The smile died away again.
"And yet I am glad I did it," he added, a moment later. "Perhaps it was all a mistake—but I did my best."
"You did indeed," Orsino answered gravely.
He meant what he said, though he felt that it had indeed been all a mistake, as Spicca suggested. The young face was very thoughtful. Spicca little knew how hard his last cynicism hit the man beside him, for whose freedom and safety the woman of whom Spicca was thinking had sacrificed so very much. He would die without knowing that.
The door opened softly and a woman's light footstep was on the threshold. Maria Consuelo came silently and swiftly forward with outstretched hands that had clasped the dying man's almost before Orsino realised that it was she herself. She fell on her knees beside the bed and pressed the powerless cold fingers to her forehead.
Spicca started and for one moment raised his head from the pillow. It fell back almost instantly. A look of supreme happiness flashed over the deathly features, followed by an expression of pain.
"Why did you marry him?" he asked in tones so loud that Orsino started, and Maria Consuelo looked up with streaming eyes.
She did not answer, but tried to soothe him, rising and caressing his hand, and smoothing his pillows.
"Tell me why you married him!" he cried again. "I am dying—I must know!"
She bent down very low and whispered into his ear. He shook his head impatiently.