nd Dolores to a convent, under an assumed name, and
take her out again before she was found, and marry her. But that would
be hard, too, for no places were more directly under the sovereign's
control than convents and monasteries. Somewhere she must go, for she
could not possibly remain concealed in his study more than three or four
hours.

Suddenly he fancied that she might be in danger even now. The woman who
had brought the first letter had of course left the window unfastened.
She, or the King, or any one, might get in by that way, and Dolores was
alone. They might have taken her away already. He cursed himself for not
having looked to see that the window was bolted. The man who had won
great battles felt a chill at his heart, and he walked at the best of
his speed, careless whether he met any one or not. But no place is more
deserted than the more distant parts of a royal palace when there is a
great assembly in the state apartments. He met no one on his way, and
entered his own door alone. Ten minutes had not elapsed since the King
had left the supper-room, and it was almost at that moment that Dona Ana
met Mendoza.

Dolores started to her feet as she heard his step in the next room and
then the key in the lock, and as he entered her hands clasped themselves
round his neck, and her eyes looked into his. He was very pale when he
saw her at last, for the belief that she had been stolen away had grown
with his speed, till it was an intolerable certainty.

"What is it? What has happened?" she cried anxiously. "Why are you so
white? Are you ill?"

"I was frightened," he said simply. "I was afraid you were gone. Look
here!"

He led her to the window, and drew the curtain to one side. The cool air
rushed in, for the bolts were unfastened, and the window was ajar. He
closed it and fastened it securely, and they both came back.

"The woman got out that way," he said, in explanation. "I understand it
all now--and some one might have come back."

He told her quietly what had happened, and showed her the letter, which
she read slowly to the end before she gave it back to him.

"Then the other was not a love letter, after all," she said, with a
little laugh that had more of relief in it than amusement, though she
did not know it herself.

"No," he answered gravely. "I wish I had read it. I should at least have
shut the window before leaving you!"

Careless of any danger to herself, she sat looking up into his anxio