"Go—go back to your rest," said the man, who lay with clenched teeth and hands, as Francisco kneeled beside him, "there is nothing the matter with me."
"Nay, friend, you are mistaken," said Francisco, taking his hand kindly; "your look, and that perspiration on your brow, tell me that something is the matter with you. Let me call our jailer, and—"
"Call our jailer!" exclaimed the young man, with a fierce laugh; "d'you think that he'd take any notice of a sick slave? No, when we get sick we are driven out to work till we get well. If we don't get well, we are left to die."
"Surely, surely not!" said Francisco.
"Surely not!" repeated the young man. "Look; look there!"
He pointed as he spoke to the old man who lay on his back at full length in the recess next to his own.
"See. He is a free man now! I knew he was to be released to-night. I have seen many and many a one set free thus since I came here."
Francisco was horrified, on going to the place where the old man lay, to find that he was dead. He had observed him tottering and looking very feeble at his work in the stone-quarries that day, but in his own misery had forgotten him since returning to the Bagnio.
