said, almost sternly; this Mantuan memory hurt her although love was in no way distinct to her, and although when she used its name she still understood little of its passion.
'Yes,' said Este, with a quick sigh and shudder. 'But that past is past. She cost me dear. Her memory is only terrible———'
'Is that love?' said Musa, with a scornful smile upon her mouth. It seemed to her very poor.
'It was ours,' he answered. 'We had a summer night; then tempest. The storm wrecked us. Oh, I loved her—yes. For months I never looked at you; do you not remember? Now that I look, now that I see, you bid me be blind.'
'I do not understand,' she said, troubled and confused. 'If you loved her, that was for ever. Just because she is dead, is that a reason to change? Why should you look at me? I serve you. I do what I can; you are safe with me; that is all you want, since liberty you cannot have.'
'No; liberty and I have said farewell. My life must pass in a prison, here or elsewhere. But you may make the prison so
