night."

"I shall be at the house in half an hour!" Ovid eagerly assured her.

The duenna shook her forefinger impatiently. "She doesn't want a
doctor. She wants a friend, when I am gone. What is her life here? A
new life, among new people. Don't speak! She's frightened and
miserable. So young, so shy, so easily startled. And I must leave
her--I must! I must! My old man is failing fast; he may die, without a
creature to comfort him, if I don't go back. I could tear my hair when
I think of it. Don't speak! It's _my_ business to speak. Ha! I know,
what I know. Young doctor, you're in love with Carmina! I've read you
like a book. You're quick to see, sudden to feel--like one of my
people. _Be_ one of my people. Help me."

She dragged a chair close to Ovid, and laid her hand suddenly and
heavily on his arm.

"It's not my fault, mind; _I_ have said nothing to disturb her. No!
I've made the best of it. I've lied to her. What do I care? I would lie
like Judas Iscariot himself to spare Carmina a moment's pain. It's such
a new life for her--try to see it for yourself--such a new life. You
and I shook hands yesterday. Do it again. Are you surprised to see me?
I asked your mother's servants where you lived; and here I am--with the
cruel teeth of anxiety gnawing me alive when I think of the time to
come. Oh, my lamb! my angel! she's alone. Oh, my God, only seventeen
years old, and alone in the world! No father, no mother; and soon--oh,
too soon, too soon--not even Teresa! What are you looking at? What is
there so wonderful in the tears of a stupid old fool? Drops of hot
water. Ha! ha! if they fall on your fine carpet here, they won't hurt