"Señor," he said, "in one sense the explanation is sufficient, though there are, you can understand, respects in which it leaves a little to be desired."
"I make no excuse," and a faint flush crept into Ormsgill's face. "Only, in this case my mind will always be the same."
The little officer sat still, looking at him steadily, while half a minute slipped away, and Ormsgill felt the silence becoming oppressive. Then he spread one hand out.
"After all," he said, "there are, probably, very few among us who are quite exempt from some folly of this kind, and I think it is to your credit that when you recognized that it was a folly you were willing to carry it out. I may mention that I had the honor of meeting the lady."
Then he made a little expressive gesture. "Señor, you are, at least, one whose word can be relied upon, and that counts for a good deal. It is, however, to be remembered that you are not yet at liberty."
"I think my liberty largely depends upon you. One could fancy that you know how far the complaints against me are credible. In fact, I do not understand why you ever gave them any consideration."
Dom Clemente smiled. "One has usually a motive, Señor, and it is generally wiser not to make it too apparent until the time is ripe. In this case I think the results have warranted everything I have done. Herrero and Domingo, not to mention one or two others, have accomplished their own destruction, though that is, after all, not quite the question. The matter you have laid before me is, it seems to me, one that Benicia must decide."
He rose with the little twinkle still in his eyes. "I will leave you to make it as clear as you can to her."
He went out, and Ormsgill waited, with his heart beating a good deal faster than usual, until Benicia came in. He stood looking at her a moment, with a faint flush in his haggard face.
"Señorita," he said, "I would like you to listen to a story—though it is a little difficult to tell."