The others were scowling and hateful, but completely under Natzie's
control, and between them they hustled her pony into a ravine leading
to the north and led him along for hours, Angela, powerless to
prevent, riding helplessly on. At last they made her dismount, and
then came a long, fearful climb afoot, up the steepest trail she had
ever known, until it brought her here. And here, she could not tell
how many nights afterwards--it seemed weeks, so had the days and hours
dragged--here, while she slept at last the sleep of exhaustion, they
had brought Mr. Blakely. He lay there in raging fever when she was
awakened that very morning by Natzie's crying in her ear some words
that sounded like: _"Hermano viene_! _Hermano viene_!"
[Illustration: "THEY HUSTLED HER PONY INTO A RAVINE"]
Stout had listened with absorbing interest and to the very last word.
Then, as one who heard at length full explanation of what he had
deemed incredible, his hand went out and clutched that of Arnold,
while his deep eyes, full of infinite pity, turned to where poor
Natzie crouched, watching silently and in utter self-forgetfulness the
doctor's ministrations.
"Wales," he muttered, "that settles the whole business. Whatever you
do,--don't let that poor girl know that--they"--and now he warily
glanced toward Angela--"they--are _not_ brother and sister.
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