Rodrigo, who had fought by his side at Granada, had begged to be left behind with the garrison, in order that he might not be forced to meet his father.  Dona Magdalena Quixada, Don John’s adoptive mother, was far away at Villagarcia.  The Duchess Alvarez, though fond of Dolores, was Mistress of the Robes to the young Queen, and it was not to be hoped nor expected that she should risk the danger of utter ruin and disgrace if it were discovered that she had hidden the girl against the King’s wishes.  Yet it was absolutely necessary that Dolores should be safely hidden within an hour, and that she should be got out of the palace before morning, and if possible conveyed to Villagarcia.  Don John saw in a moment that there was no one to whom he could turn.

Again he took Dolores’ hand in his, but with a sort of gravity and protecting authority that had not been in his touch the first time.  Moreover, he did not kiss her fingers now, and he resolutely looked at the wall opposite him.  Then, in a low and quiet voice, he laid the situation before her, while she anxiously listened.

“You see,” he said at last, “there is only one way left.  Dolores, do you altogether trust me?”

She started a little, and her fingers pressed his hand suddenly.

“Trust you?  Ah, with all my soul!”

“Think well before you answer,” he said.  “You do not quite understand—­it is a little hard to put it clearly, but I must.  I know you trust me in many ways, to love you faithfully always, to speak truth to you always, to defend you always, to help you with my life when you shall be in need.  You know that I love you so, as you love me.  Have we not often said it?  You wrote it in your letter, too—­ah, dear, I thank you for that.  Yes, I have read it—­I have it here, near my heart, and I shall read it again before I sleep—­”

Without a word, and still listening, she bent down and pressed her lips to the place where her letter lay.  He touched her hair with his lips and went on speaking, as she leaned back against the wall again.

“You must trust me even more than that, my beloved,” he said.  “To save you, you must be hidden by some one whom I myself can trust—­and for such a matter there is no one in the palace nor in all Madrid—­no one to whom I can turn and know that you will be safe—­not one human being, except myself.”

“Except yourself!” Dolores loved the words, and gently pressed his hand.

“I thank you, dearest heart—­but do you know what that means?  Do you understand that I must hide you myself, in my own apartments, and keep you there until I can take you out of the palace, before morning?”

She was silent for a few moments, turning her face away from him.  His heart sank.

“No, dear,” he said sadly, “you do not trust me enough for that—­I see it—­what woman could?”

Her hand trembled and started in his, then pressed it hard, and she turned her face quite to him.