"Can you explain the King's sudden favour?" I paused, and then took the plunge.
"Yes. I took His Majesty this afternoon from the hands of the men who were carrying him off."
"It is enough. I will go, if you please," she said, quietly.
"You will step straight into danger," I cried.
"I would rather be in danger where you are not, than safe where you are, Lord Glisfoyle." The cold, cutting words struck me to the heart.
"That is very hard to hear, Sarita."
"It is harder to say, but it is no less than the truth."
"Yet, I will not believe it. Your heart will not say it. You know how I love you. You know I have not a thought or care but for your good, your safety, your happiness. You have confessed you love me; I know you do. I know that it was your love for me that prompted you just now to think of my danger and consent to leave Madrid. Even now I can read it in your eyes, for all the coldness you would try to force into them. You shall not go like this. I swear to God you shall not. If you speak of truth and mean that we must part, there must be at least some sign from you of that other truth—the heart truth—that you love me, Sarita. I will not let you go else."
She was moved by my passion, although she would not let her own respond to it. But the struggle kept her silent a moment. Then she lifted her head and looked me calmly and still even coldly in the eyes.
"Do you think I would let my love weigh against treachery to the cause of my country that is more to me than life itself? Am I so poor a thing as that? If you wish to give me pain you are causing it. I love you; I know, as you know. I was not ashamed of it; even if I now feel shame that I loved one who could deal Spain this blow. But I shall live it down—I will. But you and I must not meet again." Her firmness began to give out then, and breaking slightly, she said in a quicker tone of agitation, "Let me go now. Nay, I will go."