Philip. I cannot guess what you know or do not know.
Dona Dolores. I know the truth.
Philip. I wish I did. Tell me; you may be able to help me sift it. What do you know?
Dona Dolores. I was close behind the door. I heard every word. I heard your sword drawn and I heard Don John fall, and then it was some time before I heard my father’s voice taking the blame upon himself lest it should be said that a king had murdered his own brother in his room unarmed. Is that the truth, or not? I came in and found him dead. He was unarmed, murdered without a chance for his life, and my father took the blame to save you from the monstrous accusation. Confess that what I say is true. I am a Spanish woman and would not see my country branded before the world with the shame of your royal murders; and if you will confess and save my father I will keep your secret for my country’s sake. If you will not, by the God that made you I will tell all Spain what you are, and the men who loved Don John of Austria will rise and take your blood for his blood, though it be blood royal, and you shall die as you killed, like the coward you are. You will not? Then—
Philip. No, No! Stay here; you must not go. What do you want me to say?
Dona Dolores. Say, “You have spoken the truth.”
Philip. Stay—yes—it is true—I did it—for Spain—For God’s mercy do not betray me.
Dona Dolores. That is not all. That was for me, that I might hear the words from your own lips.
Philip. What more do you want of me?