be believed that I had done the deed by
your Majesty's orders, and no good end would have been gained."

"You may be right. You are a very brave man, Mendoza--the bravest I 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. Besides, it is growing late, and it must be done before
the whole court."

They entered 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 gradually 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 through the antechamber, and by which he often came
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
pier table between the windows, and examined his face attentively. Not a
trace of excitement or emotion was visible in the features he 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 reasonable being
would have suspected from his appearance that he had been moved to
furious anger and had done a murderous deed less than twenty minutes
earlier. His still eyes were quite calm now, and the yellow gleam in
them had given place to their naturally uncertain colour. With a smile
of admiration for his own extraordinary powers, he turned and left the
room. He was enjoying one of his rare moments 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 XIII

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 bedchamber. At
first the lock would not open, as it had been injured in some way by
being so roughly shaken when Mendoza had tried it. But Dolores'
desperate