"Well!" Don Pacheco interrupted him.
"I never felt before as I do at this moment."
"You startle me, brother. What is the matter with you?"
"I could not explain it to you. I have a foreboding of evil. In spite of myself, my heart is contracted on leaving you."
"That is strange," Don Pacheco muttered, suddenly becoming thoughtful. "I do not dare confess it to you, brother; but I have just the same feeling as yourself, and am afraid I know not why."
"Brother," Don Stefano replied in a gloomy voice, "you know how we love each other. Since our father's death, we have constantly shared everything—joy and sorrow, fortune or reverses. Brother, this foreboding is sent us from Heaven. A great danger threatens us."
"Perhaps so," Don Pacheco said sadly.
"Listen, brother," Don Stefano remarked, resolutely. "I will not go."
And he made a movement to dismount, but his brother checked him.
"No," he said, "we are men. We must not, then, let ourselves be conquered by foolish thoughts, which are only chimeras produced by a diseased imagination."