There was a sound of opening gates, followed by footsteps--voices--cries.
Gonsalvo was the first to understand all. "The Alguazils of the Holy Office!" he exclaimed.
"I am lost!" cried Carlos, large drops gathering on his brow.
"Conceal yourself," said Gonsalvo; but he knew his words were vain. Already his quick ear had caught the sound of his cousin's name; and already footsteps were on the stairs.
Carlos glanced round the room. For a moment his eye rested on the window, eighty feet above the ground. Better spring from it and perish! No, that would be self-murder. In God's name he would await them manfully.
"You will be searched," Gonsalvo whispered hurriedly; "have you aught about your person that may add to your danger?"
Carlos drew from its place of concealment the heroic Juliano's treasured gift.
"I will hide it," said his cousin; and taking it hastily, he slipped it beneath his inner vest, where it lay in strange neighbourhood with a small, exquisitely tempered poniard, destined never to be used.
The torch-light within, perhaps the voices, guided the Alguazils to that room. A hand was placed on the door. "They are coming, Don Carlos," cried Gonsalvo; "I am thy murderer."
"No--no fault of thine. Always remember that," said Carlos, in his sharpest anguish generous still. Then for one brief moment, that seemed an age, he was deaf to all outward things. Afterwards he was himself again.