"No, father, he is here."
"Well, then, what is the reason he is not by your side?"
"Because—" the girl said, with hesitation.
"Well?"
"He is ill."
"My son ill!" Don Miguel exclaimed.
"I am wrong," Doña Clara corrected herself.
"Explain yourself, in Heaven's name!"
"My father, the fact is that Pablo is wounded."
"Wounded!" the hacendero sharply said; and thrusting his daughter aside, he rushed toward the house, bounded up the few steps leading to the porch, crossed several rooms without stopping, and reached his son's chamber. The young man was lying, weak and faint, on his bed; but on perceiving his parent he smiled, and held his hand to him. Don Miguel was fondly attached to his son, his sole heir, and walked up to him.