"It has killed her. The sight of you has killed her!"—then turning to Pablo he said sternly: "Go, at once, to your room."
"Dying! dying so, without any cause!" cried Florentina in despair, and laying her hand lightly on Nela's brow.
"María!" she said, "Marianela!"
She called her by her name again and again, leaning over her and looking at her, as we might look over the margin of a well at some one who has fallen into it and who is drowning in the depth and blackness of its waters.
"She does not answer!" said Pablo, horror-stricken.
Golfin, watching her ebbing vitality, perceived that her pulse still throbbed under his touch. Pablo bent over her, and putting his lips close to her ear, he called her once more:
"Nela, Nela my friend—my dear!"
She turned a little, opened her eyes, and moved her hands. She looked as if her spirit had returned from some far away flight. Seeing Pablo's gaze fixed upon her with anxious curiosity, she turned aside abashed and alarmed, and tried to hide her face as if she were a guilty thing.
"What is the matter with her?" asked Florentina vehemently. "Don Teodoro, save her if you are a man.—If you do not save her you are a charlatan!..."
The young girl's charitable instincts were spurring her to positive rage.