When Dolores knew that she was alone, she drew back from the window and shut it.  It had served its purpose as a sort of refuge from her father, and the night air was cold.  She sat down to think, and being in a somewhat desperate mood, she smiled at the idea of being locked into her room, supperless, like a naughty child.  But her face grew grave instantly as she tried to discover some means of escape.  Inez was certainly not in the apartment—­she must have gone to the other end of the palace, on pretence of seeing one of the court ladies, but really in the hope of giving Don John the letter.  It was more than probable that she would not be allowed to enter when she came back, for Mendoza would distrust her.  That meant that Dolores could have no communication with any one outside her rooms during the evening and night, and she knew her father too well to doubt that he would send her to Las Huelgas in the morning, as he had sworn to do.  Possibly he would let her serving-woman come to her to prepare what she needed for the journey, but even that was unlikely, for he would suspect everybody.

The situation looked hopeless, and the girl’s face grew slowly pale as she realized that after all she might not even exchange a word with Don John before going to the convent—­she might not even be able to tell him whither they were sending her, and Mendoza might keep the secret for years—­and she would never be allowed to write, of course.

She heard the further door opened again, the bolt running back with a sharp noise.  Then she heard her father’s footsteps and his voice calling to Inez, as he went from room to room.  But there was no answer, and presently he went away, bolting the door a second time.  There could be no more doubt about it now.  Dolores was quite alone.  Her heart beat heavily and slowly.  But it was not over yet.  Again the bolt slipped in the outer hall, and again she heard the heavy steps.  They came straight towards the door.  He had perhaps changed his mind, or he had something more to say; she held her breath, but he did not come in.  As if to make doubly sure, he bolted her into the little room, crossed the hall a last time, and bolted it for the night, perfectly certain that Dolores was safely shut off from the outer world.

For some minutes she sat quite still, profoundly disturbed, and utterly unable to find any way out of her difficulty, which was, indeed, that she was in a very secure prison.

Then again there was a sound at the door, but very soft this time, not half as loud in her ears as the beating of her own heart.  There was something ghostly in it, for she had heard no footsteps.  The bolt moved very slowly and gently—­she had to strain her ears to hear it move.  The sound ceased, and another followed it—­that of the door being cautiously opened.  A moment later Inez was in the room—­turning her head anxiously from side to side to hear Dolores’ breathing, and so to find out where she was.  Then as Dolores rose, the blind girl put her finger to her lips, and felt for her sister’s hand.