“That was wise of him.”  He spoke faintly still, and when he opened his eyes, the room swam with him.  “And then?”

“Then I told her what had happened at court; I had heard everything from the gallery.  And Dolores went down alone.  I could not understand what she was going to do, but she is trying to save our father.”

“Your father!” Don John looked at her in surprise, forgetting his hurt, but it was as if some one had struck his head again, and he closed his eyes.  “What has happened?” he asked faintly.  “Try and tell me.  I do not understand.”

“My father thought he had killed you,” answered Inez, in surprise.  “He came into the great hall when the King was there, and he cried out in a loud voice that he had killed you, unarmed.”

“Your father?” He forgot his suffering altogether now.  “Your father was not even in the room when—­when I fell!  And did the King say nothing?  Tell me quickly!”

“There was a great uproar, and I ran away to find Dolores.  I do not know what happened afterwards.”

Don John turned painfully in his chair and lifted his hand to the back of his head.  But he said nothing at first, for he was beginning to understand, and he would not betray the secret of his accident even to Inez.

“I knew he could not have done it!  I thought he was mad—­he most have been!  But I also thought your Highness was dead.”

“Dear child!” Don John’s voice was very kind.  “You brought me to life.  Your father was not here.  It was some one else who hurt me.  Do you think you could find Dolores or send some one to tell her—­to tell every one that I am alive?  Say that I had a bad fall and was stunned for a while.  Never mind the scratch—­it is nothing—­do not speak of it.  If you could find Adonis, he could go.”

He groaned now, for the pain of speaking was almost intolerable.  Inez put out her hand towards him.

“Does it hurt very much?” she asked, with a sort of pathetic, childlike sympathy.

“Yes, my head hurts, but I shall not faint.  There is something to drink by the bed, I think—­on this side.  If you could only find it.  I cannot walk there yet, I am so giddy.”

“Some one is coming!” exclaimed Inez, instead of answering him.  “I hear some one on the terrace.  Hark!” she listened with bent head.  “It is Adonis.  I know his step.  There he is!”

Almost as she spoke the last words the dwarf was in the doorway.  He stood still, transfixed with astonishment.

“Mercy of heaven!” he exclaimed devoutly.  “His Highness is alive after all!”

“Yes,” said Inez, in a glad tone.  “The Prince was only stunned by the fall.  Go and tell Dolores—­go out and tell every one—­bring every one here to me!”

“No!” cried Don John.  “Try and bring Dona Dolores alone, and let no one else know.  The rest can wait.”

“But your Highness needs a physician,” protested the dwarf, not yet recovered from his astonishment.  “Your Highness is wounded, and must therefore be bled at once.  I will call the Doctor Galdos—­”