"Worth it? My God! What are you not worth?"
There was such a ring of agony and struggling in his voice that Dolores forgot herself and stood up listening, suddenly filled with anxiety for him again. He was surely going mad. She would have gone to him again, forgetting her terror that was barely past, the woman's instinct to help the suffering man overruling everything else. It was for his sake that she stayed where she was, lest if she touched him he should lose his senses altogether.
"Oh, there is one place, where I am master and lord!" he was saying. "There is one thing to do--one thing--"
"What is the thing?" she asked very gently. "Why are you suffering so? Where is the place?"
He turned suddenly, as he would have turned in his saddle in battle at a trumpet call, straight and strong, with fixed eyes and set lips, that spoke deliberately.
"There is Granada," he said. "Do you understand now?"
"No," she answered timidly. "I do not understand. Granada? Why there? It is so far away--"
He laughed harshly.
"You do not understand? Yes, Granada is far away--far enough to be another kingdom--so far that John of Austria is master there--so far that with his army at his back he can be not only its master, but its King? Do you understand now? Do you see what I will do for your sake?"
He made one step towards her, and she was very white.