left him for her own sake, come all that might.  She had said it was a shame to her that she would have loved him still; yet if it had been so, she would have gloried in being shamed for his sake, for even then her love might have brought him back from the depths of evil and made him again for her in truth what he had once seemed to the whole world.  She could have done that, and if in the end she had saved him she would have counted the price of her name as very little to set against his salvation from himself.  She would have given that and much more, for her love, as she would freely give all for him and even for his memory, if he were dead, and if by some unimaginable circumstances her ruin before the world could keep his name spotless, and his glory unsullied.  For there is nothing that a true-hearted loving woman will not give and do for him she loves and believes and trusts; and though she will give the greatest thing last of all, she will give it in the end, if it can save him from infamy and destruction.  For it is the woman’s glory to give, as it is the man’s to use strength in the hour of battle and gentleness in the day of peace, and to follow honour always.

“Forget it all,” answered Don John presently.  “Forget it, dear, and forgive me for it all.”

“I can forget it, because it was only a dream,” she said, “and I have nothing to forgive.  Listen to me.  If it were true—­even if I believed that we had not been dreaming, you and I, could I have anything to forgive you?  What?”

“The mere thought that I could betray a trust, turn against my sovereign and ruin my country,” he answered bravely, and a blush of honest shame rose in his boyish cheeks.

“It was for me,” said Dolores.

That should explain all, her heart said.  But he was not satisfied, and being a man he began to insist.

“Not even for you should I have thought of it,” he said.  “And there is the thought to forgive, if nothing else.”

“No—­you are wrong, love.  Because it was for me, it does not need my forgiveness.  It is different—­you do not understand yet.  It is I who should have never forgiven myself on earth nor expected pardon hereafter, if I had let myself be the cause of such deeds, if I had let my love stand between you and honour.  Do you see?”

“I see,” he answered.  “You are very brave and kind and good.  I did not know that a woman could be like you.”

“A woman could be anything—­for you—­dare anything, do anything, sacrifice anything!  Did I not tell you so, long ago?  You only half believed me, dear—­perhaps you do not quite believe me now—­”

“Indeed, indeed I do, with all my soul!  I believe you as I love you, as I believe in your love—­”

“Yes.  Tell me that you do—­and tell me that you love me!  It is so good to hear, now that the bad dream is gone.”