d
never marry him. I told him so again on the day when we had first
fenced, and you went to walk after the rain."

"That is why he has been worse, since then. It began that very evening."

"Yes. I know it. Do you think I do not reproach myself for having gone
so far that I had to speak? Indeed, indeed, I do, more than you know.
But what am I to do? He cannot go away, ill as he is. I cannot leave you
all here. And then, I would not leave him, if I could. He is more to me
than I can ever tell you--I would give my right hand for his life. Would
you have me marry him, knowing that I can never love him? Is that what
you would have me do?"

Taquisara was silent for a moment, looking earnestly at her, and he bit
his lip a little.

"Yes," he said. "That is what you should do. It is all you can do, to
try and save his life."

The moment he had spoken he turned from her and began to walk up and
down again.

"Do you know what you are asking?" Veronica followed him with her eyes.

"It is a sacrifice," he said, pursuing his walk and not glancing at her.
"It is to give your life for his. I know it. But you can hardly give him
more than he has given you--or you have taken from him. Yes--I know what
the doctors say, that it is a disease which is known and understood. No
doubt it is. But diseases of that sort may remain latent for a lifetime,
unless something determines them. Until they have gone too far, they may
be overcome. If he had not lived for weeks in a state of nervous tension
that would almost make a strong man ill, he would not be in such a
condition now. If he had never known you, he might have been as well as
he ever was--he might have been well for twenty or thirty years, before
it attacked him. It is not all your fault, but a part of it is. Take
your friendship, and your mistakes, together--your wish that he may
live, and your responsibility if he dies--two motives are better than
one, when the one is not strong enough. You have two, and good ones.
Marry him, Donna Veronica--marry him and save his life, if you can, and
your own remorse if he dies. Let me go to him now--he is not asleep--let
me tell him that you have changed your mind, or made up your mind--that
you love him, after all--"

"Please do not go on," said Veronica, drawing back a little, till she
leaned against the mantelpiece.

He had placed himself in front of her before he had finished speaking.
He was excited, vehement, and not eloquent--like a m