His arm, releasing my neck, fell stretched out on the coverlet. Father Antonio had mastered his emotion; with the trail of undried tears on his face, he had become a priest again, exalted above the reach of his earthly sorrow by the august concern of his sacerdocy. “Don Carlos, my son, is your mind at ease, now?” Carlos closed his eyes slowly. “Then turn all your thoughts to heaven.” Father Antonio’s bass voice rose, aloud, with an extraordinary authority. “You have done with the earth.” The arm of the nun touched the cords of the curtains, and the massive folds shook and fell expanded, hiding from us the priest and the penitent. CHAPTER FOUR Seraphina and I moved towards the door sadly, as if under the oppression of a memory, as people go back from the side of a grave to the cares of life. No exultation possessed me. Nothing had happened. It had been a sick man’s whim. “Señorita,” I said low, with my hand on the wrought bronze of the door-handle, “Don Carlos might have died in full trust of my devotion to you--without this.” “I know it,” she answered, hanging her head. “It was his wish,” I said. “And I deferred.” “It was his wish,” she repeated. “Remember he had asked you for no promise.” “Yes, it is you only he has asked. You have remembered it very well, Señor. And you--you ask for nothing.” “No,” I said; “neither from your heart nor from your conscience--nor from your gratitude. Gratitude from you! As if it were not I that owe you gratitude for having condescended to stand with your hand in mine--if only for a moment--if only to bring peace to a dying man; for giving me the felicity, the illusion of this wonderful instant, that, all my life, I shall remember as those who are suddenly stricken blind remember the great glory of the sun. I shall live with it, I shall cherish it in my heart to my dying day; and I promise never to mention it to you again.” Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes remained downcast, her head drooped as if in extreme attention. “I asked for no promise,” she murmured coldly. My heart was heavy. “Thank you for that proof of your confidence,” I said. “I am yours without any promises. Wholly yours. But what can I offer? What help? What refuge? What protection? What can I do? I can only die for you. Ah, but this was cruel of Carlos, when he knew that I had nothing else but my poor life to give.” “I accept that,” she said unexpectedly. “Señorita, it is generous of you to accept so worthless a gift--a life I value not at all save for one unique memory which I owe to you.” I knew she was looking at me while I swung open the door with a low bow. I did not trust myself to look at her. An unreasonable disenchantment, like the awakening from a happy dream, oppressed me. I felt an almost angry desire to seize her in my arms--to go back to my dream. If I had looked at her then, I believed I could not have controlled myself.