“That is a strange question, Lord. Have I not told you that if I live I must do so befouled as one of Urco’s women, whereas, if I die, I die clean and take my love with me to where Urco cannot come, but where, mayhap, another may follow at the appointed time.”
“Which time would be very soon, I think, Quilla, seeing that he who had spoiled all this pretty plot would scarcely be left long upon the earth, even if he wished to stay there. Yet I say: Do not die—live on.”
“To become Urco’s woman! That is strange counsel from a lover’s lips, Lord; such as would scarcely have been given by any of our nobles.”
“Aye, Quilla, and it is given because I am not of your people and do not think as they think, who reject their customs. You are not yet Urco’s wife, and may be rid of him by other paths than that of death, but from the grave there is no escape.”
“And in the grave there is no more fear, Lord. Thither Urco cannot come; there are neither wars nor plottings; there honour does not beckon and love hold back. I say that I will die and make an end, as for like causes many of my blood have done, though not here and now. When I am about to be delivered to Urco then I will die, and perchance not alone. Perchance he will accompany me,” she added slowly.
“And if this happens, what shall I do?”
“Live on, Lord, and find other women to love you, as a god should. There are many in this land fairer and wiser than I, and, save myself, you may take whom you will.”
“Listen, Quilla. I have a story to tell you.”
Then, as briefly as I could, I set out the tale of Blanche and of her end, while she hung upon my every word.
“Oh! I grieve for you,” she said, when I had finished.