seeing her sister, conscious only that Don John was in danger and that
she could not warn him to be on his guard. She had not believed herself
when she had told her father that he would not dare to lift his hand
against the King's half brother. She had said the words to give herself
courage, and perhaps in a rush of certainty that the man she loved was a
match for other men, hand to hand, and something more. It was different
now. Little as she yet knew of human nature, she guessed without
reasoning that a man who has been angry, who has wavered and given way
to what he believes to be weakness, and whose anger has then burst out
again, is much more dangerous than before, because his wrath is no
longer roused against another only, but also against himself. More
follies and crimes have been committed in that second tide of passion
than under a first impulse. Even if Mendoza had not fully meant what he
had said the first time, he had meant it all, and more, when he had last
spoken. Once more the vision of fear rose before Dolores' eyes, nobler
now; because it was fear for another and not for herself, but therefore
also harder to conquer.

Inez had ceased from sobbing now, and was sitting quietly in her
accustomed seat, in that attitude of concentrated expectancy of sounds
which is so natural to the blind, that one can almost recognize
blindness by the position of the head and body without seeing the face.
The blind rarely lean back in a chair; more often the body is quite
upright, or bent a little forward, the face is slightly turned up when
there is total silence, often turned down when a sound is already heard
distinctly; the knees are hardly ever crossed, the hands are seldom
folded together, but are generally spread out, as if ready to help the
hearing by the sense of touch--the lips are slightly parted, for the
blind know that they hear by the mouth as well as with their ears--the
expression of the face is one of expectation and extreme attention,