He found Maria Consuelo looking pale and weary. She evidently had no intention of going out that day, for she wore a morning gown and was established upon a lounge with books and flowers beside her as though she did not mean to move. She was not reading, however. Orsino was startled by the sadness in her face.
She looked fixedly into his eyes as she gave him her hand, and he sat down beside her.
"I am glad you are come," she said at last, in a low voice. "I have been hoping all day that you would come early."
"I would have come this morning if I had dared," answered Orsino.
She looked at him again, and smiled faintly.
"I have a great deal to say to you," she began. Then she hesitated as though uncertain where to begin.
"And I—" Orsino tried to take her hand, but she withdrew it.
"Yes, but do not say it. At least, not now."
"Why not, dear one? May I not tell you how I love you? What is it, love? You are so sad to-day. Has anything happened?"
His voice grew soft and tender as he spoke, bending to her ear. She pushed him gently back.