"Oh, Señor!" she cried in an agony: "Do not take me away with you."
She was very pale, and looked wrecked by physical and mental misery. Golfin tried to pull her up; but her helpless frame did not stir by any strength of her own. It was clear she must be carried like a senseless corpse.
"One day," said Golfin, "not very long since, almost in this very place, I took you on my shoulders to carry you. Now I must do the same it seems."
He lifted her in his arms; her hot breath seemed to burn his face. She was drooping, fading, dying like a plant torn up from the soil, and with its roots laid bare.
As they got nearer to Aldeacorba, Golfin felt some life returning to the dead weight in his arms. Nela raised her head, and threw up her hands in despair, but she said nothing.
They went in; all was silent. A maid servant came to meet them, and by Teodoro's desire she conducted him noiselessly to Florentina's room.
Florentina was alone. By the light of a fast-dying lamp she was kneeling on the floor, her elbows resting on the seat of a chair, and praying with absorbed devotion. She was startled at seeing a man at her door at so late an hour, but her alarm at once gave way to surprise, when she saw the burden Golfin bore in his strong arms.
Her astonishment was too great for speech when the doctor, carefully depositing his load on a sofa, said:
"I have caught her you see.—What do you say to that? Am I a good butterfly hunter?"