Ruy Gomez was as loyal, in his way, as Mendoza himself, but his loyalty was of a very different sort, for it was tempered by a diplomatic spirit which made it more serviceable on ordinary occasions, and its object was altogether a principle rather than a person.  Mendoza could not conceive of monarchy, in its abstract, without a concrete individuality represented by King Philip; but Ruy Gomez could not imagine the world without the Spanish monarchy, though he was well able to gauge his sovereign’s weaknesses and to deplore his crimes.  He himself was somewhat easily deceived, as good men often are, and it was he who had given the King his new secretary, Antonio Perez; yet from the moment when Mendoza had announced Don John’s death, he had been convinced that the deed had either been done by Philip himself or by his orders, and that Mendoza had bravely sacrificed himself to shield his master.  What Dolores had said only confirmed his previous opinion, so far as her father’s innocence was at stake.  As for her own confession, he believed it, and in spite of himself he could not help admiring the girl’s heroic courage.  Dolores might have been in reality ten times worse than she had chosen to represent herself; she would still have been a model of all virtue compared with his own wife, though he did not know half of the Princess’s doings, and was certainly ignorant of her relations with the King.

He was not at all surprised when Dolores told him at the door that Philip knew the truth about the supposed murder, but he saw how dangerous it might be for Dolores to say as much to others of the court.  She wished to go away alone, as she had come, but he insisted on going with her.

“You must see his Majesty,” he said authoritatively.  “I will try to arrange it at once.  And I entreat you to be discreet, my dear, for your father’s sake, if not for any other reason.  You have said too much already.  It was not wise of you, though it showed amazing courage.  You are your father’s own daughter in that—­he is one of the bravest men I ever knew in my life.”

“It is easy to be brave when one is dead already!” said Dolores, in low tones.

“Courage, my dear, courage!” answered the old Prince, in a fatherly tone, as they went along.  “You are not as brave as you think, since you talk of death.  Your life is not over yet.”

“There is little left of it.  I wish it were ended already.”

She could hardly speak, for an inevitable and overwhelming reaction had followed on the great effort she had made.  She put out her hand and caught her companion’s arm for support.  He led her quickly to the small entrance of the King’s apartments, by which it was his privilege to pass in.  They reached a small waiting-room where there were a few chairs and a marble table, on which two big wax candles were burning.  Dolores sank into a seat, and leaned back, closing her eyes, while Ruy Gomez went into the antechamber beyond and exchanged a few words with the chamberlain on duty.  He came back almost immediately.