ied for a
murder he had not committed, and held up to public hatred and ignominy
for days and perhaps weeks together, while a slow tribunal dragged out
its endless procedure,--neither his loyalty nor his desire for death
could have had power to bring his pride to such a sacrifice. And now he
saw that he was caught in a vise, and that no accusation he could bring
against the King could save him, 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.

"Unarmed," repeated the King, nodding to Perez, who wrote rapidly. "You
might have given him a chance for his life. It would have been more
soldier-like. Had you any words before you drew upon him? Was there any
quarrel?"

"None. We did not speak to each other." Mendoza tried to make Philip
meet his eyes, but the King would not look at him.

"There was no altercation," said the King, looking at Perez. "That
proves that the murder was premeditated. 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 ver