“I am no monk and I know nothing. I am that man who fought with de Garcia on the night when you were taken, and who would have killed him had you not seized me.”
“At the least I saved him, that is my comfort now.”
“Isabella de Siguenza,” I said, “I am your friend, the best you ever had and the last, as you shall learn presently. Tell me where this man is, for there is that between us which must be settled.”
“If you are my friend, weary me no more. I do not know where he is. Months ago he went whither you will scarcely follow, to the furthest Indies; but you will never find him there.”
“It may still be that I shall, and if it should so chance, say have you any message for this man?”
“None—yes, this. Tell him how we died, his child and his wife—tell him that I did my best to hide his name from the priests lest some like fate should befall him.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes. No, it is not all. Tell him that I passed away loving and forgiving.”
“My time is short,” I said; “awake and listen!” for having spoken thus she seemed to be sinking into a lethargy. “I was the assistant of that Andres de Fonseca whose counsel you put aside to your ruin, and I have given a certain drug to the abbess yonder. When she offers you the cup of water, see that you drink and deep, you and the child. If so none shall ever die more happily. Do you understand?”
“Yes—yes,” she gasped, “and may blessings rest upon you for the gift. Now I am no more afraid—for I have long desired to die—it was the way I feared.”