"So it is as I might have known. It was only the pearls you wanted. It might have been an Indian slave who brought them to you."
She took the sack from his hand and poured back the pearls. Then she laid the sack on the floor and stood up. She was no longer pale, and her eyes shone brilliantly in the darkening room.
"Yes," she said; "I forgot for a moment. But during many terrible weeks, señor, my tears have not been for the pearls."
The sudden light that was De la Vega's chiefest charm sprang to his eyes. He took her hands and kissed them passionately.
"That sack of pearls would be a poor reward for one tear. But thou hast shed them for me? Say that again. Mi alma! mi alma!"
"I never thought of the pearls—at least not often. At last, not at all.
I have been very unhappy, señor. Ay!"
The maiden reserve which had been knit like steel about her plastic years burst wide. "Thou art ill! What has happened to thee? Ay, Dios! what it is to be a woman and to suffer! Thou wilt die! Oh, Mother of God!"
"I shall not die. Kiss me, Ysabel. Surely it is time now."
But she drew back and shook her head.
He exclaimed impatiently, but would not release her hand. "Thou meanest that, Ysabel?"