It was a serious wound, with the chances against her surviving in such a warm climate.
The truth almost paralyzed poor Roderic—for this had he labored, that Leon should be saved and his sister yield up her bright young life?
Heaven alone knows what he suffered during the weary hours of suspense.
When the dread summons came and he knew he had lost her, the awful nature of the blow almost crushed him.
For once in his life he felt like cursing the Providence that rules over all.
Georgia passed away with her arm about his neck, her head pillowed on his breast, and her last whispered words were:
"How I love you, my Roderic—do not quite forget the poor daughter of Porto Rico!"
As if he could forget—so long as life remained her image must always be enshrined in his heart.
Perhaps it was just as well for his future happiness—love like Georgia's, so hot and inflammable, does not always bring that peace and content of mind which most men who speak the English tongue desire as their portion—it would mean an iceberg, a volcano—cold one hour and scorching the next.
Yes, perhaps Providence ordered it for the best.