Maria Consuelo spoke quietly, but her fingers trembled nervously and she watched Orsino's face in evident distress and anxiety. As for Orsino, he was almost dumb with amazement.
"Spicca! Spicca your father!" he repeated indistinctly.
In all his many speculations as to the tie which existed between Maria Consuelo and the old duellist, he had never thought of this one.
"Then you never suspected it?" asked Maria Consuelo.
"How should I? And your own father killed your husband—good Heavens! What a story!"
"You know now. You see for yourself how impossible it is that I should marry you."
In his excitement Orsino had risen and was pacing the room. He scarcely heard her last words, and did not say anything in reply. Maria Consuelo lay quite still upon the lounge, her hands clasped tightly together and straining upon each other.
"You see it all now," she said again. This time his attention was arrested and he stopped before her.
"Yes. I see what you mean. But I do not see it as you see it. I do not see that any of these things you have told me need hinder our marriage."
Maria Consuelo did not move, but her expression changed. The light stole slowly into her face and lingered there, not driving away the sadness but illuminating it.