In the Palace of the King | Page 3

fragments, to give to the man
she loved, to slip into his hand at the first brief meeting or to drop at his
feet in her glove, or even, perhaps, to pass to him by the blind girl's
quick fingers. For Inez helped the lovers always, and Don John was
very gentle with her, talking with her when he could, and even leading
her sometimes when she was in a room she did not know. Dolores
knew that she could only hope to exchange a word with him when he
came back, and that the terrace was bleak and wet now, and the roses
withered, and that her father feared for her, and might do some
desperate thing if he found her lover talking with her where no one
could see or hear. For old Mendoza knew the world and the court, and
he foresaw that sooner or later some royal marriage would be made for
Don John of Austria, and that even if Dolores were married to him,
some tortuous means would be found to annul her marriage, whereby a

great shame would darken his house. Moreover, he was the King's man,
devoted to Philip body and soul, as his sovereign, ready to give his life
ten times for his sovereign's word, and thinking it treason to doubt a
royal thought or motive. He was a rigid old man, a Spaniard of Spain's
great days, fearless, proud, intolerant, making Spain's honour his idol,
capable of gentleness only to his children, and loving them dearly, but
with that sort of severity and hardness in all questions where his
authority was concerned which can make a father's true affection the
most intolerable burden to a girl of heart, and which, where a son is its
object, leads sooner or later to fierce quarrels and lifelong estrangement.
And so it had happened now. For the two girls had a brother much
older than they, Rodrigo; and he had borne to be treated like a boy until
he could bear no more, and then he had left his father's house in anger
to find out his own fortune in the world, as many did in his day,--a poor
gentleman seeking distinction in an army of men as brave as himself,
and as keen to win honour on every field. Then, as if to oppose his
father in everything, he had attached himself to Don John, and was
spoken of as the latter's friend, and Mendoza feared lest his son should
help Don John to a marriage with Dolores. But in this he was mistaken,
for Rodrigo was as keen, as much a Spaniard, and as much devoted to
the honour of his name as his father could be; and though he looked
upon Don John as the very ideal of what a soldier and a prince should
be, he would have cut off his own right hand rather than let it give his
leader the letter Dolores had been writing so long; and she knew this
and feared her brother, and tried to keep her secret from him.
Inez knew all, and she also was afraid of Rodrigo and of her father,
both for her sister's sake and her own. So, in that divided house, the
father was against the son, and the daughters were allied against them
both, not in hatred, but in terror and because of Dolores' great love for
Don John of Austria.
As they sat at the table it began to rain again, and the big drops beat
against the windows furiously for a few minutes. The panes were round
and heavy, and of a greenish yellow colour, made of blown glass, each
with a sort of knob in the middle, where the iron blowpipe had been
separated from the hot mass. It was impossible to see through them at

all distinctly, and when the sky was dark with rain they admitted only a
lurid glare into the room, which grew cold and colourless again when
the rain ceased. Inez had been sitting motionless a long time, her elbow
on the table, her chin resting upon her loosely clasped white hands, her
blind face turned upward, listening to the turning of the pages and to
the occasional scratching of her sister's pen. She sighed, moved, and let
her hands fall upon the table before her in a helpless, half despairing
way, as she leaned back in the big carved chair. Dolores looked up at
once, for she was used to helping her sister in her slightest needs and to
giving her a ready sympathy in every mood.
"What is it?" she asked quickly. "Do you want anything, dear?"
"Have you almost finished?"
The girl's voice would almost have told that she was blind. It was sweet
and low, but it lacked