“If by one act of thine, it were in thy power to make thy father’s happiness, wouldst thou not do that act?”
“Dear papa, thou knowest I would—but oh! tell me all. What am I to do? And yet I know—but why? tell me why”—
“Ysabel, by becoming his bride, thou canst save thy father from becoming a beggar.”
The girl shuddered but said in a low calm voice,
“Father, tell me why—tell me all. Make a confidant of thy child. I can bear anything. See! I am calm.”
“Ysabel, I will! in as few words as possible. A year ago, you may remember, Talavera was here. He has not been here since. A short time after that, his last visit, the page came—though it is not of him I would speak. We played—Talavera and I. At first I won—in the success of the moment I staked high—and lost. I still played on—every throw swept off acre after acre of the lands my fathers owned. Midnight saw me without a farthing—and without a foot of earth to call my own. Then came a bond. I signed it. It gave me back my broad lands—my wealth—but it deprived me of the only thing I had on earth to love—of you, my Ysabel! See! here is the bond.”
The lady’s heart was still—very still—so still it almost frightened her. Her cheek, lips, hands, were cold and bloodless. It seemed as though her blood had all gone to her heart—and frozen there! Her eye was passionless, it was so calm. She held the open paper before her, and without reading or seeing, she read and saw enough to know that the fair grounds and castle of Ysolo-Rosse—where she had lived from her infancy—where her father had loved her mother—were to go into the hands of the Talavera, unless she became his bride.
“Ysabel, I have sworn thou shalt be his bride, but I will recall my oath if thou sayest so. What is thy decision?”
“I will wed him,” replied the girl.
Llenaro clasped her to his heart, and kissing her cold brow, he added,