She knew all that, yet she did not hesitate. Her love for Wessex had filled all her life--first as a child, then as an ignorant girl worshipping an ideal. When she saw him, and in him saw the embodiment of all her most romantic beliefs, she loved him with all the passionate ardour of her newly awakened woman's heart. From the moment that his touch had thrilled her, that his voice had set her temples throbbing, that her pure lips had met his own, she had given him her whole love, given herself to him body and soul for his happiness and her own. So great was her love that jealousy had not killed it; it had changed her joy into sorrow, her happiness into bitterness, but the heart which she gave to him she was powerless to take away. He had fooled her, led her to believe in his love for her, but his life was as precious to her now as it had been that afternoon--which seemed so long ago--when she first raised her eyes to his and met his ardent gaze. She was face to face with the most cruel problem ever set before a human heart, for she firmly believed that if through her self-sacrifice she saved him from death and dishonour, he would nevertheless inevitably turn to the other woman, for whose sake he was suffering now; yet she was ready with the sacrifice, because of the selflessness of her love. How well the Cardinal had managed the tragedy which had parted two noble hearts! Each believed the other treacherous and guilty, yet each was prepared to lay down life, honour, happiness for the sake of the loved one. "Your Eminence," said Ursula very quietly after a little while, "you said just now that I could save His Grace of Wessex from unmerited disgrace and death. Tell me now, what must I do?" "It is simple enough, my daughter," he replied, still avoiding her clear, steadfast gaze; "you have but to speak the truth." "The truth, they say, oft lies hidden in a well, my lord," she rejoined. "I pray Your Eminence to guide me to its depths." "I can but guide your memory, my daughter, to the events of the fateful night when Don Miguel was murdered." "Yes?" "You were there, in the Audience Chamber, were you not?" "I was there," she repeated mechanically. "With Don Miguel de Suarez, who, taking advantage of the late hour and the loneliness of this part of the Palace . . . insulted you . . . or . . ." "Let us say that he insulted me. . . ." "His Grace then came upon the scene?" "Just as Your Eminence describes it." "And 'twas to defend your honour that the Duke of Wessex killed Don Miguel." "To defend mine honour the Duke of Wessex killed Don Miguel." "This you will swear to be true?" "Without hope of absolution." "And you will make this tardy confession, my daughter, to His Grace's judges freely?" "Whenever it is deemed necessary I will make the confession to His Grace's judges freely."