On the morrow I went to my master's chamber where he still lay abed,
having been seized by a sudden weakness that was the beginning of
the illness which ended in his death. As I mixed a draught for him he
noticed that my shoulder was hurt and asked me what had happened. This
gave me my opportunity, which I was not slow to take.
'Have you patience to listen to a story?' I said, 'for I would seek your
help.'
'Ah!' he answered, 'it is the old case, the physician cannot heal
himself. Speak on, nephew.'
Then I sat down by the bed and told him all, keeping nothing back. I
told him the history of my mother and my father's courtship, of my own
childhood, of the murder of my mother by de Garcia, and of the oath
that I had sworn to be avenged upon him. Lastly I told him of what had
happened upon the previous night and how my enemy had evaded me. All the
while that I was speaking Fonseca, wrapped in a rich Moorish robe, sat
up in the bed holding his knees beneath his chin, and watching my face
with his keen eyes. But he spoke no word and made no sign till I had
finished the tale.
'You are strangely foolish, nephew,' he said at length. 'For the most
part youth fails through rashness, but you err by over-caution. By
over-caution in your fence you lost your chance last night, and so by
over-caution in hiding this tale from me you have lost a far greater
opportunity.
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