ght, rendered more seductive
the promise of his vigorous form and the resolution of his conduct.

Old Giorgio, in profound ignorance of his wife's views and hopes, had a
great regard for his young countryman. "A man ought not to be tame," he
used to tell her, quoting the Spanish proverb in defence of the splendid
Capataz. She was growing jealous of his success. He was escaping from
her, she feared. She was practical, and he seemed to her to be an absurd
spendthrift of these qualities which made him so valuable. He got too
little for them. He scattered them with both hands amongst too many
people, she thought. He laid no money by. She railed at his poverty, his
exploits, his adventures, his loves and his reputation; but in her heart
she had never given him up, as though, indeed, he had been her son.

Even now, ill as she was, ill enough to feel the chill, black breath of
the approaching end, she had wished to see him. It was like putting out
her benumbed hand to regain her hold. But she had presumed too much on
her strength. She could not command her thoughts; they had become dim,
like her vision. The words faltered on her lips, and only the paramount
anxiety and desire of her life seemed to be too strong for death.

The Capataz said, "I have heard these things many times. You are unjust,
but it does not hurt me. Only now you do not seem to have much strength
to talk, and I have but little time to listen. I am engaged in a work of
very great moment."

She made an effort to ask him whether it was true that he had found time
to go and fetch a doctor for her. Nostromo nodded affirmatively.

She was pleased: it relieved her sufferings to know that the man had
condescended to do so much for those who really wanted his help. It was
a proof of his friendship. Her voice become stronger.

"I want a priest more than a doctor," she said, pathetically. She did
not move her head; only her eyes ran into the corners to watch the
Capataz standing by the side of her bed. "Would you go to fetch a priest
for me now? Think! A dying woman asks you!"

Nostromo shook his head resolutely. He did not believe in priests in
their sacerdotal character. A doctor was an efficacious person; but a
priest, as priest, was nothing, incapable of doing either good or harm.
Nostromo did not even dislike the sight of them as old Giorgio did. The
utter uselessness of the errand was what struck him most.

"Padrona," he said, "you have been like this befo