At this moment a whistle was heard from near by.
“Indeed it is time that you go,” said Panfilo. “Do you not see that persons are coming?”
He could scarcely speak; he was on the point of losing consciousness.
Roque hesitated.
“How leave you?” he said.
“Go, if you desire that we be friends; if not, remain.”
“Then I leave.”
“Farewell, and run fast that they may not overtake you.”
So urgent and impassioned was his request that the girl was moved in spite of herself. To quench the sympathy which rose in her bosom she recalled to herself that he who thus spoke was the nominal friend of Gonzalo, and on remembering this she felt that for her budding pity was substituted vexation and indignation. Thus this harsh reproach escaped her lips: