"
Faquita fell back with a little giggle, half of shame, half of awe.
"It is ever thus," said Sanchez, sententiously; "it is what he said
last night, when I picked him up on the mound. He will sleep now--
thou shalt see. He will get no further than Koorotora and the
coyote--and then he will sleep."
And to the awe of the group, and the increased respect for
Sanchez's wisdom, Pereo seemed to fall again into a lethargic
slumber. It was late in the evening when he appeared to regain
perfect consciousness. "Ah--what is this?" he said, roughly,
sitting up in bed, and eying the watchers around him, some of whom
had succumbed to sleep, and others were engaged in playing cards.
"Caramba! are ye mad? Thou, Sanchez, here; who shouldst be at thy
work in the stables! Thou, Pepita, is thy mistress asleep or dead,
that thou sittest here? Blessed San Antonio! would ye drive me
mad?" He lifted his hand to his head, with a dull movement of
pain, and attempted to rise from the bed.
"Softly, good Pereo; lie still," said Sanchez, approaching him.
"Thou hast been ill--so ill. These, thy friends, have been waiting
only for this moment to be assured that thou art better. For this
idleness there is no blame--truly none. The Dona Maria has said
that thou shouldst lack no care; and, truly, since the terrible
news there has been little to do."
"The terrible news?" repeated Pereo.
Sanchez cast a meaning glance upon the others, as if to indicate
this coafirmation of his diagnosis.
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