“Is there any way of helping you, without knowing your secret?” he asked in a low voice.

“No.  But I thank you for the wish.”

“Are you sure there is no way?  Quite sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“May I say something that strikes me?”

“Say anything you choose.”

“There is a plot against you.  You seem to know it.  Have you never thought of plotting on your side?”

“I have no one to help me.”

“You have me, if you will take my help.  And you have Spicca.  You might do better, but you might do worse.  Between us we might accomplish something.”

Maria Consuelo had started at Spicca’s name.  She seemed very nervous that day.

“Do you know what you are saying?” she asked after a moment’s thought.

“Nothing that should offend you, at least.”

“No.  But you are proposing that I should ally myself with the man of all others whom I have reason to hate.”

“You hate Spicca?” Orsino was passing from one surprise to another.

“Whether I hate him or not, is another matter.  I ought to.”

“At all events he does not hate you.”

“I know he does not.  That makes it no easier for me.  I could not accept his help.”

“All this is so mysterious that I do not know what to say,” said Orsino, thoughtfully.  “The fact remains, and it is bad enough.  You need help urgently.  You are in the power of a servant who tells your friends that you are insane and thrusts false addresses upon them, for purposes which I cannot explain.”

“Nor I either, though I may guess.”

“It is worse and worse.  You cannot even be sure of the motives of this woman, though you know the person or persons by whom she is forced upon you.  You cannot get rid of her yourself and you will not let any one else help you.”

“Not Count Spicca.”

“And yet I am sure that he would do much for you.  Can you not even tell me why you hate him, or ought to hate him?”

Maria Consuelo hesitated and looked into Orsino’s eyes for a moment.

“Can I trust you?” she asked.

“Implicitly.”

“He killed my husband.”

Orsino uttered a low exclamation of horror.  In the deep silence which followed he heard Maria Consuelo draw her breath once or twice sharply through her closed teeth, as though she were in great pain.

“I do not wish it known,” she said presently, in a changed voice.  “I do not know why I told you.”

“You can trust me.”

“I must—­since I have spoken.”

In the surprise caused by the startling confidence, Orsino suddenly felt that his capacity for sympathy had grown to great dimensions.  If he had been a woman, the tears would have stood in his eyes.  Being what he was, he felt them in his heart.  It was clear that she had loved the dead man very dearly.  In the light of this evident fact, it was hard to explain her conduct towards Orsino during the winter and especially at their last meeting.