"I can't," said the girl. "I am faint, Velasco. When I look at you now there is a mist before my eyes. The room sways." She put out her hands suddenly, as if to steady herself.
Velasco started back: "Good heavens, Kaya, what is the matter? The colour has gone from your cheeks; there are shadows under your eyes, deep and heavy as though they were painted. Don't faint, will you? Don't! I shouldn't know what under heaven to do!"
The girl slipped down from the table and, staggering a little, threw herself into the chair by the fire-place. "Get me some food, Velasco; some bread, some wine. In a moment it will pass!" She began laughing again immediately. "Don't be frightened. It is you who are pale, not I. Just a morsel to eat—Velasco. Since last night I have eaten nothing. You forget how hungry a boy can be! Is there time?"
Velasco had snatched the red wine from the table and was pouring it out in a glass, holding it to her lips.
"Drink, Kaya, drink—and here are biscuits, shall I break them for you? Don't speak. Shut your eyes, and drink, and eat. I will feed you."
He hovered over her with little exclamations of pity and self-reproach.
"Why didn't I see at once you were starving! Poor child, poor little one! You seemed so gay, dancing about; your cheeks were so red and now—Ah no, it is better—the colour is coming back slowly. The wine brings a flush."
The girl lay back with her eyes closed, sipping the wine from the glass as he held it. "Is there plenty of time, Velasco?" she said faintly.
He looked at the hands of the malachite clock on the mantel. They pointed to ten and presently it began to strike.
"Yes—yes." he whispered, "Lie still. Let me feed you. We will go presently."