When the soldiers had turned the corner and were out of sight, she ran back to the terrace and hid herself in the stone sentry-box just outside, still blushing and angry.  On the side of the box towards Don John’s apartment there was a small square window just at the height of her eyes, and she looked through it, sure that her face could not be seen from without.  She looked from mere curiosity, to see what sort of men the officers were, and Don John’s servants; for everything connected with him or belonging to him in any way interested her most intensely.  Two tall captains came out first, magnificent in polished breastplates with gold shoulder straps and sashes and gleaming basket-hilted swords, that stuck up behind them as their owners pressed down the hilts and strutted along, twisting their short black moustaches in the hope of meeting some court lady on their way.  Then another and older man passed, also in a soldier’s dress, but with bent head, apparently deep in thought.  After that no one came for some time—­then a servant, who pulled something out of his pocket and began to eat it, before he was in the corridor.

Then a woman came past the little window.  Dolores saw her as distinctly as she had seen the four men.  She came noiselessly and stealthily, putting down her foot delicately, like a cat.  She was a lady, and she wore a loose cloak that covered all her gown, and on her head a thick veil, drawn fourfold across her face.  Her gait told the girl that she was young and graceful—­something in the turn of the head made her sure that she was beautiful, too—­something in the whole figure and bearing was familiar.  The blood sank from Dolores’ cheeks, and she felt a chill slowly rising to her heart.  The lady entered the corridor and went on quickly, turned, and was out of sight.

Then all at once, Dolores laughed to herself, noiselessly, and was happy again, in spite of her danger.  There was nothing to disturb her, she reflected.  The terrace was long, there were doubtless other apartments beyond Don John’s, though she had not known it.  The lady had indeed walked cautiously, but it might well be that she had reasons for not being seen there, and that the further rooms were not hers.  The Alcazar was only an old Moorish castle, after all, restored and irregularly enlarged, and altogether very awkwardly built, so that many of the apartments could only be reached by crossing open terraces.

When Don John came to get her in the sentry-box, Dolores’ momentary doubt was gone, though not all her curiosity.  She smiled as she came out of her hiding-place and met his eyes—­clear and true as her own.  She even hated herself for having thought that the lady could have come from his apartment at all.  The light was streaming from his open door as he led her quickly towards it.  There were three windows beyond it, and there the terrace ended.  She looked at the front as they were passing, and counted again three windows between the open door and the corner where the sentry-box stood.