"Nela!" repeated the lad in the deepest distress, and not yet recovered from the shock which the sight of his little comrade had given him: "You seem to be afraid of me—what have I done to you?"
The dying girl put out her hand to clasp Florentina's, and pressed it to her breast, and then she did the same with Pablo's; afterwards she once more pressed them both with all the strength she could command. Her sunken eyes looked from one to the other, but her gaze was vague and remote; it seemed to come from some inner depth of darkness and despair, as though she were indeed the drowning wretch in the well, sinking lower every instant. Suddenly her breathing became difficult; she sighed, and clutched the two hands she held with convulsive energy.
Teodoro had turned the house upside down; had sent for medicines and powerful stimulants, and was doing all in his power to arrest the swift extinction of this young life.
"It is hard," he said, "to stop a drop of water that is trickling, falling away—down, down, and within an inch or two of the great Sea.—But I will try."
He sent away every one but Florentina, whom he kept in the room. But the stimulants and irritants with which he endeavored to bring back ebbing life to the frail body, only served to restore some little muscular action, and in spite of this she was sinking every minute.
"It is cruelty!" cried Golfin desperately, as he snatched away the mustard and the irritants. "We are tormentors and torturers. It is like setting dogs on a dying man that the pain may keep him alive to suffer. Away with it all!"
"And is there nothing to be done?"
"Nothing—but what God will do."
"But what is the matter with her?"