; that whether in hate or love, and be
her need what it might, I would help her. Hear me repeat it, lying
here with my both legs broken, helpless as a log. Let strength
return to me and I will help her yet, and in spite of all her
champions."

"In hate or in love, cavalier?" Marc'antonio's voice shook with his
whole body.

"That shall be my secret," answered I. (Yet well I knew what the
answer was, and had known it since the moment she had bent over me in
the sty, filing at my chain.) "It had better be hate--eh,
Marc'antonio?--seeing that for some reason she hates all men, except
you, perhaps, and Stephanu, and her brother."

"We do not count, I and Stephanu. Her brother she adores. But the
rest of men she hates, cavalier, and with good cause."

"Then it had better be hate?"

"Yes, yes"--and there was appeal in his voice--"it had a thousand
times better be hate, could such a miracle happen." He peered into
my eyes for a moment, and shook his head. "But it is not hate,
cavalier; you do not deceive me. And since it is not--"

"Well?"

"It were better for you--far better--that Giuse had died of the wound
you gave him."

"Why, what on earth has Giuse to do with this matter?" I demanded.
Indeed I had all but forgotten Giuse's existence.

"Only this; that had Giuse died, they would have killed you out of
hand in _vendetta_."

"You are an amiable race, you Corsicans!"

"And you came, cavalier, meaning to reign over us! Now, I have taken
a liking to you and will give you a warning. Be like your father,
and give up all for love."

"Suppose," said I, after a pause, "that for love I choose rather to
dare all?"

"Signore"--he stepped back and, raising himself erect, flung out both
hands passionately--"Take her, if you must take her, away from
Corsica! She is innocent, but here they will never understand.
What she did she did for her brother, far from home: yet he--he has
no thanks, no bowels of pity, and here at home it is killing her!
There was a young man, a noble, head of the family of Rocca Serra by
Sartene--" Marc'antonio broke off, trembling.

"You must finish," said I, in a voice cold and slow as the chilled
blood about my heart.

"There was no harm in her. By her brother's will they were
betrothed. She hated the youth, and he--he was eager--until the day
before the marriage--"

"What happened, Marc'antonio?"

"He slew himself, cavalier. Some story reached him, and he slew
himself with