The hard and hideous fact stared him in the face, that he was to die like a malefactor by the hangman’s hand, and that the sovereign who had graciously deigned to accept the sacrifice had tortured him for nearly half an hour without mercy in the presence of an inferior, in order to get a few facts on paper which might help his own royal credit.  And as if that were not enough, his own daughter was to live after him, believing that he had cruelly murdered the man she most dearly loved.  It was more than humanity could bear.

His brow unbent, his arms unfolded themselves, and he held them out to Dolores with a smile almost gentle.

“There is no blood on these hands, my little girl,” he said tenderly.  “I did not do it, child.  Let me hold you in my arms once, and kiss you before I go.  We are both innocent—­we can bless one another before we part for ever.”

The pure, grey eyes opened wide in amazement.  Dolores could hardly believe her ears, as she made a step towards him, and then stopped, shrinking, and then made one step more.  Her lips moved and wondering words came to him, so low that he could hardly understand, save that she questioned him.

“You did not do it!” she breathed.  “You did not kill him after all?  But then—­who—­why?”

Still she hesitated, though she came slowly nearer, and a faint light warmed her sorrowful face.

“You must try to guess who and why,” he said, in a tone as low as her own.  “I must not tell you that.”

“I cannot guess,” she answered; but she was close to him now, and she had taken one of his hands softly in both her own, while she gazed into his eyes.  “How can I understand unless you tell me?  Is it so great a secret that you must die for it, and never tell it?  Oh, father, father!  Are you sure—­quite sure?”

“He was dead already when I came into the room,” Mendoza answered.  “I did not even see him hurt.”

“But then—­yes—­then”—­her voice sank to a whisper—­“then it was the King!”

He saw the words on her lips rather than heard them, and she saw in his face that she was right.  She dropped his hand and threw her arms round his neck, pressing her bosom to his breastplate; and suddenly her love for him awoke, and she began to know how she might have loved him if she had known him through all the years that were gone.

“It cannot be that he will let you die!” she cried softly.  “You shall not die!” she cried again, with sudden strength, and her light frame shook his as if she would wrench him back from inevitable fate.

“My little girl,” he answered, most tenderly clasping her to him, and most thoughtfully, lest his armour should hurt her, “I can die happy now, for I have found all of you again.”

“You shall not die!  You shall not die!” she cried.  “I will not let you go—­they must take me, too—­”

“No power can save me now, my darling,” he answered.  “But it does not matter, since you know.  It will be easy now.”