A minute passed, and yet neither he nor she could speak.  She stood with her hands clasped round his neck, and her head resting on his breast just below the shoulder, as if she were saying tender words to the heart she heard beating so loud through the soft black velvet.  She knew that it had never beaten in battle as it was beating now, and she loved it because it knew her and welcomed her; but her own stood still, and now and then it fluttered wildly, like a strong young bird in a barred cage, and then was quite still again.  Bending his face a little, he softly kissed her hair again and again, till at last the kisses formed themselves into syllables and words, which she felt rather than heard.

“God in heaven, how I love you—­heart of my heart—­life of my life—­love of my soul!”

And again he repeated the same words, and many more like them, with little change, because at that moment he had neither thought nor care for anything else in the world, not for life nor death nor kingdom nor glory, in comparison with the woman he loved.  He could not hear her answers, for she spoke without words to his heart, hiding her face where she heard it throbbing, while her lips pressed many kisses on the velvet.

Then, as thought returned, and the first thought was for him, she drew back a little with a quick movement, and looked up to him with frightened and imploring eyes.

“We must go!” she cried anxiously, in a very low voice.  “We cannot stay here.  My father is very angry—­he swore on his word of honour that he would kill you if you tried to see me to-night!”

Don John laughed gently, and his eyes brightened.  Before she could speak again, he held her close once more, and his kisses were on her cheeks and her eyes, on her forehead and on her hair, and then again upon her lips, till they would have hurt her if she had not loved them so, and given back every one.  Then she struggled again, and he loosed his hold.

“It is death to stay here,” she said very earnestly.

“It is worse than death to leave you,” he answered.  “And I will not,” he added an instant later, “neither for the King, nor for your father, nor for any royal marriage they may try to force upon me.”

She looked into his eyes for a moment, before she spoke, and there was deep and true trust in her own.

“Then you must save me,” she said quietly.  “He has vowed that I shall be sent to the convent of Las Huelgas to-morrow morning.  He locked me into the inner room, but Inez helped me to dress, and I got out under her cloak.”

She told him in a few words what she had done and had meant to do, in order to see him, and how she had taken his step for her father’s.  He listened gravely, and she saw his face harden slowly in an expression she had scarcely ever seen there.  When she had finished her story he was silent for a moment.