I love you, Hortensia, and desire to make amends." She smiled wistfully.

"'Tis overlate to talk of that." "Why ?" he demanded fiercely, and caught her arms, holding her there before him.

"Why is it overlate ?" "Suffer me to go," she commanded, rather than begged, and made to free herself of his grasp.
"I want you to be my wife, Hortensia--my wedded wife." She looked at him, and laughed; a cold laugh, disdainful, yet not bitter.

"You wanted that before, my lord; yet you neglected the opportunity my folly gave you.

I thank you--you, after God--for that same neglect." "Ah, do not say that!" he begged, a very suppliant again.