I have the holy right to say for him, for his life, for his happiness, all that I would not say for myself, perhaps.

And I do say, what is to prevent Gianluca from being here to-morrow, or this very afternoon, as I am here now, and why should it be such a dreadful thing for you to come here, knowing that you will meet him?
Do you think that he would not give the last drop of his blood, at one word from your lips, to save you from trouble, or danger, or insult?
Do you think, if he knew how I am speaking to you--speaking roughly, perhaps, because I am rough--he would not turn upon me, his friend, who am fighting for his life, and quarrel with me, and disown me, because my roughness comes near you and may offend you?
You do not know him.

How should you?
But because you do not know him and cannot guess how he loves you, do not throw his life away without seeing it, without understanding what you despise, and learning that it is far above your contempt--a noble life, an honest life, a true-hearted young life, which may be lived out for you only--and, for you, I think it would be worth living." Taquisara was a man who could be in earnest for his friend, and there was a strong vibration in his low voice which few could have heard with indifference.

While he was speaking and forcing the appeal of his honest black eyes upon Veronica's face, she could not help slowly turning to meet them, and her lips parted a little as though in wonder, while she drank in eagerly the words he spoke.

It was the first time in her life that she had ever heard a man speak to her of love, and, in his rough eloquence, he spoke well and strongly, though it was not for himself.