He continued: "I have been a cur! You have suffered your life long. You generously gave me the confidences of your heart. I saw how empty your years have been of the things that, after all, really count in this world; yet I, selfish fool! could only whine about my own loss."
"Don't, don't, Alfredo. You must not say such words."
"Dear amiga, you are too forgetful of yourself, always thinking of the good you may do others. You have a claim on me, a strong claim, which I shall always remember; for, no matter how unwitting on my part, unhappiness came to you years ago, and that unhappiness still persists. Added to this, I have been the direct cause of your losing your friend, the Doña Carmelita. I wish I could make compensation."
The woman's eyes drooped. Her hands fell to her side.
"The past is gone—gone the way of all past things," she said, very slowly.
"But the hurt continues," he returned.
"You certainly cannot blame yourself for that."
He dropped on his knees beside her. "My dear señora, my true friend, ask what you will of me, and if I can accomplish it, it shall be yours. I would do anything to be of service to you."
She raised her eyes and put her hand on his shoulder. "Alfredo, how could you retrieve a broken life? Why, I envy the love of the peonas for their husbands who fell by your side at La Cuesta de los Gatos. Though bereft their love lives on. Their heart is not empty, as is mine—as is mine. Ah, me!"
"Doña Silvia, the way of love should not be difficult to one of your gentle spirit. Surely, you will find it, with all the joys bordering thereon."