ce
need make no difference to you. He is an excellent young man, full of
heart. I have great confidence in him,--so much so that I recommended
him to his Majesty as Secretary. I am sure that he will do all he can to
be of use to you."

Dolores looked up incredulously, and with a certain wonder at the
Prince's extreme simplicity. Yet he had been married ten years to the
clever woman who ruled him and Perez and King Philip, and made each one
believe that she was devoted to him only, body and soul. Of the three,
Perez alone may have guessed the truth, but though it was degrading
enough, he would not let it stand in the way of his advancement; and in
the end it was he who escaped, leaving her to perish, the victim of the
King's implacable anger, Dolores could not help shaking her head in
answer to the Prince of Eboli's speech.

"People are very unjust to Perez," he said. "But the King trusts him. If
he is there, try to conciliate him, for he has much influence with his
Majesty."

Dolores said nothing, and resuming her attitude, returned to her sad
meditations, and to the study of some immediate plan. But she could
think of no way. Her only fixed intention was to see the King himself.
Ruy Gomez could do no more to help her than he had done already, and
that indeed was not little, since it was to his kindly impulse that she
owed her meeting with her father.

"And if Perez is not inclined to help Don Diego," said the Prince, after
a long pause which had not interrupted the slow progression of, his
kindly thought, "I will request my wife to speak to him. I have often
noticed that the Princess can make Perez do almost anything she wishes.
Women are far cleverer than men, my dear--they have ways we do not
understand. Yes, I will interest my wife in the affair. It would be a
sad thing if your father--"

The old man stopped short, and Dolores wondered vaguely what he had been
going to say. Ruy Gomez was a very strange compound of almost childlike
and most honourable simplicity, and of the experienced wisdom with
regard to the truth of matters in which he was not concerned, which
sometimes belongs to very honourable and simple men.

"You do not believe that my father is guilty," said Dolores, boldly
asserting what she suspected.

"My dear child," answered Ruy Gomez, twisting his rings on his fingers
as he spread his hands above the coals in the brazier, "I have lived in
this court for fifty years, and I have learned in that