troops have arrived after dark; they surround the town.”
“Well! What of that?”
“You are in danger, my dear master!” cries Gotor, clasping his hands and approaching nearer to the table at which Luna is seated. “You must instantly conceal yourself until you can escape. I have a disguise ready without.”
“Escape!” cries the constable, rising from his chair. “Never! I have lived in danger of my life for the last twenty years. I care not for the petty plots of traitors whom I will soon hang up as high as Haman.”
“But the king, my lord! The king—he has forsaken you. He sends these troops. I know it,” put in Morales, coming to the front in spite of the terror with which the constable inspires him. “Hearing the movement in the town, I have been down among the alguazils who accompany the troops. They say that their mission is to seize the High Constable and carry him to Valladolid a prisoner. Fly, my dear master! Let us die for you!” More eager than Gotor, the tears stream from Morales’s eyes as he dares to advance and touch the Conde on the arm.