"No, no—not there."
"The devil's in it—but where are you going then?"
Nela did not answer; she sat looking at the ground with an expression of dismay, as if she saw there the fragments of the most beautiful and precious thing on earth—fallen and lying broken at her feet.
"Well then, Nela," said Celipin, exhausted with his long harangue, "I must leave you and be off, for they might follow me, and find me. Would you like me to give you a peseta as a parting gift to-night?"
"No, Celipin, I want nothing.—Go, you will be a rich man yet. Take care of yourself and do not forget Socartes and your father and mother."
The traveller had a sensation highly improper in a man of so much importance and dignity—a strong disposition to cry; but swallowing down this inopportune emotion, he said:
"How should I ever forget Socartes? You need not have said that—I shall never forget my father and mother, nor you, for you helped me to do this.—Good-bye, Nelilla—hark! I hear footsteps!"
Celipin shouldered his staff with a resolution that symbolized his courage to defy all the dangers of the wide world; but his valorous display was wasted, for a dog only came running up to them.
"It is Choto," said Nela, trembling all over.
"A bad sign!" muttered Celipin, setting forward; and he disappeared in the darkness.