"To save you, you must be hidden by some one whom I myself can trust--and for such a matter there is no one in the palace nor in all Madrid--no one to whom I can turn and know that you will be safe--not one human being, except myself." "Except yourself!" Dolores loved the words, and gently pressed his hand.
"I thank you, dearest heart--but do you know what that means?
Do you understand that I must hide you myself, in my own apartments, and keep you there until I can take you out of the palace, before morning ?" She was silent for a few moments, turning her face away from him.

His heart sank.
"No, dear," he said sadly, "you do not trust me enough for that--I see it--what woman could ?" Her hand trembled and started in his, then pressed it hard, and she turned her face quite to him.
"You are wrong," she said, with a tremor in her voice.

"I love you as no man was ever loved by any woman, far beyond all that all words can say, and I shall love you till I die, and after that, for ever--even if I can never be your wife.

I love you as no one loves in these days, and when I say that it is as you love me, I mean a thousand fold for every word.

I am not the child you left nearly two years ago.