id 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 happened; and though the evidence of the sounds she had heard
through the door would have gone to show that Philip had done the deed
himself, 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 she 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 killed the Prince without hesitation. The only thing quite clear was
that Mendoza was to suffer, and seemed strangely determined to suffer,
for what he had or had not done. The dark shadow of the scaffold rose
before Dolores' eyes.

It had seemed impossible that she could be made to bear more than she
had borne that night, when she had fallen upon Don John's body to weep
her heart out for her dead love. But she saw that there was more to
bear, and dimly she guessed that there might be something for her to do.
There was Inez first, and she must be cared for and placed in safety,
for she was beside herself with grief. It was only on that afternoon by
the window that Dolores had guessed the blind girl's secret, which Inez
herself hardly suspected even now, though she was half mad with grief
and utterly broken-hearted.

Dolores felt almost helpless, but she understood that she and her sister
were henceforth to be more really alone in what remained of life than if
they had been orphans from their earliest childhood. The 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 might 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 then and at once, and forever. The thought had not crossed
her mind till then, and it was a new tor