ew
back, seeing that he had been deceived, and suspecting that he was to be
asked to do something for which he had no authority. The dwarf's long
arm was behind him, however, and he could not escape.

"This is the priest of the west tower, your Highness," said Adonis. "He
is a good priest, but he is a little frightened now."

"You need fear nothing," said Don John kindly. "I am Don John of
Austria. This lady is Dona Maria Dolores de Mendoza. Marry us without
delay. We take each other for man and wife."

"But--" the little priest hesitated--"but, your Highness--the banns--or
the bishop's license--"

"I am above banns and licenses, my good sir," answered Don John, "and if
there is anything lacking in the formalities, I take it upon myself to
set all right to-morrow. I will protect you, never fear. Make haste, for
I cannot wait. Begin, sir, lose no time, and take my word for the right
of what you do."

"The witnesses of this," faltered the old man, seeing that he must
yield, but doubtful still.

"This lady is Dona Inez de Mendoza," said Don John, "and this is Miguel
de Antona, the court jester. They are sufficient."

So it chanced that the witnesses of Don John of Austria's secret
marriage were a blind girl and the King's fool.

The aged priest cleared his throat and began to say the words in Latin,
and Don John and Dolores held their clasped hands before him, not
knowing what else to do, and each looked into the other's eyes and saw
there the whole world that had any meaning for them, while the priest
said things they but half understood, but that made the world's
difference to them, then and afterwards.

It was soon done, and he raised his trembling hand and blessed them,
saying the words very softly and clearly and without stumbling, for they
were familiar, and meant much; and having reached them, his haste was
over. The dwarf was on his knees, his rough red head bent reverently
low, and on the other side Inez knelt with joined hands, her blind eyes
turned upward to her sister's face, while she prayed that all blessings
of life and joy might be on the two she loved so well, and that they
might have for ever and unbroken the infinite happiness she had felt for
one instant that night, not meant for her, but dearer to her than all
memories or hopes.

Then as the priest's words died away in the silent room, there was a
sound of many feet and of many voices on the terrace outside, coming
nearer and nearer to the