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CHAPTER XV

The agonized cry that had been first heard in the hall had come from Inez’s lips.  When she had fled from her father, she had regained her hiding-place in the gallery above the throne room.  She would not go to her own room, for she felt that rest was out of the question while Dolores was in such danger; and yet there would have been no object in going to Don John’s door again, to risk being caught by her father or met by the King himself.  She had therefore determined to let an hour pass before attempting another move.  So she slipped into the gallery again, and sat upon the little wooden bench that had been made for the Moorish women in old times; and she listened to the music and the sound of the dancers’ feet far below, and to the hum of voices, in which she often distinguished the name of Don John.  She had heard all,—­the cries when it was thought that he was coming, the chamberlain’s voice announcing the King, and then the change of key in the sounds that had followed.  Lastly, she had heard plainly every syllable of her father’s speech, so that when she realized what it meant, she had shrieked aloud, and had fled from the gallery to find her sister if she could, to find Don John’s body most certainly where it lay on the marble floor, with the death wound at the breast.  Her instinct—­she could not have reasoned then—­told her that her father must have found the lovers together, and that in sudden rage he had stabbed Don John, defenceless.

Dolores’ tears answered her sister’s question well enough when the two girls were clasped in one another’s arms at last.  There was not a doubt left in the mind of either.  Inez spoke first.  She said that she had hidden in the gallery.

“Our father must have come in some time after the King,” she said, in broken sentences, and almost choking.  “Suddenly the music stopped.  I could hear every word.  He said that he had done it,—­that he had murdered Don John,—­and then I ran here, for I was afraid he had killed you, too.”

“Would God he had!” cried Dolores.  “Would to Heaven that I were dead beside the man I love!”

“And I!” moaned Inez pitifully, and she began to sob wildly, as Dolores had sobbed at first.

But Dolores was silent now, as if she had shed all her tears at once, and had none left.  She held her sister in her arms, and soothed her almost unconsciously, as if she had been a little child.  But her own thoughts were taking shape quickly, for she was strong; and after the first paroxysm of her grief, she saw the immediate future as clearly as the present.  When she spoke again she had the mastery of her voice, and it was clear and low.

“You say that our father confessed before the whole court that he had murdered Don John?” she said, with a question.  “What happened then?  Did the King speak?  Was our father arrested?  Can you remember?”