Don John did not answer, for it seemed wiser to let the King take this ground than return to his former position.

“You will have plenty of agreeable occupation in time of peace.  But it is better that you should be married soon, before you become so entangled with the ladies of Madrid as to make your marriage impossible.”

“Saving the last clause,” said Don John boldly, “I am altogether of your Majesty’s opinion.  But I fear no entanglements here.”

“No—­you do not fear them.  On the contrary, you live in them as if they were your element.”

“No man can say that,” answered Don John.

“You contradict me again.  Pray, if you have no entanglements, how comes it that you have a lady’s letter in your glove?”

“I cannot tell whether it was a lady’s letter or a man’s.”

“Have you not read it?”

“Yes.”

“And you refused to show it to me on the ground that it was a woman’s secret?”

“I had not read it then.  It was not signed, and it might well have been written by a man.”

Don John watched the King’s face.  It was for from improbable, he thought, that the King had caused it to be written, or had written it himself, that he supposed his brother to have read it, and desired to regain possession of it as soon as possible.  Philip seemed to hesitate whether to continue his cross-examination or not, and he looked at the door leading into the antechamber, suddenly wondering why Mendoza had not returned.  Then he began to speak again, but he did not wish, angry though he was, to face alone a second refusal to deliver the document to him.  His dignity would have suffered too much.

“The facts of the case are these,” he said, as if he were recapitulating what had gone before in his mind.  “It is my desire to marry you to the widowed Queen of Scots, as you know.  You are doing all you can to oppose me, and you have determined to marry the dowerless daughter of a poor soldier.  I am equally determined that you shall not disgrace yourself by such an alliance.”

“Disgrace!” cried Don John loudly, almost before the word had passed the King’s lips, and he made half a step forward.  “You are braver than I thought you, if you dare use that word to me!”

Philip stepped back, growing livid, and his hand was on his rapier.  Don John was unarmed, but his sword lay on the table within his reach.  Seeing the King afraid, he stepped back.

“No,” he said scornfully, “I was mistaken.  You are a coward.”  He laughed as he glanced at Philip’s hand, still on the hilt of his weapon and ready to draw it.

In the next room Dolores drew frightened breath, for the tones of the two men’s voices had changed suddenly.  Yet her heart had leapt for joy when she had heard Don John’s cry of anger at the King’s insulting word.  But Don John was right, for Philip was a coward at heart, and though he inwardly resolved that his brother should be placed under arrest as soon as Mendoza returned, his present instinct was not to rouse him further.  He was indeed in danger, between his anger and his fear, for at any moment he might speak some bitter word, accustomed as he was to the perpetual protection of his guards, but at the next his brother’s hands might be on his throat, for he had the coward’s true instinct to recognize the man who was quite fearless.