“We are in darkness here and you cannot see my face, but, if you could, I’d not be afraid you could read deceit there now. I’d gladly die a thousand deaths to save you a moment’s pain. I’d die ten thousand if I could feel your lips on mine an instant, know that your heart was mine! I often have laughed at love, but now I know its depth and sacredness. Dios! If there was but the slightest hope——”
Her hand tightened on his arm; her voice was the ghost of a whisper when she answered:
“How do you know there is not?”
“You play with me!” he said.
“And why should I, caballero? Since you met me you have given me no affront. Twice you have saved me——”
“It is gratitude makes you speak!”
“It is not gratitude, caballero. And, whatever it is, I have fought against it in vain.”
“It is pity!”
“It is—is love,” she said.
“For me?”