You can read my letter over, and I will sit here and say all the things I wrote, over and over again, and you will know that I am saying them--it will be almost as if I were with you, and could say them quite close to you--like this--I love you!" She had drawn his hand gently down to her while she was speaking, and she whispered the last words into his ear with a delicate little kiss that sent a thrill straight to his heart.
"You are not afraid any more now, are you ?" she asked, as she let him go, and he straightened himself suddenly as a man drawing back from something he both fears and loves.
He opened and shut his hands quickly two or three times, as some nervous men do, as if trying to shake them clear from a spell, or an influence.
Then he began to walk up and down, talking to her.
"I am at my wit's end," he said, speaking fast and not looking at her face, as he turned and turned again.

"I cannot send you to Villagarcia--there are things that neither you nor I could do, even for each other, things you would not have me do for you, Dolores.

It would be ruin and disgrace to my adopted mother and Quixada--it might be worse, for the King can call anything he pleases high treason.

It is impossible to take you there without some one knowing it--can I carry you in my arms?
There are grooms, coachmen, servants, who will tell anything under examination--under torture! How can I send you there ?" "I would not go," answered Dolores quietly.
"I cannot send you to a convent, either," he went on, for he had taken her answer for granted, as lovers do who trust each other.

"You would be found in a day, for the King knows everything.