“Confess that it is true!” she cried, in concentrated tones.  “Can you not even find courage for that?  You are not the King now, you are your brother’s murderer, and the murderer of the man I loved, whose wife I should have been to-morrow.  Look at me, and confess that I have told the truth.  I am a Spanish woman, and I would not see my country branded before the world with the shame of your royal murders, and if you will confess and save my father, I will keep your secret for my country’s sake.  But if not—­then you must either kill me here, as you slew him, or by the God that made you and the mother that bore you, I will tell all Spain what you are, and the men who loved Don John of Austria shall rise and take your blood for his blood, though it be blood royal, and you shall die, as you killed, like the coward you are!”

The King’s eyes were closed, and still his great pale head moved slowly from side to side; for he was suffering, and the torture of mind he had made Mendoza bear was avenged already.  But he was silent.

“Will you not speak?” asked the young girl, with blazing eyes.  “Then find some weapon and kill me here before I go, for I shall not wait till you find many words.”

She was silent, and she stood upright in the act to go.  He made no sound, and she moved towards the door, stood still, then moved again and then again, pausing for his answer at each step.  He heard her, but could not bring himself to speak the words she demanded of him.  She began to walk quickly.  Her hand was almost on the door when he raised himself by the arms of his chair, and cried out to her in a frightened voice:—­

“No, no!  Stay here—­you must not go—­what do you want me to say?”

She advanced a step again, and once more stood still and met his scared eyes as he turned his face towards her.

“Say, ‘You have spoken the truth,’” she answered, dictating to him as if she were the sovereign and he a guilty subject.

She waited a moment and then moved as if she would go out.

“Stay—­yes—­it is true—­I did it—­for God’s mercy do not betray me!”

He almost screamed the words out to her, half rising, his body bent, his face livid in his extreme fear.  She came slowly back towards him, keeping her eyes upon him as if he were some dangerous wild animal that she controlled by her look alone.

“That is not all,” she said.  “That was for me, that I might hear the words from your own lips.  There is something more.”

“What more do you want of me?” asked Philip, in thick tones, leaning back exhausted in his chair.

“My father’s freedom and safety,” answered Dolores.  “I must have an order for his instant release.  He can hardly have reached his prison yet.  Send for him.  Let him come here at once, as a free man.”

“That is impossible,” replied Philip.  “He has confessed the deed before the whole court—­he cannot possibly be set at liberty without a trial.  You forget what you are asking—­indeed you forget yourself altogether too much.”