"Both these statements are perfectly true at all events. Is that all you know?"
"All? Yes—all of importance. But there is no time to be lost. No one but you can prevent her from leaving Rome to-night. You must help me quickly."
Spicca looked gravely at Orsino and shook his head. The light that had shone in his eyes for a moment was gone, and he was again his habitual, melancholy, indifferent self.
"I cannot stop her," he said, almost listlessly.
"But you can—you will, you must!" cried Orsino laying a hand on the old man's thin arm. "She must not go—"
"Better that she should, after all. Of what use is it for her to stay? She is quite right. You cannot marry her."
"Cannot marry her? Why not? It is not long since you told me very plainly that you wished I would marry her. You have changed your mind very suddenly, it seems to me, and I would like to know why. Do you remember all you said to me?"
"Yes, and I was in earnest, as I am now. And I was wrong in telling you what I thought at the time."
"At the time! How can matters have changed so suddenly?"
"I do not say that matters have changed. I have. That is the important thing. I remember the occasion of our conversation very well. Madame d'Aranjuez had been rather abrupt with, me, and you and I went away together. I forgave her easily enough, for I saw that she was unhappy—then I thought how different her life might be if she were married to you. I also wished to convey to you a warning, and it did not strike me that you would ever seriously contemplate such a marriage."