"I have told him that I love him, and shall love him for ever and ever,"
she said; "that I will live for him, die for him, suffer for him, serve
him! I have told him all that and much more."

"More? That is much already. But he loves you, too. There is nothing you
can promise which he will not promise, and keep, too, I think. But more!
What more can you have said than that?"

"There is nothing I would not say if I could find words!"

There was a fullness of life in her voice which, to the other's
uncertain tones, was as sunshine to moonlight.

"You will find words when you see him this evening," said Inez slowly.
"And they will be better than anything you can write. Am I to give him
your letter?"

Dolores looked at her sister quickly, for there was a little constraint
in the accent of the last phrase.

"I do not know," she answered. "How can I tell what may happen, or how I
shall see him first?"

"You will see him from the window presently. I can hear the guards
forming already to meet him--and you--you will be able to see him from
the window."

Inez had stopped and had finished her speech, as if something had choked
her. She turned sideways in her chair when she had spoken, as if to
listen better, for she was seated with her back to the light.