“Grandees of Spain!” she began, and at the first words she found strength in her voice so that it reached the ends of the hall, clear and vibrating.  The silence was intense, as she proceeded.

“My father has accused himself of a fearful crime.  He is innocent.  He would no more have raised his hand against Don John of Austria than against the King’s own person.  I cannot tell why he wishes to sacrifice his life by taking upon himself the guilt.  But this I know.  He did not do the deed.  You ask me how I know that, how I can prove it?  I was there, I, Dolores de Mendoza, his daughter, was there unseen in my lover’s chamber when he was murdered.  While he was alive I gave him all, my heart, my soul, my maiden honour; and I was there to-night, and had been with him long.  But now that he is dead, I will pay for my father’s life with my dishonour.  He must not die, for he is innocent.  Grandees of Spain, as you are men of honour, he must not die, for he is one of you, and this foul deed was not his.”

She ceased, her lids drooped till her eyes were half closed and she swayed a little as she stood.  Roy Gomez made one long stride and held her, for he thought she was fainting.  But she bit her lips, and forced her eyes to open and face the crowd again.

“That is all,” she said in a low voice, but distinctly, “It is done.  I am a ruined woman.  Help me to go out.”

The old Prince gently led her down the steps.  The silence had lasted long after she had spoken, but people were beginning to talk again in lower tones.  It was as she had foreseen it.  She heard a scornful woman’s laugh, and as she passed along, she saw how the older ladies shrank from her and how the young ones eyed her with a look of hard curiosity, as if she were some wild creature, dangerous to approach, though worth seeing from a distance.

But the men pressed close to her as she passed, and she heard them tell each other that she was a brave woman who could dare to save her father by such means, and there were quick applauding words as she passed, and one said audibly that he could die for a girl who had such a true heart, and another answered that he would marry her if she could forget Don John.  And they did not speak without respect, but in earnest, and out of the fulness of their admiration.

At last she was at the door, and she paused to speak before going out.

“Have I saved his life?” she asked, looking up to the old Prince’s kind face.  “Will they believe me?”

“They believe you,” he answered.  “But your father’s life is in the King’s hands.  You should go to his Majesty without wasting time.  Shall I go with you?  He will see you, I think, if I ask it.”

“Why should I tell the King?” asked Dolores.  “He was there—­he saw it all—­he knows the truth.”

She hardly realized what she was saying.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XVI