Chapter Twenty Eight.
For some minutes Carlos remained stupefied with the shock, and made no effort to rouse himself.
A friendly hand laid upon his shoulder caused him to look up; Don Juan the ranchero was bending over him.
Don Juan’s face wore a look as wretched as his own. It gave him no hope; and it was almost mechanically the words escaped his lips—
“My mother? my sister?”
“Your mother is at my house,” replied Don Juan.
“And Rosita?”
Don Juan made no reply—the tears were rolling down his cheeks.
“Come, man!” said Carlos, seeing the other in as much need of consolation as himself; “out with it—let me know the worst! Is she dead?”