The words of refusal to any such obedience as that rose to the girl’s lips, ready and sharp.  But she would not speak them this time, lest more angry words should answer hers.  She looked straight at her father’s eyes, holding her head proudly high for a moment.  Then, smiling at the impossibility of what he asked, she turned from him and went to the window in silence.  She opened it wide, leaned upon the stone sill and looked out.  The moon had risen much higher now, and the court was white.

She had meant to cut short the discussion without rousing anger again, but she could have taken no worse way to destroy whatever was left of her father’s kindlier mood.  He did not raise his voice now, as he followed her and spoke.

“You refuse to do that?” he said, with an already ominous interrogation in his tone.

“You ask the impossible,” she answered, without looking round.  “I have not refused, for I have no will in this, no choice.  You can do what you please with me, for you have power over my outward life—­and if you lacked it, the King would help you.  But you have no power beyond that, neither over my heart nor over my soul.  I love him—­I have loved him long, and I shall love him till I die, and beyond that, forever and ever, beyond everything—­beyond the great to-morrow of God’s last judgment!  How can I put him out of my thoughts, then?  It is madness to ask it of me.”

She paused a moment, while he stood behind her, getting his teeth and slowly grinding the heel of one heavy boot on the pavement.

“And as for threatening me,” she continued, “you will not kill Don John, nor even try to kill him, for he is the King’s brother.  If I can see him this evening, I will—­and there will be no risk for him.  You would not murder him by stealth, I suppose?  No!  Then you will not attack him at all, and if I can see him, I will—­I tell you so, frankly.  To-morrow or the next day, when the festivities they have for him are over, and you yourself are at liberty, take me to Las Huelgas, if you will, and with as little scandal as possible.  But when I am there, set a strong guard of armed men to keep me, for I shall escape unless you do.  And I shall go to Don John.  That is all I have to say.  That is my last word.”

“I gave you mine, and it was my word of honour,” said Mendoza.  “If Don John tries to enter here, to see you, I will kill him.  To-morrow, you shall go to Las Huelgas.”

Dolores made no answer and did not even turn her head.  He left her and went out.  She heard his heavy tread in the hall beyond, and she heard a bolt slipped at the further door.  She was imprisoned for the night, for the entrance her father had fastened was the one which cut off the portion of the apartment in which the sisters lived from the smaller part which he had reserved for himself.  These rooms, from which there was no other exit, opened, like the sitting-room, upon the same hall.