"Go away," she cried, "I hate you!"
"No," he said. "I won't go away till you are less unhappy, and till you forgive me."
His gentle compulsion mastered her. She allowed him to lead her back to the boulder. This time he sat down at her side. As he did so she bent her head. Tears came into her eyes. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands and wept without restraint.
Antonio, sitting so near to her that he could have encircled her with his arm, suffered as bitterly as Isabel. The momentary temptation to trample on his vow no longer had the slightest power over him; but his whole heart yearned to end her grief, or, at the least, to comfort her. She was so like a sobbing, heartbroken child that it seemed inhuman to sit beside her without drawing her head to his shoulder or even stroking her hands. Yet he knew that it would be more inhuman still to rise up and move away.
She overcame her sobs at last; and, turning upon him eyes like April skies, she demanded abruptly:
"This Bride? What is she like?"
"Let us not talk of her now," said Antonio, as soon as he could command his words. "Surely it is better not."
"Is she like Margarida?"
"No."
"Prettier?"