Then feeling as if he should die of shame, grief, and joyful surprise, he stood spellbound, and knew not what to do, save to extend both hands to her, or what to say, save "I...

I--I," then with a sudden change of tone exclaimed like a madman: "You don't know! I am not....

Give me time, master.

Here, here, girl, you must, you shall, all must not be over!" He had opened his arms wide, and now hastily approached her with the eager look of the gambler, who has staked his last penny on a card.
Coello's daughter did not obey.
She was no longer little, unassuming Belita; here stood no child, but a beautiful, blooming maiden.

In eighteen months her figure had gained height; anxious yearning and constant contention with her mother had wasted her superabundance of flesh; her face had become oval, her bearing self-possessed.