She could only say: "You have come! You have come! It is you, really you!" "Had you not my word?" "How could I believe? How could I think that you would dare--even you? Oh, _querida_, why have you come?" Her hands tugged at his shoulders, "There's death lurking in every corner for you!" "I have played many games with Death, fondling, but the dice always fell my way. Trust me." "Mad!" she whispered. "Mad Nicholas!" He kissed her. For a while she was content to lie in his arms, but presently she said on a sigh: "Folly, oh folly! I have brought you to your death!" "Nay, nay, I came of mine own free will, as I swore I would--to make an Englishwoman of you." He made her look up. "How now, my heart? Will you go with Mad Nicholas?" She tried to hide her face. "It is not possible. You know it is not. God knows how you are here, but you must go quickly, quickly! You could never escape with me to burden you." "Give me a plain answer, fondling. Will you go with me?" She evaded him. "I have been so unhappy," she said pitifully. "You shall never be so again, I swear." He held her away from him. "Will you trust me further yet? Will you put your life in my hands?" She looked up into his eyes, her own troubled and questioning. He had taken her by storm; he was a lover from a fairy-tale, and she had longed for him, and dreamed of him, but now that he spoke so urgently, and looked so keenly, she realized all that it would mean to her if she gave herself to him. He was a stranger and an Englishman, and if he won out of Spain a strange land and a strange people awaited her. She loved him, but how little she knew of him! A girl's fears shook her; she looked searchingly, peering for the future, and the colour ebbed in her cheeks. He awaited her answer; she thought how bright his eyes were, how compelling. "Nicholas--you could not understand," she faltered. "I am so alone. I do not know----" "I do understand," he answered instantly. "I love you. Trust me!" Her fingers sought his. "You will be good to me?" she said in a small voice. He smiled. "I will never beat you," he promised. At that she smiled too, but fleetingly. "Nay, do not jest, do not laugh at me!" she said. He raised her hands to his lips, and kissed them. "On my soul," he said, "I've only the one ambition left; to care for you." She nestled back into his arms. "If we could! If we only could!" "What, doubting still?" he rallied her. "What do you fear, little faint heart?" "To lead you to your death," she said. "How can I not fear it?" "Nay, nay, 'tis I shall do the leading," he smiled. "Have faith, O Lady Disdain!" "Not that!" she protested, but a smile trembled on her lips at the old memories the name conjured up. His arm was hard about her shoulders. "Do you love me?" he asked, and his eyes compelled an answer from her. She looked up. "Do you not know that I do--doubter?"