The agonized cry that had been first heard in the hall had come from Inez's lips.

When she had fled from her father, she had regained her hiding-place in the gallery above the throne room.

She would not go to her own room, for she felt that rest was out of the question while Dolores was in such danger; and yet there would have been no object in going to Don John's door again, to risk being caught by her father or met by the King himself.

She had therefore determined to let an hour pass before attempting another move.

So she slipped into the gallery again, and sat upon the little wooden bench that had been made for the Moorish women in old times; and she listened to the music and the sound of the dancers' feet far below, and to the hum of voices, in which she often distinguished the name of Don John.