Don Francisco rose and wrung the surgeon's hands, that were so like a lion's paws.
"In this climate the operation may be favorably performed early in October," Golfin went on. "To-morrow we will decide on the regimen to which we must subject our patient. Meanwhile we will be going, for it is fresh up on this hill."
Penáguilas pressed shelter and supper on his friends, but they would not accept. They set out homewards with Nela, whom Teodoro insisted on taking with him, and Don Francisco kept them company as far as the works.
Soothed by the silence and beauty of the night, they fell into conversation on lighter themes—on the yield and profits of the mines, and other local matters. The Golfins having reached home, Don Francisco turned back alone and heavy-hearted, walking slowly, with his eyes fixed on the ground. He was thinking of the terrible days of doubt and hope, of expectation and anxiety which were coming on him. Presently he was met by Choto, and the pair lazily climbed the wooden stair. The moon gave them light, and the old man's shadow went up in front of him, broken by the steps into a zigzag monster that leaped from plank to plank. The dog trotted by its side and Don Francisco, in the absence of any other mortal to whom he could confide the thoughts that wearied his brain, presently said:
"Oh Choto! will it succeed?"
[CHAPTER XII.]
DOCTOR CELIPIN.
That worthy, Señor Centeno, having refreshed his mind with the dull columns of his newspaper, and 'Señana,' his wife, after enjoying the more intoxicating delights of counting and feeling the coin in the stocking, had taken themselves to bed. Children first and parents after, they had all marched off to their respective couches. First there was the mumbled Litany, sounding like some muttered gibberish; then yawns, while the sluggard fingers made the sign of the cross—and then the stony-hearted family slept.
When the house was as still as the grave itself, a soft rustling began to be audible in the kitchen, like the stirring of bats coming out of their hiding nooks to see life. The hampers opened and Celipin heard these words:
"Celipin—look here; I have got something nice for you to-night."
Celipin could see nothing, but he put out his hand and took from Nela's two duros. Having assured himself of their genuineness by touch—since he could hardly have done so by sight—he remained speechless with astonishment.