to answer. And again, it grew quite
clear to her that Dolores must be somewhere near Don John, perhaps
waiting in some concealed corner until all should be quiet. It was more
than probable that he would get her out of the palace secretly during
the night and send her to his adoptive mother at Villagarcia. She had
not believed the Princess's words in the least, but she had not
forgotten them, and had argued rightly enough to their real meaning.

In the upper story all was still now. She and Dolores had known where
Don John was to be lodged in the palace nearly a month before he had
returned, and they had been there more than once, when no one was on the
terrace, and Dolores had made her touch the door and the six windows,
three on each side of it. She could get there without difficulty,
provided that no one stopped her.

She went a little way in the right direction and then hesitated. There
was more danger to Dolores than to herself if she should be recognized,
and, after all, if Dolores was near Don John she was safer than she
could be anywhere else. Inez could not help her very much in any way if
she found her there, and it would be hard to find her if she had met
Mendoza at first and if he had placed her in the keeping of a third
person. She imagined what his astonishment would have been had he found
the real Dolores in her court dress a few moments after Inez had been
delivered over to the Princess disguised in Dolores' clothes, and she
almost smiled. But then a great loneliness and a sense of helplessness
came over her, and she turned back and went out upon the deserted
terrace again and sat down upon the old stone seat, listening for the
screech owl and the fluttering of the bats that flew aimlessly in and
out, attracted by the light and then scared away by it again because the
moon was at the full.

Inez had never before then wandered about the palace at night, and
though darkness and daylight were one to her, there was something in the
air that frightened her, and made her feel how really helpless she was
in spite of her almost superhuman hearing and her wonderful sense of
touch. It was very still--it was never so still by day. It seemed as if
people must be lying in wait for her, holding their breath lest she
should hear even that. She had never felt blind before; she had never so
completely realized the difference between her life and the lives of
others. By day, she could wander where she pleased on the uppe