Fernando scarcely heard the words. His mother's confession had made him draw his hand away, instinctively. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped, his eyes closed. What pain this was, penetrating to every fibre of his body! His mother's self-accusation gave him a sense of unendurable shame; but at the same time the load of responsibility resting on his shoulders seemed to grow lighter. Aquilina had grown quieter after making her confession; and now he, too, felt a certain measure of peacefulness creeping into his heart. When he first listened to his mother's strange words he thought he was going to hate her, loathe her; but now, on the contrary, he loved her more than before. All the pity he was capable of seemed too little for this poor, foolish, dying mother of his; he began to sob, kissed her, put his arms around her with a tenderness which was the poor woman's only comfort during those moments.
"Mother, it is my fault, not yours," he assured her, when he could speak. "I intended coming to tell you so, even before you sent for me. All the responsibility is mine. I have had a better chance than either you or Eugenia; I knew more about life, and I should have taken care of you, both of you, protected you—tried to educate you. That was the task I should have set myself! Instead, I came here as little as possible, because I didn't want to be reminded of the facts I hated. I never really took any interest in you. Eugenia owes me nothing, because I never gave her anything; I never spoke to her openly, frankly; I never helped her by word or act. Instead of staying with you both to take care of you, I went to Europe, to get away from my mother and sister, to forget them."
"I brought disgrace upon you. You are paying for what is my fault, Fernando."
"No, it is not your fault! Something far more guilty than you is to blame! But, never mind! All this is very far away from us now, mother. At last I have come to know myself, and to know the world we live in."
Aquilina suddenly grew worse. Fernando, anxiously waiting for the doctor, sent Moreno's wife to watch for him at the street door. His mother seemed to be struggling for breath, and he thought oxygen would help her.
"You must find Eugenia," she gasped. "I need to know that she forgives me. Look for her ... tell her...."
Fernando was afraid to think where he might find Eugenia. What had become of her by this time? His thoughts turned to Nacha; and he wondered if those two had perhaps met. Nacha, Eugenia!... Surely his was a strange destiny, to have spent all his life far from this class of women, and now to find himself taking a part in their lives. Nacha! Eugenia! Was he in love with Nacha? If not, why did he think of her all the time even on such an occasion as this one? And where would such a love lead him? If he found Eugenia, he would take her to live with him. Why should not Nacha live with them also, in fraternal companionship? Eugenia, Nacha! The two seemed only one now. Their souls, their lives, even their forms, seemed to blend into one haunting symbol of human sorrow. Selfishness, ignorance and evil were their relentless enemies, and worse than any of these was the smug indifference of the prosperous.
The doctor's arrival roused him from his ponderings. Torres sent him at once for some oxygen, and he took Moreno with him.
In the hack he asked the old attorney if he knew where to find Eugenia. Moreno knew perfectly well, but he did not wish to part with his information too lightly. He assured Monsalvat that he did not know, but that he could find out.
"It will be a hard piece of work, doctor; but as long as it's for you.... I'm pretty hard up. You see how it is...."