life and mine for the mere shadow of a memory which you choose to take
for a binding promise. I will not let you do it."

"You will not?" She looked at him quickly with an expression of
resistance.

"No--I will not," he repeated. "We have too much at stake. You shall not
lose all for both of us."

"You are wrong, dear one," she said, with sudden softness. "If you love
me, you should believe me and trust me. I can give you nothing but
unhappiness--"

"You have given me the only happiness I ever knew--and you ask me to
believe that you could make me unhappy in any way except by not loving
me! Consuelo--my darling--are you out of your senses?"

"No. I am too much in them. I wish I were not. If I were mad I should--"

"What?"

"Never mind. I will not even say it. No--do not try to take my hand, for
I will not give it to you. Listen, Orsino--be reasonable, listen to
me--"

"I will try and listen."

But Maria Consuelo did not speak at once. Possibly she was trying to
collect her thoughts.

"What have you to say, dearest?" asked Orsino at length. "I will try to
understand."

"You must understand. I will make it all clear to you and then you will
see it as I do."

"And then--what?"

"And then we must part," she said in a low voice.

Orsino said nothing, but shook his head incredulously.

"Yes," repeated Maria Consuelo, "we must not see each other any more
after this. It has been all my fault. I shall leave Rome and not come
back again. It will be best for you and I will make it best for me."

"You talk very easily of parting."

"Do I? Every word is a wound. Do I look as though I were indifferent?"

Orsino glanced at her pale face and tearful eyes.

"No, dear," he said softly.

"Then do not call me heartless. I have more heart than you think--and it
is breaking. And do not say that I do not love you. I love you better
than you know--better than you will be loved again when you are
older--and happier, perhaps. Yes, I know what you want to say. Well,
dear--you love me, too. Yes, I know it. Let there be no unkind words and
no doubts between us to-day. I think it is our last day together."

"For God's sake, Consuelo--"

"We shall see. Now let me speak--if I can. There are three reasons why
you and I should not marry. I have thought of them through all last
night and all to-day, and I know them. The first is my solemn vow to the
dying man who loved me so well and who asked nothing but that--whose
wife