"None."
"But your reason? By God's death, why do you tell me these things? If thou art base enough to fall, why not base enough to conceal?"
"I could not do so, your Excellency. I am not master of myself when she is by—'tis only when away from her I see things in their proper light. She blinds me. No, sir," cried the unhappy Alvarado, seeing a look of contempt on the grim face of the old general, "I do not urge this in defense, but you wanted explanation."
"Nothing can explain the falsehood of a gentleman, the betrayal of a friend, the treachery of a soldier."
"Nothing—hence I am here."
"Perhaps I have estimated you too highly," went on the old man musingly. "I had hoped you were gentle—but base blood must run in your veins."
"It may be," answered the young man brokenly, and then he added, as one detail not yet told, "I have found my mother, sir."
"Thy mother? What is her condition?" cried the Viceroy, in curious and interested surprise that made him forget his wrath and contempt for the moment.
"She was an abbess of our Holy Church. She died upon the sands of La Guayra by her own hand rather than surrender her honor or lend aid to the sack of the town."
"That was noble," interrupted the old de Lara. "I may be mistaken after all. Yet 'twere well she died, for she will not see——"