"I have something more to say," replied Taquisara.
"Yes. There may be more to be said, that may be better not said. I know what it is. You once accused me of playing with him. You said it rudely and roughly, but I have forgiven you for saying it. You would have more reason for saying it now than you had then, and I should be less angry. You have a better right to speak, and I have less right to defend myself. But I will speak for you. I am not afraid."
"No. That is the last thing any one could say of you!"
"Or of you, perhaps," she said, more kindly, and it was the first word of appreciation she had ever given him. "We are neither of us cowards. That is why I am willing to tell you what I think of myself. It is almost what you think of me—that I have done a thousand things which might make Don Gianluca, and his father and mother, too, believe that if he recovers I mean to marry him. But you think me a heartless woman. I am not. There are things which you neither know, nor could understand if you knew them. I will ask you only one question. Is there any imaginable reason why I should wish to hurt him?"
"None that I can guess," answered Taquisara, looking into her eyes.
"Then you must understand what I have done. Out of too much friendship I have made a great mistake. What you can never understand, I suppose, is, that I can feel for him what you do—just that, and no more—or more of that, perhaps, and nothing else. A woman can be a man's friend, as well as a man can. I never played with him—as you call it—though you have enough right to say it. I told him from the first that I could never marry him. I told him so again on the day when we had first fenced, and you went to walk after the rain."
"That is why he has been worse, since then. It began that very evening."
"Yes. I know it. Do you think I do not reproach myself for having gone so far that I had to speak? Indeed, indeed, I do, more than you know. But what am I to do? He cannot go away, ill as he is. I cannot leave you all here. And then, I would not leave him, if I could. He is more to me than I can ever tell you—I would give my right hand for his life. Would you have me marry him, knowing that I can never love him? Is that what you would have me do?"
Taquisara was silent for a moment, looking earnestly at her, and he bit his lip a little.
"Yes," he said. "That is what you should do. It is all you can do, to try and save his life."