The only thing quite clear was that Mendoza was to suffer, and seemed strangely determined to suffer, for what he had or had not done.

The dark shadow of the scaffold rose before Dolores' eyes.
It had seemed impossible that she could be made to bear more than she had borne that night, when she had fallen upon Don John's body to weep her heart out for her dead love.

But she saw that there was more to bear, and dimly she guessed that there might be something for her to do.
There was Inez first, and she must be cared for and placed in safety, for she was beside herself with grief.

It was only on that afternoon by the window that Dolores had guessed the blind girl's secret, which Inez herself hardly suspected even now, though she was half mad with grief and utterly broken-hearted.
Dolores felt almost helpless, but she understood that she and her sister were henceforth to be more really alone in what remained of life than if they had been orphans from their earliest childhood.

The vision of the convent, that had been unbearable but an hour since, held all her hope of peace and safety now, unless her father could be saved from his fate by some miracle of heaven.