of wood, to lose all the moments that might pass before the King chose to come.  Another hour might pass.  No one could even tell whether he would come at all after he had consulted with Antonio Perez.  The skilful favourite desired a quarrel between his master and Don John with all his heart, but he was not ready for it yet.  He must have possession of Dolores first and hide her safely; and when the quarrel came, Don John should believe that the King had stolen her and imprisoned her, and that she was treated ill; and for the woman he loved, Don John would tear down the walls of Madrid, if need be, and if at the last he found her dead, there would be no harm done, thought Perez, and Don John would hate his brother even to death, and all Spain would cry out in sympathy and horror.  But all this Dolores could neither know nor even suspect.  She only felt sure that the King and Perez were even now consulting together to hinder her marriage with Don John, and that Perez might persuade the King not to see his brother that night.

It was almost intolerable to think that she might wait there for hours, wasting the minutes for which she would have given drops of blood.  Surely they both were overcautious.  The door could be left open, so that they could talk, and at the first sound without, she could lock it again and sit down.  That would be quite as safe.

She rose and was almost in the act of opening the door again when she stopped and hesitated.  It was possible that at any moment the King might be at the door; for though she could hear every sound that came from the next room, the thick curtains that hid the window effectually shut out all sound from without.  It struck her that she could go to the window, however, and look out.  Yet a ray of light might betray her presence in the room to any one outside, and if she drew aside the curtain the light would shine out upon the terrace.  She listened at Don John’s door, and presently she heard him turn her letter in his hand, and all her heart went out to him, and she stood noiselessly kissing the panels and saying over again in her heart that she loved him more than any words could tell.  If she could only see out of the window and assure herself that no one was coming yet, there would be time to go to him again, for one moment only, and say the words once more.

Then she sat down and told herself how foolish she was.  She had been separated from him for many long and empty months, and now she had been with him and talked long with him twice in leas than three hours, and yet she could not bear that he should be out of her sight five minutes without wishing to risk everything to see him again.  She tried to laugh at herself, repeating over and over again that she was very, very foolish, and that she should have a just contempt for any woman who could be as foolish as she.  For some moments she sat still, staring at the wall.