"Doña Lucienne is all right and the hacienda has not been bothered. Federicka and some of her people are with Doña Lucienne." The rain was a benediction after that: such a great weight had been lifted. He went into the house with a lighter step. "We're ready now, Angelina," he called presently. Tears trickled down Fernando's face as Angelina said goodbye; he could not see her; it was goodbye to a voice, to a memory.... After she had gone--he listened carefully to her footsteps, the banging of carriage doors, clatter of horses--he struggled to sit up: If I can sit up, I can still help Petaca. Petaca needs me, with people leaving, Raul away, Manuel ... I must help out. In his gray world, he puttered with his nervous hands and tugged at his sheet but he could not sit up. Calling weakly to Chavela, he begged a cigarette; she had to put it in his mouth, take it out, put it back; she was still afraid of him, afraid of his closeness to death now. She shuffled uneasily by his bed, sat down, got up. Raul and Angelina tried to make themselves comfortable, with a valise between them. The luggage on top rolled and thumped. Angelina clutched her mother's jewel case in her lap, a box covered with pink leather. "Raul, I don't see how I can make it. The rain has made the road so much rougher." "It is worse on such a bad day. But the train's running again." "Won't all my luggage get soaked?" "The tarpaulin's new," he said. "Try to rest against the cushions." "There's no room. Will I ever get there?" "I'll take off my poncho. That will make more room." Rain drummed all the way and the road became a mire in places. They had to pull off to bypass a wagon and the carriage sank to the hubs. Manuel put his cowboy escort to work, but it was a difficult job, with one of the whippletrees splintered. Angelina sat on a valise under her umbrella, a shawl around her, hating the rain and mud. Colima's streets and houses were a glad sight, but at the railway station they learned from the telegraph operator that the rails had been ripped up by rebels, somewhere miles along the line. "It will be days before a train can get through," he explained, wanting to be sympathetic. Raul slipped some money into his hands. "Keep me informed," he said. "I'll be in touch with you." He took Angelina to Federicka's, but she could not shake her pessimism; she felt defeated, fated to die at Petaca; she complained of a sick stomach; her head ached. When Federicka urged her to remain in Colima she consented, sullen, ready to go to bed, unwilling to say goodbye to Raul. She shut herself in her room, telling herself: I'll stay here till the train runs.