lanced at her and saw 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 that difference would be great, if she knew that he died
innocent.

And then began a struggle fierce and grim, that tore his soul and
wounded his heart as no death agony could have hurt him. Since he had
judged her unjustly, since it had all been a hideous dream, since she
was still the child that had been all in all to him throughout her life,
since all was changed, he did not wish to die, he bore the dead man no
hatred, it was no soothing satisfaction to his outraged heart to know
him dead of a sword wound in the breast, far away in the room where they
had left him, there was no fierce regret that he had not driven the
thrust himself. The man was as innocent as the innocent girl, and he
himself, as innocent as both, was to be led out to die to shield the
King--no more. His life was to be taken for that only, and he no longer
set its value at naught nor wished it over. He was the mere scapegoat,
to suffer for his master's crime, since crime it was and nothing better.
And since he was willing to bear the punishment, or since there was now
no escape from it, had he not at least the human right to proclaim his
innocence to the only being he really loved? It would be monstrous to
deny it. What could she do, after all, even if she knew the truth?
Nothing. No one would dare to believe her if she accused the King. She
would be shut up in a convent as a mad woman, but in any case, she would
certainly disappear to end her life in some religious house as soon as
he was dead. Poor girl--she had loved Don John with all her heart--what
could the 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 not 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 herself to touch his hand again and bear his kiss.

His loya