“You think that I have nothing to say,” he began at last, and his tone had changed and was more calm.  “You are right, perhaps.  What should I say to you, since you have lost all sense of shame and all thought of respect or obedience?  Do you expect that I shall argue with you, and try to convince you that I am right, instead of forcing you to respect me and yourself?  Thank Heaven, I have never yet questioned my King’s thoughts, nor his motives, nor his supreme right to do whatsoever may be for the honour and glory of Spain.  My life is his, and all I have is his, to do with it all as he pleases, by grace of his divine right.  That is my creed and my law—­and if I have failed to bring you up in the same belief, I have committed a great sin, and it will be counted against me hereafter, though I have done what I could, to the best of my knowledge.”

Mendoza lifted his sheathed sword and laid his right hand upon the cross-bar of the basket hilt.

“God—­the King—­Spain!” he said solemnly, as he pressed his lips to it once for each article of his faith.

“I do not wish to shake your belief,” said Dolores coldly.  “I daresay that is impossible!”

“As impossible as it is to make me change my determination,” answered Mendoza, letting his long sword rest on the pavement again.

“And what may your determination be?” asked the girl, still facing him.

Something in his face forewarned her of near evil and danger, as he looked at her long without answering.  She moved a little, so as to stand directly in front of Inez.  Taking an attitude that was almost defiant, she began to speak rapidly, holding her hands behind her and pressing herself back against her sister to attract the latter’s attention; and in her hand she held the letter she had written to Don John, folded into the smallest possible space, for she had kept it ready in the wrist of her tight sleeve, not knowing what might happen any moment to give her an opportunity of sending it.

“What have you determined?” she asked again, and then went on without waiting for a reply.  “In what way are you going to exhibit your power over me?  Do you mean to take me away from the court to live in Valladolid again?  Are you going to put me in the charge of some sour old woman who will never let me out of her sight from morning till morning?” She had found her sister’s hand behind hers and had thrust the letter into the fingers that closed quickly upon it.  Then she laughed a little, almost gaily.  “Do you think that a score of sour old duennas could teach me to forget the man I love, or could prevent me from sending him a message every day if I chose?  Do you think you could hinder Don John of Austria, who came back an hour ago from his victory the idol of all Spain, the favourite of the people—­brave, young, powerful, rich, popular, beloved far more than the King himself, from seeing me every day if he chose, so long as he were not away in war?  And then—­I will ask you something more—­do you think that father, or mother, or king, or law, or country has power to will away the love of a woman who loves with all her heart and soul and strength?  Then answer me and tell me what you have determined to do with me, and I will tell you my determination, too, for I have one of my own, and shall abide by it, come what may, and whatsoever you may do!”