The thought was worthy of her, but the sacrifice was great even then.

She had not believed that the world still held anything with which she would not willingly part, but there was one thing yet.

It might be taken from her, though her father had slain Don John of Austria to save it, and was to die for it himself.

She could give it before she could be robbed of it, perhaps, and it might buy his life.

She could still forfeit her good name of her own free will, and call herself what she was not.