"The surgeon told me that his
recovery was very doubtful."
"Did he tell you that, Ruez?"
"Not those words, sister, but that which was equivalent to it,
however."
"He is worse, then, much worse?" she continued, in a hasty tone of
voice.
"Not worse, sister," replied Ruez. "I did not say that he was worse,
but the fever rages still, and unless that abates within a few
hours, death must follow."
Isabella Gonzales sat herself down at an open balcony and looked off
on the distant country in silence, so long, that Ruez and the hound
both fell asleep, and knew not that she at last left her seat. The
warmth and enervating influence of the atmosphere almost requires
one to indulge in a siesta daily, in these low latitudes and sunny
regions of the earth.
"He is dying, then," said Isabella Gonzales, to herself, after
having sought the silence and solitude of her own chamber, "dying
and alone, far from any kindred voice or hand, or even friend, save
those among his brothers in arms. And yet how much do we owe to him!
He has saved all our lives-Ruez's first, and then both father's and
mine; and in this last act of daring gallantry and bravery, he
received his death wound.
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