spain. " Let your Majesty dismiss Don Antonio Perez," said Mendoza boldly. "I will then tell your Maj- esty all I know." Perez smiled as he bent over his notes, for he knew what the answer would be to such a demand. It came sharply. "It is not the privilege of a man convicted of murder to choose his hearers. Answer my questions •« A LOVK STOUV OK OLIi MADHII) 279 |v » :new It Id of Itions or be silent. Do you confess that you knew of your daughter's meeting with Don John this evening?" Mendoza's lips set themselves tightly under his grey beard, and he uttered no sound. He inter- preted the King's words literally. " Well, what have you to say ? " "Nothing, Sire, since I have your Majesty's per- mission to be silent." "It does not matter," said Philip indifferently. " Note that he refuses to answer the question, Perez. Note that this is equivalent to confessing the fact, since he would otherwise deny it. His silence is a reason, however, for allowing the case to go to the tribunal to be examined in the usual way — the usual way," he repeated, looking hard at Mendoza and emphasizing the words strongly. " Since I do not deny the deed, I entreat your Majesty to let me suffer for it quickly. I am ready to die, God knows. Let it be to-morrow morning or to-night. Your Majesty need only sign the war- rant for my execution, which Don Antonio Perez has, no doubt, already prepared." "Not at all, not at all," answered the King, with horrible coolness. "I mean that you shall have a fair and open trial and every possible opportunity of justifying yourself. There must be nothing secret about this. 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 must remember that after it had pleased Heaven, in its infinite jus- I 't 280 IN THK PALACE OF TIIK KLNG tice, to berofive hh; of my uiiforluiuitc Hon, Don Car- los, tlie lieir to (ho tlwonc, tlierc were not Wiintii.g ill-disposed ;ind wicked persons who actually said that I luid caused his life to be shortened by vjirious in- human cruelties. No, no ! we cannot have too much pul)licity. Consider how terrible a tiling it would be if any one should dare to suppose that my own brother had been murdered with my consent ! You should love your country too much not to fear such a result ; for though you have nuirdered my brotlier in cold blood, I am too just to forget that you have proved your patriotism through a long and hitherto honourable career. It is my duty to see that the causes of your atrocious action are perfectly clear to my subjects, so that no doubt may exist even in the most prejudiced minds. Do }^du understand? 1 repeat that if I have condescended to examine you alone, I have. done so only out of a merciful desire to spare an old soldier the suffering and mortification of an examination by the tribunal that is to judge you. Understand that." " I understand that and much more besides," an- swered Mendoza, in low and savage tones. " It is not necessary that you should understanr' or think that j'ou understand anything more than what I say," returned the King coldly. " At what 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 were on duty after supper. You s> A LOVE STOKV t>V OLD MADKII) 281 '■! an- k' or 1 what le did the You escorted uw to uiy apai't incuts .'iftcrwiirds. I had alrciidy scut Inr I'cfc/, wlio catiu' at oiicc, iuul wo remained here, husy with alTairs, until f returned io tlie throne room, live minutes hefore you eume and confessed the murkier; did we not, IV-re/?" "Most certainly. Sire," answered the Secretary gravely. " Your Majesty must liave been at work with me an hour, at least, before returning to the tlirone room." "And your Majesty did not jj^o with me by the private staircnse to Don Jt»lin of Austria's apart- ment?" asked Men(U)za, thunderstruck by the enor- mous falsehood. "With you?" cried the King, in admiraldy feigned astonishment. "What ma(biess is this? Do nob write that down, Perez. I really believe the man is beside himself ! " Mendoza groaned aloud, for he saw that he had been frightfully deceived. In his magnilicent gener- osity, he had assumed the guilt of the crime, being ready and willing to die for it quickly to save the King from blame and to put an end to Ids own miserable existence. Ihit he had expected death quickly, mercifully, within a few hours. Had he suspected what Philip had meant to do, — that he was to be j)ublicly tried for a murder he had not committed, and held up to i^ublic hatred and igno- miny for days and perhaps weeks together, while a slow tribunal dragged out its endless procedure, — neither his loyalty uor his desire for death could '1 I I I i 282 IN THE I'ALACK OF TIIK KING \' B ' liiive hud power to hrin^ Iiis pride lo siuli a sarri- iice. And now he saw tliat he was cauglit in a vise, and that no accusation he couhl bring against the King coukl save liim, even if he were willing to resort to such a measure and so take back his word. There was no witness for him but himself. Don John was dead, and the infamous Perez was ready to swear that Philip had not left the room in which they had been closeted together. There was not a living being to prove that Mendoza had not gone alone to Don John's apartments with the deliberate intention of killing him. He had, indeed, been to the chief steward's office in search of a key, saying that the King desired to have it and was waiting ; but it would be said that he had used the King's authority to try and get the key for himself because he knew that his daughter was hidden in the locked room. He had foolishly fancied that the King would send for him and see him alone before he died, that his sovereign would thank him for the service that was costing his life, would embrace him and send him to his death for the good of Spain and the divine right of monarchy. Truly, he had been most bitterly deceived. " You said," continued Philip mercilessly, " that you killed his Highness when he was unarmed. Is that true ? " " His Highness was unarmed," said Mendoza, almost through -his closed teeth, for he was suffering beyond words. \{ A I-OVK STOIlY OK (t\A) MAItUID )IH:\ *' riMinicd,'" iTjH'ahMl \\\r Kiii^, nnddij)^ to IVm'«'/, who wrotr nigiidly. " Yoii ini;^di(. have ^iv«'ii him a chanco for his lilt;. It woidd have hct'ii more sohliei- liko. Had yoii any words hehjre you drew u])oii him ^ Was tliere any quarrel?" "None. We did not speak to eaeh other." Mimi- doza tried to make Philip meet his eyes, but the Kin;^ w(mld not look at him. ''There was no altercation," said the Kin^, lookim,'' at Perez. "That proves that the murder was premedi- tated. Put it down — it is very important. You could hardly have stabbed him in the back, I suppose. He must 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 very sadly. " Cruel, most cruel," he repeated in a low tone. " I admit that it was a very cruel deed," said Men- doza, looking at him fixedly. " In that, your Majesty is right." " Did you see your daughter before or after you had committed the murder? " asked the King calmly. " I have noi- seen my daughter since the murder was committed." " But you saw her before ? Be careful, Perez. Write down every word. You say that you saw your daugh- ter before you did it." " I did not say that," answered Mendoza firmly. I ■• V. 284 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO ' >J ■ 1 "It makes vory littli' (linVrciicc," siii alert. " You refuse to admit that you bmnd your daughter and Don John together, tlien ? " The King spoke with an interrogation. " I did not li^id them together," answered Mendoza. A LOVI-: STORY OF OLD IVfAORID 285 «a have said sc." He whs hovonuufr exasperated under the [)r()(raeted eross-examiiialioii. " Vou have not said so. My meniorv is very ^ood, but if it sliould fail we l.ave everyll,incr\vritteii down! 1 believe you merely refused t(. answer wlieji 1 asketl if ycm knew of tiieir nieetin- — wi.ieh meant that you did know of it. Is that it, Perez? " '^Exaetly so. Sire." The Scnn-etary had already found the place amc»ni^ his notes. "Do you persistently refuse to aduut that vou had positive evidenee of your daughter's guilt before the murder'/" "I will not admit that, Sire, for it would not l>e true." "Your daughter has given her evidenee sinee," said the King, holding up the folded note, and fixing his eyes at last on his vietim's face. If it were possible, Mend(>zji turned more ashy pale than before, and he started pereeptibly iii the King's words. "I shall never believe that!" he eried in a voice whitih neverllieless betrayed his terror for his ehild. "A few moment.s before tiiis note was written," said Philip eahnly, '\your daughter entered the throne room, and ad ' ' " 'sse 1 the eourt, standing ui)on the ste{)s of the throne — a, very impioper proeeed which Uuy (M)me/ sii .uhl uot 1 daugliter Dolores— is that the irirl" ing and one lave allowed. Your name Your daugliter I)oh)res, amidst tl cs. lenee, eonfesseil that she -it is le most |)rofoiuid si- so monstrous (hat 1 eau hardly bring mys(.lf (o say it— that she had yielded li ■I'l 286 IN THE I'ALACE OF THE KING i i fii ii t ' H 1 i^^B^^H ji u to the importunities of his late Highness, that rhe was with him in his room a long time this evening, and that, in fact, she was actually in his bedchamber when he was murdered." " It is a lie I " cried Mendoza vehemently. " It is an abominal)le lie — she was not in the room ! " " She has said that she was," answered Philip. "• You can hardly sui)pose a girl capable of inventmg such damning evidence against herself, even for the sake of saving her own father. She added that his High- ness was not killed by you. But that is puerile. Slse evidently saw you do it, and has boldly confessed that she was in the room — hidden somewhere, perhaps, since you absolutely refuse to admit that you saw her there. It is quite clear that you found the two to- gether and that you killed his Highness before your daughter's e3'^es. Why not admit that, Mendoza ? It makes you seem a little less cold-blooded. The provo- cation was great — " ^' She was not there," protested Mendoza, interrupt- ing the King, for he hardly knew what he was doing. " She was there, since she confesses to have been in the room. I do not tolerate interruption when I am speaking. She was there, and her evidence will be considered. Even if you did not see her, how can you be sure that your daughter was not there ? Did you search the room ? Did you look behind the curtains ? " "I did not." The stern old man seemed to shrink bodily under the frightful humiliation to wiiich he was subjected. A LOVK STORY OP OLD MADKII) 287 " Very well, then you cannot swear that she was not in the room. But you did not see her there. Then I am sorry to say that there can have heen no extenuat- ing circumstances. You entered Iiis lli^rhness's bed- chamber, you did not even speak to him, you drew your sword and you killed him. All this sliows that you went there fully determined to commit the crime But with regard to its motive, this strange confession of your daughter's makes that quite clear. She had been extremely imprudent with Don John, you were aware of the fact, and you revenged yourself in the most brutal way. Such vengeance never can produce any but the most fatal results. You yourself must die, in the first place, a degrading and painful death on the' scaffold, and you die leaving behind you a ruined girl, who must bury 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, and Spam of her most brilliant general. Could anythincr be worse ? " ^ "Yes. There are worse things than that, your Majesty, and worse things have been done. It would have been a thousand times worse if I had done the deed and cast the blame of it on a man so devoted to me that he would bear the guilt in my stead, and a hundred thousand times worse if I liad then held up that man to the execration of mankind, and tortured him with every distortion of evidence wliich great falsehoods can put upon a little truth. That would indeed have been far worse than anything 1 have done. 1 288 IN THE I'ALACB OF THE KING I' f I I T. ", > God may find forgiveness for murderers, but there is only hell for traitors, and the hell of hells is the place of men who betray their 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 Secre- tary, shaking his head 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 the hand 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 to meet his gaze. " As for this confession my daughter has made, I do not believe in it. But if she has said these things, you might have let me die with- out the bitterness of knowing them, since that was in your power. And God knows that I have staked my life freely for your Majesty and for Spain these many years, and would again if I had it to lose instead of having thrown it away. And God knows, too, that for what I have done, be it good or bad, I will bear whatsoever your Majesty shall choose to say to me alone in the way of reproach. But as I am a dying man I will not forgive that scribbler there for having seen a Spanish gentleman'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 be tormented as he has seen me tormented, and worse, till he shall cry out for mercy — us I will not ! " The cruelly injured man's prayer was answered eiglit A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 28!) He as he heard the words, for chey were spoken with .ul the vehemence of u dying n.an's curse. Hut P,n , vas unmoved. He was probably not malcin, .Men a suffer merely for the pleasure of watching las" Un though other.s- .suffering seems always to iL-e eau ed h.m a sort of morbid satisfaction. What he desi ed doza might have committed the crime, lest in the pected of having instigated it. He had no intention whatever of allowing Mendoza to be subilcted T orture during the trial that was to l^: ^ oT,, contrary, he intended to prepare all the evidence for the judges and to prevent Mendoza from sayinlan! thmg m self-defence. To that end it w» ^ that tho f„„* ,••.,, ' ^^^ necessary that the facts elicited should be clearly connected from first cause to final effect, and by the skill of AntonI to rT T'^'f -" "■% the words which contributed to that end, the King's purpose was now accomplish d t' ughrit'"'' ''"'' °' ''^"'""'^ ™P-atL nd thought It proper to rebuke him for speaking so "You forget yourself, sir," he said coldly. -Don respect him. While you belonged to the court his position was higher and more important than you own; now that you stand convicted of an outrage! murder in cold blood, you need not forget that heTs mnocent man. I have done, Mendo.at You will „o n 'I! n 290 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING see me again, for you will be kept in coiiiinement until your trial, which can only have one issue. Come here." He jat upright in his chair and held out his 'land, while Mendoza approached with unsteady steps, and knelt upon one knee, as was the custom. " I am not unforgiving," said the King. " Forgive- ness is a very beautiful Christian virtue, which we are taught to exercise from our earliest childhood. You have cut off my dearly loved brother in the flowcr of his youth, but you shall not die believing that I bear you any malice. So far as I am able, I freely forgive you for what you have done, and in token 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 it for a moment in his, and pressed it almost warmly at the last words. The old man's loyalty to his sovereign had been a devotion almost amounting to real adoration, and bitterly as he had suffered throughout the terrible interview, he well-nigh forgot every suffering as he felt the pressure of the royal fingers. In an instant he had told himself that it had all been but a play, necessaiy to deceive Perez, and to clear the King from suspicion before the world, and that in this sense i unbearable agony he had borne had served his sovereign. He forgot all for a moment, and bending his iron-grey head, he kissed the thin and yellow hand fervently, and looked up to Philip's cold face and felt that there were tears of gratitude in his own eyes, of gratitude at being A LOVE STORY OP OLD MALUM) oj,l allowed to leave the world ho hated with the certainty that his death was to serve his sovereign idol "I shall be faithful to your Majesty untiUhe end," he said simply, as the King withdrew his fingers and he rose to his feet. ^ ' The King nodded slowly, and his stony look watehed Mendoza with a sort of fixed curiosity/ Ev „ he had not known that such men lived Tell the officer to take Don Diego Mondoza to the ridtr;^ "•"'^'^'' -' " *-^' '^- ^^^"^ -y Perez obeyed. A detachment of halberdiers with that? r Zr '*'*'""''' '" "'" ''""'' ''™'"' "O^i-lor that led to the room where Dolores was waiting. Perez gave the lieutenant his orders. Mendoza walked backwards to the door from the Kings presence, making three low bows as he went. At the door he turned, taking n. notice of the Secre- rjtr n°"* "*^ ""'^ "^'='' ""'l ^^^^ W««e« up to the soldiers. ^ 'If being fi CHAPTER XVII If The halberdiers closed round their old chief, but did not press upon him. Three went before him, three be- hind, and one walked on each side, and the lieutenant led the little detachment. The men were too much accustomed to seeing courtiers in the extremes of favour and disfavour to be much surprised at the arrest of Mendoza, and they felt no great sympathy for him. He had always been too rigidly exacting for their taste, and they longed for a younger commander who should devote more time to his own pleasure and less to in- specting uniforms and finding fault with details. Yet Mendoza had been a very just man, and he possessed the eminently military bearing and temper which always impose themselves on soldiers. At the present moment, too, they were more inclined to pity him than to treat him roughly, for if they did not guess what had really taken place, they were quite sure that Don John of Austria had been murdered by the King's orders, like Don Carlos and Queen Isabel and a fair number of other unfortunate persons ; and if the King had chosen Mendoza to do the deed, the soldiers thought that he was probably not meant to suffer for it in the end, and that before long he would be restored to his command. It would, therefore, be the better for them, later, if they 282 A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 293 showed him a certain deference in liis misfortune. Besides, they had heard Antonio Perez tell their officer that Mendoza was to be treated witl\ every considera- tion. They marched in time, with lieavy tread and the swinging gait to right and left that is natural to a sol- dier who carries for a weapon a long lialberd with a very heavy head. IMendoza was as tall as any of them, and kept their step, holding his head high. He was bare- headed, but was otherwise still in the conipltte uniform he wore when on duty on state occasions. The corridor, which seemed short on account of its breadth and in comparison with the great size of the halls in the palace, was some thirty paces long and lighted by a number of chandeliers that hung from the painted vault. The party reached the door of the waiting room and halted a moment, while one of the King's footmen opened the doors wide. Don Iluy Gomez and Dolores were waiting within. The servant passed rapidly through to open the doors beyond. Iluy Gomez stood up and drew his chair aside, somewhat surprised at the entrance of the soldiers, who i-arely passed that way. Dolores opened her eyes at the sound of marching, but in the uncertain light of the candles she did not at first see Mendoza, half hidden as he was by the men who guarded him. She paid little attention, for she was accustomed to seeing such detachments of halberdiers marching through the corridors when the sentries were relieved, and as she had never been in the King's apartments she was not surprised by the sudden •1 Vi 204 IN THK PA LACK OK TIIK KINO 1 ■■ (11 1, MA DIM I) L'Or) liis "That I will not," ho said firmly; "ami if you are bluined I'or Ikmiis^ slow in tlm ext'cMilion of your duty, say that lluy (Joiiu;/. do Silva hiudured you, and fear nothing. It is not right that father and daughter should part as thest; two are i>arting." *' I have nothing to say to my daughter," said Men- doza harshly; but the words seemed to hurt him. "I)t)n Diego," answered Kuy (iomez, "the deed of which you have accused yourself is as much worse than anything your child has done as hatred is worse than love. By the right of mere hunumity I take upon myself to say that you shall be left here a while with your daughter, that you may take leave of one an- other." lie turned to the ollieer. " Withdraw your men, sir," he said. " Wait at the door. You have my word for the security of your prisoner, and my autliority for what you do. I will call you when it is time." He spoke in a tone that admitted of no refusal, and he was obeyed. The olhcers and the men filed out, and Ruy Gomez closed the door after them. He him- self re-crossed the room and went out by the other way into the broad corridor. He meant to wait there. His orders had been carried out so quickly that Men- doza found liimself alone with Dolores, almost as by a surprise. In liis desperate mood he resented what Ruy Gomez had done as an interference in his family a£fairs, and he bent his bushy brows together as he stood facing Dolores, with folded arms. Four hours had not passed since they had last spoken together I |l i (. I ' i J'-: 20(; IN THK I'ALACK Ol- TIIK KINf! filoiH^ in liis own (Iwclliiif,' ; IImt*' whs :i lifrlime of trsii^i'dy I)iitwei'n that nionu'iil and tliis. . Dolores had not spokt'n since ho had pushed her away. She stood beside a ehair, resting one hand ui)on it, dead white, with tht; chirk shachiw of pain uiuU'r her eves, her lips almost colourless, hut lirni, and evenly closed. There were lines of sufferini( in her youni»* fuco that looked as if tlu^y never could bo efl'aced. It seemed to lier that the worst conflict of all was rajrinj^- in lu'r heart as she watched lier fallicr's face, waitinij for the sound of his voice; and as for him, he wouhl rather have j^one back to the King's presence to be tornunited under the eyes of Antonio Perez 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 shameless woman, who had deceived him day in, day out, for more than two years. And to her, so far as she could understand, he was tho condemned mur- derer of the man she had so innocently and truly loved. But yet, she had a doubt, and for that possi- bility, she had cast her good name to the winds in the hope of saving his life. At one moment, in a vision of dread, she saw his armed hand striking at her lover — at the next she felt that he could never have struck the blow, and that there was an unsolved mys- tery behind it all. Never were two innocent human beings so utterly deceived, each about the other. " Father," she said, at last, in a trembling tone, " can you not speak to me, if I can find heart to hear you ? " "What c;in we two say to each other?" he asked w A I')Vr. STOIIV OK (U.I) MAIMMI) 207 'b' 5S1- lie lier ive 'S- ^an kan »» ed sti'rnly. '* Wiiy did voii stop im; ? I iini riMdy to dii> for killini,' the ni;in wlio ruiiiiMl yoii. I am ;^dad. Why shouhl I say miytliinuf t(» you, and wliat words can you have for me? I hope your end may com<; cpnekly, with Hueh peace as you ean iind from your shame at the hist. That is what I wish for you, and it is a good wish, for you liave miuhj death on the sfafloid h)ok easy to me, so that I hjug for it. Do you uncU'r- stand?" " Condemned to death ! " she cried out, ahnost inco- herently, before he liad finisiu'd speakinL,^ " But they cannot comhnnn you — I liave told tlicm tliat I was there — that it was not you — tliey must believe me — O God of mercy I " " They believe you — yes. They l)elieve that I found you together and killed him. I shall be tried by judges, but I am condemned })eforehand, and I must die." He spoke calmly enough. " Your mad confes- sion before the court only made my conviction mine certain," he saic'. "It gave the reason for the deed — and it burned away the last doubt I had. If they are slow in trying me, you will have been before the executioner, for he will find me dead — by your hand. You might have spared me that — and S])ared your- self. You still had the remnant of a good name, and your lover being dead, you might have worn the rag of your honour still. You have chosen to throw it away, and let me know my full disgrace before I die a disgraceful death. And yet you wish to speak to me. Do you expect my blessing?" ]■ !)i ! i 298 IN THE PALACK OK THK KING Dolores luid lost the i)ower oT s[)iM't']i. Piiasing her hand now and then across her forehead, as though try- ing to brush away a material veil, she stood half para- lyzed, staring wildly at him wliile he si)ok<\ Hut when she saw him turn away from her towards thi^ door, as if he would go od and leave her there, her strength was loosed from the spell, and she sprang before him and eauglit his wrists with her hands. *' I am as innoeent as when my mother bore me," she said, and her low voice rang with the truth. " I told the lie to save your life. Do you believe me now ? " He gazed at her with haggard eyes for many mo- ments before he spoke. " How can it be true ? " he asked, but his voice shook in his throat. " You were 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 in which 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 what she said were true, the strongest link Avas gone from the chain of facts by wliich he had argued so much sorrow and shame. For- A ]A)\'K STOllV OK OIJ) MAIM;M) 299 getting liiiusclf uik) Lis own lu-nr fate, ho looked at tlie court (Imss she wore, and a mnv ohmce convinced liim tliat it was not the one Im; liad seen, " But — " he was su(hh"nly confused — " ])nt why did you need to disguise yourself? I h'ft the I»rincess of Eboli Nvitli you, and I gave lier lu'rinission to take you away to stay witli her. Yon needed no disguise." " I never saw lier. Slie must have found Inez in the room. I was gone h)ng before that." "Gone — wliere?" Men(h)za was fast losing the thread of it all — in his confusion of ideas he grasped the clue of his chief sorrow, which was far beyond any thought for himself. '^ Jiut if you are innocent- - pray God you may be, as you say —how is it i)ossible — oh, no ! I cannot believe it — \ cannot ! No woman eould do that — no innocent girl could stand out before a multitude of men and wonu n, and say what you said — " "I hoped to save your life. I had the strenjrth. I did it." Her clear grey eyes looked into his, and his doubt began to break away before tlie truth. "Make me believe it ! " he cried, his voice breaking. "Oh, God ! Make me believe it before I die ! " " It is true," she cried, in a low, strong voice that carried belief to his 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 you have killed, the man I loved and trusted, the dead man who knows the whole truth as J kncjw it, will come back ' M 800 IN THK l'AIiA(M<: OK TUK KINC, 'f,l I !!■ !),■ from llu^ ! bear to receive his partint^ kiss upon her forehead. '"Oh, father, why did you kill him?" she asked, turning- her head away and moving to escape from his hold. But Mendozji did not answer. His arm dropped by his side, and his face tjrew white and stonv. She was asking him to give np the King's secret, to keep which he was giving his life. He felt that it would be treason to tell even her. And besides, she would not keep the secret — what woman could, what daughter would ? It must go out of the world with him, if it was to be safe. He glanced at her and savv her face ravaged by an hour's grief. Yet she would not mourn Don John the less if she knew whose hand had done the deed. It could make but a little difference to her, though to himself A I.OVK STOKY OK OIJ) MA hill I) 301 ? li that IX Tni5 PALACE OF THE KING id i I i I' 'il world hold for her, even if the disgrace of her father's death were not to shut her out of the world altogether, as it inevitably must. She would riot live long, but she would live in the profoundest sorrow. It would be an alleviation, almost the greatest possible, to know that her father's hand was not stained by such a deed. The temptation to speak out was overwhelming, and he knew that the time was short. At any moment Ruy Gomez might open the door, and bid him part from 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 her- self to touch his hand again and bear his kiss. His loyalty to the King, that was like a sort of mad- ness, stood between him and the words he longed to say. It was the habit of his long soldier's life, unbend- ing as the corslet he wore and enclosing his soul as the steel encased his body, proof against every cruelty, every unkindness, every insult. It was better to die a traitor's death for the King's secret than to live for his own honour. So it had always seemed to him, since he had been a boy and had learned to fight under the great Emperor. But now he knew that he wavered as he had never done in the most desperate charge, when life' was but a missile to be flung in the enemy's face, and found or not, when the fray was over. There was no intoxication 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 in the face, that he was to die like a malefactor by the hangman's hand, and that -> A LOVE STOKV OF OI.D MADRID 303 the sovereign who had graciously deigned to accept the sacrifice had tortured him for nearly half an hour without mercy in the presence of an inferior, in order to get a few facts on paper which might help his own royal credit. And as if that were not enough, liis own daughter was to live after him, believing that he had cruelly murdered the man she most dearly loved. It was more than humanity could bear. His brow unbent, his arms unfolded themselves, and he held them out to Dolores with a smile almost gentle. "There is no blood on these hands, my little girl," he said tenderly. "I did not do it, child. Let me hold you in my arms once, and kiss you before I go. We are both innocent — we can bless one another be- fore we part for ever." The pure, grey eyes opened wide in amazement. Dolores could hardly believe her ears, as she made a step towards him, and then stopped, shrinking, and then mad^ one step more. Her lips moved and won- dering words came to him, so low that he could hardly understand, save that she questioned him. " You did not do it ! " she breathed. " You did not kill him after all ? But then — who — why ? " Still she hesitated, though she came slowly nearer, and a faint light warmed her sorrowful face. " You must try to guess who and why," he said, in a tone as low as her own. " I must not tell you that." " I cannot guess," she answered ; but she was close to him now, and she had taken one of his hands softly in both her own, while she gazed into his eyes. " How • .1 )-.: 304 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO i I h f\ r: can I understand unless you teil me ? Is it so great a secret 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. " I did not even see him hurt." " But then — yes — then " — her voice sank to a whisper — " then it was the King ! " He saw the words on her lips rather than heard them, and she saw in liis face that she was right. She dropped his hand and tl>rew her arms round h^.s neck, pressing her bosom to his breastplate; ai.d suddenly her love for him awoke, and she began to know how she might have loved him if she had known him through all the years that were gone. " It cannot be that he will let you die ! " she cried softly. " You shall not die ! " she cried again, with sudden strength, and her light frame shook his as if she would wrench him back from inevitable fate. " My little girl," he answered, most tenderly clasping her to him, and most thoughtfully, lest his armour should hurt he " I can die happy now, for I have found all of you again." " You shall not die ! You shall not die ! " she cried. " I will not let you go — they must take me, too — " *'No power can save me now, my darling," he an- swered. " But it does not matter, since you know. It will be easy now." She could only hold him with her small hands, and say over and over again that she would not let him go. "Ah ! why have you never loved me before in ail H A LOVE STOKY OV OLD MADUID ;)0,5 these _years?" he cried. .-It was my fault-all my "I love you now with all my heart," she answered, I and Ine. w,U go far away, and you two shall oon.fort 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 "» hope now. Had he known, or half gue.ssed, but an hour or two ago, he would have turned on his heel fron, he door of Don Johns ehamber, and he would have lef the Kmg to bear the blame or .shift it as he could. It IS too late, Dolores. God bless you, my dear clear child I It will soon be over-two'da s at mo^t,' .or the people will cry out for the bloo,I of Don John's murderer : and when they see mine they will be satis- ;> / , '' J^?" '"'' """'■ ^'"'"^■^y^ '»>' >'"le girl, good-by ! The blessing of all heaven be on ;ou dear head ! " -^ Dolores nestled against him, as she had never done before, with the feeling that .she had found something that had been wanting in her life, at the very monicnt when the world, with all it held for her, was slippin. over the edge of eternity. "I will not leave you," she cried again. "They shall take me to your prison, and I will .stay with you and take care of you, and never leave you ; and at last 1 shad save your life, and tlien — " The door of the corridor opened, and she saw Ruv Gomez standing in the entrance, as if he were waiting. i 306 IN THE PALACE OF TlIK KIN(; i i I 1 ^ I 'I ! His face was calm and grave as usual, but she saw a profound pity in his eyes. " No, no I " she cried to him, " not yet — one moment more f " But Mendoza turned his head at her words, looking over his shoulder, and he saw the Prince also. " I am ready," he said briefly, and he tried to take Dolores* hands from his neck. " It is time," he said to her. " Be brave, my darling ! We have found each other at last. It will not be long before we are to- gether for ever." He kissed her tenderly once more, and loosed her hold, putting her two hands 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, Jind then he broke away, setting his teeth lest he should choke and break down. He opened the door and presented himself to the halberdiers. Dolores heard his familiar voice give the words of command. " Close up ! Forward, march ! " The heavy tramp she knew so well began at once, and echoed along the outer entries, growing slowly less distinct till it was only a distant and rumbling echo, and then died away altogether. Her hand was still on the open door, and Ruy Gomez was standing beside her. He gently drew her away, and closed the door again. She let him lead her to a chair, and sat down wliere she had sat before. But this time she did not lean ! A M)VK STOIIV OK OM) MA I Hill) 807 »» hack exhausted, with half-closed eyes, — she rested her elhovv on her knee and hvv chi.i in her hand, and slie tried to tliink connectedly to u conchision. She re- nienihered all tJie details of the past hours one hy one, and she felt that the deterniination to save Jier father had given her strength to live. "Don Ruy (Jome/V she said at last, looking up to the tall old nobleman, who stood hy the bra/.iei- warming his hands again, "cari I see the Kinir alone ? " ^ "That is more tlian I can promise," answered the Prince. " I have asked an audience for you, and the chamberlain will bring word presently whether his Majesty is willing to see you. \Uit if you are ad- mitted, I cannot tell whether l^erez will be there or not. He generally is. His presence need make no difference to you. He is an excellent young man, full of heart. 1 have great confidence in him, -so much so that J recommended him to his Majesty as Secretary. I am sure that he will do all he can to be of use to you." Dolores looked up incredulously, and with a certain wonder at the Prince's extreme simplicity. Yet he had been married ten years to the clever woman who ruled him and Perez and King Philip, and made each one believe that she was devoted to him only, body and soul. Of the three, Perez alone may have guessed the truth, but though it was degi-ading enough, he would not let it stand in the way of his advancement; and in the end it was he who escaped, leaving her to r 308 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING * n V ' perish, the victim of the King's implacable anger. Dolores could not help shaking her head in answer to the Prince of Eholi's speech. " People are very unjust to Perez," he said. *' But tlie King trusts him. If he is there, try to conciliate him, for he has much influence with his Majesty." Dolores said nothing, and resuming her attitude, returned to her sad meditations, and to the study of some immediate plan. But she could think of no way. Her only fixed intention was to see the King himself, lluy Gomez could do no more to help her than he had done already, and that indeed was not little, since it was to his kindly impulse that she owed her meeting with her father. " And if Perez is not inclined to help Don Diego," said the Prince, after a long pause which had not inter- rupted the slow progression of his kindly thought, " I will request my wife to speak to him. I have often noticed that the Princess can make Perez do almost anything she wishes. Women are far cleverer than men, my dear — they have ways we do not understand. Yes, I will interest my wife in the affair. It would be a sad thing if your father — " The old man stopped short, and Dolores wondered vaguely what he had been going to say. Ruy Gomez was a very strange comi)ound of almost childlike and most honourable simplicity, and of the experienced wisdom with regard to the truth of matters in which he was not concerned, which sometimes belongs to very honourable and simple men. A LOVE STOKY OF OLD MADUID ;309 dered jromez Ice and lenced which o very "You do not helicve- that my falluT is 1,'iiilty," said Dolorus, boUUy iissLMling what slic suspLM'tcd. *' My dear chihl," ans\vereis la/.uli, in a Hort of tastoh'ss prorusioii thai tlctractoil fnnu tlie beauty of eac^li, aiul inatle Dolores feul that she had been sud- denly transported out of her own element into another that was hard to breathe and in whieh it was bail to live. It oppressed her, and though lier courage was undiminished, the air of the place seemed to stitle her thought and speech. As slie entered she saw the King in profile, seated in his great chair at some distance from the fire, but looking at it steadily. He did not notice her presence at first. Antonio Perez sat at the table, busily writing, and he only glanced at Dolores sideways when he heard the door close after her. She sank almost to the ground as she made the first court curtsey before ad- vancing, and she came forward into the light. As her 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 wide circle and curtsied a third time immediately in front of him. She was very beautiful, as she stood waiting for him to speak, and meeting his gaze fearlessly with a look of cold contempt in her white face such as no living per- son had ever dared to turn to him, while the light of anger burned in her deep grey eyes. But for the pres- ence of the Secretary, she would have spoken first, regardless of court ceremony. Philip looked at her attentively, mentally comparing her with his young Queen's placidly dull personality and with the Prin- cess of Eboli's fast disappearing and somev/hat coarse r I. 312 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING h< V V V 1 I beauty. For tlie Princess liiul clmiiiJS'cd nnwh sint'o Titian liad painted liis very flattering picture, and though she was only thirty years of age, slie was al- ready the mother of many children. Philip stared steadily at the beautiful girl wlio stood waiting before him, and he Y\ondered why she liad never seemed so lovely to him before. There was a half morbid, half bitter savour in what he felt, too, — he had just con- demned the beauty's father to death, and she nuist therefore hate him with all her heart. It pleased him to think of that ; she was beautiful and he stared at her long. " Be seated. Dona Dolores," he said at last, in a muffled voice that was not harsh. "• I am glad that you have come, for 1 have much to say to you." 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 low cushioned stool that was placed near him. Dolores came forward unwill- ingly and sat down. Perez watched the two thought- fully, and forgot his writing. He did not remember that any one excepting tlie Princess of Eboli had been allowed to be seated in the King's study. The Queen never came there. Perez' work exempted him in pri- vate, of course, from much of the tedious ceremonial upon which Philip insisted. Dolores sat upon the edge of the stool^ very erect, with her hands folded on her knees. " Dona Dolores is pale," observed the King. " Bring u cordial, Perez, or a glass of Ol>ortt) wine." A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADllID :n3 ng "Ithiuik your Majcst}, ' 5^i>i King A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 315 "I ask justice, not n.ercy, Sire," said Dolores, in a firm, low voice, and the fire lightened in her eyes. "Your father shall have both," answered Philip, "for they are compatible." " 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. I cannot guess what you know or do not know — " "I know the truth." She spoke so confidently that the King's expression changed a little. "I wish I did," he answered, with as much suavity as ever. " But tell me what 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 be possible. What do you know?" Dolores leaned forward toward him from her seat, almost rising as she lowered her a voice to a whisper,' her eyes fixed on his face. " I was close behind the door your Majesty wished to open," she said. '^ I heard every word ; I heard your sword drawn and I heard Don John fall — and then it was some time before I heard my father's voice, taking the blame upon himself, lest it should be said that the King had murdered his own brother in his room, unarmed. Is that the truth, or not?" While she was speaking, a greenish hue overspread Philip's face, ghastly in the candlelight. He sat up- right in his chair, his hands straining on its arms 1 1 I, 816 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING t ' HI - l\ and pushing, as if ho would have got further back if he could. He had foreseen everything except that Dolores had been in the next room, for his secret spies had informed him through Perez that her father had kept her a prisoner during the early part of the evening and until after supi)er. " When you were both gone," Dolores continued, holding him under her terrible eyes, "I came in, and I found him dead, with the wound in his left 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 man I loved, shed by you. Ah, he was right to call you coward, and he died for me, because you said things of me that no loving man would bear. He was right to call you coward — it was well said — it was the last word he spoke, and I shall not forget it. He had borne everything you heaped upon himself, your insults, your scorn of his mother, but he would not let you cast a slur upon my name, and if you had not killed him out of sheer cowardice, he would have struck you in the face. He was a man ! And then my father took the blame to save you from the monstrous ac- cusation, and that all might believe him guilty he told the lie that saved you before 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. And he, who was seldom taken unawares, and was very hard to hurt, leaned back and suffered, slowly turning his head from side to side against tlie back of the high carved chair. A I A LOVE STORY OP OLD MADRID 317 ike en nd ide " Confess that it is true I " she cried, in concentrated tones. " Can you not even find courage for that ? You are not the King now, you are your brotlier's murderer, and the murderer of the man I k)ved, wliose wife I should have been to-morrow. Look at me, and confess that I have tokl the truth. I am a Spanish woman, and 1 would not see my country branded be- fore the world with the shame of your royal murders, and if you will confess and save my father, 1 will keep your secret for my country's sake. Hut if not — tlien you must either kill me here, as you slew liim, or by the God that made you and the mother that bore you, I will tell all Spain what you are, and the men who loved Don John of Austria shall rise and take your blood for his blood, though it be blood royal, and you shall die, as you killed, like the coward you are! " The King's eyes were closed, and still his great pale head moved slowly from side to side; for he was suf- fering, and the torture of mind he had made Mendoza bear was avenged already. But he was silent "Will you not speak?" asked the young girl, with blazing eyes. "Then find some weapon and kill me here before I go, for I shall ..Jt wait till you find many words." She was silent, and she stood upright in the act to go. He made no sound, and she moved towards the door, stood still, then moved again and then again, pausing for his answer at each step. He heard her, but could not bring himself to speak the words she demanded of him. She began to walk quickly. Her ; f (' ill! ! I! i 318 IN THE PALACK OF THE KING hand was almost on the door when he raised himself by the anus of his cliair, 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 scared eyes as he turned his face towjirds her. " Say, ' You have spoken the truth,' " she answered, dictating to him as if she were the sovereign and he a guilty subject. She waited a moment and then moved "«« if she would go out. " Stay — yes — it :s true — I did it — for God's mercy do not betray me I " He almost screamed the words out to her, half ris- ing, his body bent, his face livid in his extreme fear. She came slowly back towards him, keeping her eyes upon him as if he were some dangerous wild animal that she controlled by her look alone. "That is not all," she said. "That was for me, that I might hear the words from your own lips. There is something more." " What more do you want of me ? " asked Philip, in thick tones, leaning back exhausted in his chair. " My father's freedom and safety," answered Dolores. " I must have an order for his instant release. He can hardly have reached his prison yet. Send for him. Let him come here at once, as a free man. i» W A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADRID 319 'es. IHe ;nd Iree "That is impossible," replied Philip. " He has con- fessed the deed before the whole court — he cannot possibly be set at liberty witlioat a trial. You forget whfit you are asking — indeed you forget yourself altogether too much." He was gathering his dignity again, by force of habit, as his terror subsided, but Dolores was too strong for him. " I am not asking anything of your Majesty ; I am dictating terms to my lover's murderer," she said proudly. " This is past bearing, girl ! " cried Philip hoarsely. ** You are out of your mind — I shall call servants to take you away to a place of safety. We .sliall see what you will do then. You shall not impose your insolence upon me any longer." Dolores reflected that it was probably in his power to carry out the threat, and to have her carried off by the private door through which Perez had gone out. She saw in a flash huw great her danger was, for she was the only witness against h m, and if he could put her out of the way in a plpxje ( f silence, he could send her father to trial and execution without risk to him- self, as he had certainly intended to do. On the other hand, she had been able to terrify him to submission a few moments earlier. In the instant working of her woman's mind, she recollected how his fright had increased as she had approached the door by which she had entered. His only chance of accomplishing her disappearance lay in having her iken away b)' I ' . Il *. 820 IN THK VALACE C^F TFIB KING I '■ i ij ^' < some secret passage, where no open scandal conW be possible. lioforc slie answered liis last angry speech, she had almost readied the main entrance again. "Call wliom yon will," she said conterriptuously. " You cannot save yourself. Don Rny Gomez is on the other side oi" that door, and there are chamberlains and guards there, too. 1 shall have told them all the truth before your men can lay hands on me. If you will not write the order to release mv father, I shall go out at once. In ten niinutes there will be a revo- lution in the palace, and to-morrow all Spain will be on fire to avenge your brother. Spain has not for^ gotten Don Cailos yet! There are those alive who saw you give Queen Isabel the draught that killed her — with your own hand. Are you mad enough to think that no one knows those things, tiiat your spies, who spy on others, do not spy on that you alone, of all mankind, can commit eveiy crime with im- punity ? " *' Take care, girl ! Take care ! " "Beware — Don Philip of Austria, King of Spain and half the world, lest a girl's voice be heard above yours, and a girl's hand loosen the foundation of your throne, lest all mankind rise up to-morrow and take your life for the lives you have destroyed ! Outside this door here, there are men who guess the truth alread}^ who hate you as they hate Satan, and who loved 3'our brother as every living being loved him — except you- One moment more — order my lather to be set A LOVE STORY OF OLD MADUII) 321 lid be e had lonsly. is on erlains ill! the If you I shall I revo- kvill be ot for- re who killed >ugh to r spies, alone, ith im- Spain above ^f your take Kitside truth loved [except be set free, or I will open and speak. One moment ! Vou will not? It is too late — }ou are lost ! " Iler hand went out to open, but Philip was already on his feet, and with (luiek, clumsy steps he reached tlie writinc^-table, seized the pen IVnez had thrown down, and b(\[»'an to scrawl words rapidly in his great angular handwriting. He threw sand upon it to dry the ink, jiiul then poured the grains back into the silver sjind- box, glanced at the paper and held it out to Dolores Avithout a word. His other hand slipped along tlie table to a silver bell, used for calling his private at- tendants, but the girl saw the movement and instinc- tively suspected his treachery. He meant her to cf»nH; to the table, when he would ring the bell and then catcli her and hold her by main force till help came. Her faculties were furiously awake under the strain she bore, and outran his slow cunning. " If you ring that bell, I will open," she said impe- riously. " I must have the paper here, where I am safe, and I must read it myself before I shall be satisfied." "You are a terrible woman," said the King, but she did not like his smile as he came towards her, holding out the document. She took it from his hand, keeping her eyes on Ids, for something told her that he would tr}'- to seize hor and draw her from the door w'lile she was reading it. For some seconds they faced each other in silence, and she knew by his determined attitude that she was right, and that it would not be safe to look down. She won- 1 ■"(••MsajWf"' 322 IN THE PALACE OF THE KINO I ^1 fll dered why he did not catch her in his arms as she stood, and then she realized that her free hand was on the latch of the door, and that he knew it. She slovvl) turned the liandle, and drew the door to her, and she saw his face fall. She moved to 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 in order and would be obeyed ; she saw that, at a glance, for it said that Don Diego do Mendoza was to be set at liberty instantly and un conditionally. " I humbly thank your Majesty, and take my leave," she said, throwing the door wide open and curtseying low. A chamberlain who had seen the door move on its hinges stepped in to shut 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 at liberty unconditionally and at once. I do not know to whom it should be given. Will you take it for me and see to it ? " " I will go to the west tower myself," he said, begin- ning to walk with her. "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 told me that he knows the whole truth. Will you do that ? You have been very kind to me to-night. Prince — let me thank you with all my hjart now, for we may not meet again. You will not she stood, as on the he slowly r, and sl»e that she ileiicc, and ice at the eyed ; she 1 Diego de ;ly and un i my leave," . curtseying move on its tied inward. D, but before "this is an itionally and dd be given. e said, begin- news is even he is safe, for ws the whole jeen very kind ou with all my YouwiU not A lAWE STORV OF ULI, MADRID 333 see me at court after tliis arul t ^ . nm Liberty. Good-night, Dona Dolores." \ ■ it CHAPTER XIX ;? '11 All that had ]ini»j)(Mio(l from the time when Don John had fallen in his room to the moment when Dolores left lier sister on the terrace had occuj)ied little more than half an honr, (hiring which the King had descended to the hall, Mendoza had chiimed the guilt of Don John's murder, and the two had gone out under the protection of the guards. As soon as Dolores was out of hearing, Inez rose and (a-ept along the ter- race to Don John's door. In the confusion that had ensued upon the announcement of his death no one had thought of going to him ; every one took it for granted that some one else had done what was necessary, and that his apartments were filled wl H physicians and servants. It was not the first time in history that a royal personage had thas been left alone an hour, either dead or dying, because no one was immediately responsible, and such things have happened since. Inez stole along the terrace and found the outer door open, as the dwarf had left it when he had carried Dolores out in his arms. She remembered that the voices she had heard earlier had come from rooms on the left of the door, and she felt her way to the en- trance of. the bedchamber, and then went in without 324 A l.(>VK SnUtV OK or.I) MAIHtll) •I.). len Don nt whon lied little ving lisnl the guilt nfone out ,s Dolores r the ter- that had one had granted jaary, and ians and ►ry that a an hour, mediately ice. >uter door d carried that the rooms on o the en- without hesitation. RfiMlin'jf vriy low, so that lior lunula Iouc1i«mI tlic lloor troni tiiiu! (o liiin', she crept ahmg, feeling for tlu^ body she expcchMl tt» lind. Snddeiily 8lie started and stood uprii^iil m an instant. She had lieard a ilecp sigh in the nxnn, not far ofl\ She listened intently, but even her eais eonld detect no sountl after that. She was a little fiightcned, not with any sui>ernatural i\'ar, for the blind, who live in the