cold. Dolores' grey eyes grew wide and bright as she gazed fixedly
towards the city where the avenue that led to the palace began, but
Inez, bending a little, turned her ear in the same direction, as if she
could not bear to lose a single note of the music that told her how Don
John of Austria had come home in triumph, safe and whole, from his long
campaign in the south.

Slowly it came nearer, strain upon strain, each more clear and loud and
full of rejoicing. At first only the high-pitched clarions had sent
their call to the window, but now the less shrill trumpets made rich
harmonies to the melody, and the deep bass horns gave the marching time
to the rest, in short full blasts that set the whole air shaking as with
little peak of thunder. Below, the mounted officers gave orders,
exchanged short phrases, cantered to their places, and came back again a
moment later to make some final arrangement--their splendid gold-inlaid
corslets and the rich caparisons of their horses looking like great
pieces of jewelry that moved hither and thither in the thin grey mist,
while the dark red and yellow uniforms of the household guards
surrounded the square on three sides with broad bands of colour. Dolores
could see her father, who commanded them and to whom the officers came
for orders, sitting motionless and erect on his big black horse--a stern
figure, with close-cut grey beard, clad all in black saving his heavily
gilded breastplate and the silk sash he wore across it from shoulder to
sword knot. She shrank back a little, for she would not have let him see
her looking down from an upper window to welcome the returning visitor.

"What is it? Do you see him? Is he there?" Inez asked the questions in a
breath, as she heard her sister move.

"No--our father is below on his horse. He must not see us." And she