Netherlanders as heretics--had deluded the king's mind with magic arts,
enslaved his soul and bound him with fetters forged by the Prince of
Evil.

His pen was swift, and that very evening he went to the palace of the
Inquisition, with the documents and indictment, but was detained there
a long time the following day, to have his verbal deposition recorded.
When he left the gloomy building, he was animated with the joyous
conviction that he had not toiled in vain, and that the Netherlander
was a lost man.

Preparations for departure were secretly made in the painter's rooms in
the Alcazar during the afternoon. Moor was full of anxiety, for one of
the royal lackeys, who was greatly devoted to him, had told him that a
disguised emissary of the Dominicans--he knew him well--had come to the
door of the studio, and talked there with one of the French servants.
This meant as imminent peril as fire under the roof, water rising in the
hold of a ship, or the plague in the house.

Sophonisba had told him that he would hear from her that day, but the sun
was already low in the heavens, and neither she herself nor any message
had arrived.

He tried to paint, and finding the attempt useless, gazed into the garden
and at the distant chain of the Guadarrama mountains; but to-day he
remained unmoved by the delicate violet-blue mist that floated around the
bare, naked peaks of the chain.

It was wrath and impatience, mingled with bitter disappointment, that
roused the tumult in his soul, not merely the dread of torture and death.