t you will never see Don John of Austria again, that
you will forget that you ever loved him, that you will put him
altogether out of your thoughts, and that you will obediently accept the
marriage I shall make for you."

The words of refusal to any such obedience as that rose to the girl's
lips, ready and sharp. But she would not speak them this time, lest more
angry words should answer hers. She looked straight at her father's
eyes, holding her head proudly high for a moment. Then, smiling at the
impossibility of what he asked, she turned from him and went to the
window in silence. She opened it wide, leaned upon the stone sill and
looked out. The moon had risen much higher now, and the court was white.

She had meant to cut short the discussion without rousing anger again,
but she could have taken no worse way to destroy whatever was left of
her father's kindlier mood. He did not raise his voice now, as he
followed her and spoke.

"You refuse to do that?" he said, with an already ominous interrogation
in his tone.

"You ask the impossible," she answered, without looking round. "I have
not refused, for I have no will in this, no choice. You can do what you
please with me, for you have power over my outward life--and if you
lacked it, the King would help you. But you have no power beyond that,
neither over my heart nor over my soul. I love him--I have loved him
long, and I shall love him till I die, and beyond that, forever and
ever, beyond everything--beyond the great to-morrow of God's last
judgment! How can I put him out of my thoughts, then? It is madness to
ask it of me."

She paused a moment, while he stood behind her, getting his teeth and
slowly grinding the heel of one heavy boot on the pavement.

"And as for threatening me," she continued, "you will not kill Don John,
nor even try to kill him, for he is the King's brother. If I can see him
this evening, I will--and there will be no risk for him. You would not
murder him by stealth, I suppose? No! Then you will not attack him at
all, and if I can see him, I will--I tell you so, frankly. To-morrow or
the next day, when the festivities they have for him are over, and you
yourself are at liberty, take me to Las Huelgas, if you will, and with
as little scandal as possible. But when I am there, set a strong guard
of armed men to keep me, for I shall escape unless you do. And I shall
go to Don John. That is all I have to say. That is my last word."

"I gave