Beltran enfolded the girl in his arms.
"You shall not die. There is no danger of dying. We will go up on the roof. See! here are the steps. You will behold a wonderful sight to-night. You will laugh at your fears to-morrow."
Beltran urged her toward the ladder as he spoke.
"Agueda and I have spent more than one night up there, have we not, Agueda? She will tell you that there is nothing to fear. Agueda, tell my cousin that there is nothing to fear."
"I did not know what there was to fear," said Agueda in a low voice.
Felisa was crying bitterly, as Beltran aided her up the lower steps of the ladder. Agueda followed Beltran and Felisa. She carried some heavy wraps, and struggled up the steep incline unaided. Arrived upon the roof, she found the cousins standing together, Beltran's arm cast protectingly round the trembling girl, her eyes hid against his breast.
"My cousin is nervous," said he, in a half apologetic tone; for though his intimacy with Felisa had passed the highest water-mark, where cousinship ends and love begins, he had not obtruded his actions or words upon Agueda's notice. But now as he felt the shaking of Felisa's young form against his own, suddenly he seemed to throw off all reserve.
"Vida mia!" he said. "Vida mia! look up, speak to me. Do look. See that faint light in the east! The moon will soon rise. It is a beautiful sight. The Water will go down in a few hours. You will laugh at your fears to-morrow, child. These floods do not last long, do they, Agueda? When was the last one? Do you remember, Agueda?"
"Yes, I remember," answered Agueda.
"Come, then, and tell her. You can comfort her if you tell her how little there is to fear."