"With them, even more painful methods are often employed.

Witnesses may be men or women, you know, my dear brother--" he pronounced the word with a sneer--"and among the many ladies of your acquaintance--" "There are very few." "It will be the easier to find the two or three, or perhaps the only one, whom it will be necessary to interrogate--in your presence, most probably, and by torture." "I was right to call you a coward," said Don John, slowly turning pale till his face was almost as white as the white silks and satins of his doublet.
"Will you give me the letter you were reading when I came here ?" "No." "Not to save yourself from the executioner's hands ?" "No." "Not to save--" Philip paused, and a frightful stare of hatred fixed his eyes on his brother.

"Will you give me that letter to save Dolores de Mendoza from being torn piecemeal ?" "Coward!" By instinct Don John's hand went to the hilt of his sheathed sword this time, as he cried out in rage, and sprang forward.

Even then he would have remembered the promise he had given and would not have raised his hand to strike.

But the first movement was enough, and Philip drew his rapier in a flash of light, fearing for his life.