THE stars at the foot of the last chapter I called in as
an easy bridge by which to cross an interval of two
days, — a trick never to be resorted to except when there is
nothing of interest to record, as was the case here.

Orteguilla occupied the interval very industriously, if not
pleasantly. He had in hand two tasks, — one to instruct
Tecetl about the world to which he had vowed to lead her;
the other to fix upon a plan of escape. The first he found
easy, the latter difficult; yet he had decided, and his preparations
for the attempt, sufficient, he thought, though simple,
lay upon the floor by the fountain. A lamp shed a dim light
over the scene.

“So, so, Tecetl: are we ready now?” he asked.

“You are the master,” she replied.

“Very good, I will be assured.”

He went through a thorough inspection.

“Here are the paint and brush; here the oil and lamp;
here the bread and meat, and the calabash of water. So far,
good, very good. And here is the mat, — very comfortable,
Tecetl, if you have to make your bed upon a stone in the
floor. Now, are we ready?”

[figure description] Page 411.[end figure description]

“Yes, if you say so.”

“Good again! The Mother is with us. Courage! You
shall see the sun and sky, or I am not a Spaniard. Listen,
now, and I will explain.”

They took seats upon the bench, this time together; for
the strangeness was wellnigh gone, and they had come to
have an interest in a common purpose.

“You must know, then, that I have two reliances: first,
the man who brings the tray to the door; next, the Blessed
Mother.”

“I will begin with the first,” he said, after a pause. “The
man is a slave, and, therefore, easy to impose upon. If he
is like his class, from habit, he asks no questions of his
superiors. Your father — I speak from what you have told
me — was thoughtful and dreamy, and spoke but little to
anybody, and seldom, if ever, to his servants. You are not
well versed in human nature; one day, no doubt, you will
be; then you will be able to decide whether I am right in
believing that the traits of master and slave, which I have
mentioned, are likely to help us. I carried your father's
body over to the corner yonder, — you were asleep at the
time, — and laid it upon the floor, as we Christians serve our
dead. I made two crosses, and put one upon his lips, the
other on his breast; he will sleep all the better for them.
As you would have done, had you been present, I also covered
him with flowers. One other thing I did.”

He took a lamp, and was gone a moment.

“Here are your father's gown and hood,” he said, coming
back. “I doubt whether they would sell readily in
the market. He will never need them again. I took them
to help save your life, — a purpose for which he would
certainly have given them, had he been alive. I will put
them on.”

He laid his bonnet on the bench; then took off his boots,

[figure description] Page 412.[end figure description]

and put on the gown, — a garment of coarse black manta,
loose in body and sleeves, and hanging nearly to the feet.
Tying the cord about his waist, and drawing the hood over
his head, he walked away a few steps, saying, —

“Look at me, Tecetl. Your father was very old. Did he
stoop much? as much as this?”

He struck the good man's habitual posture, and, in a moment
after, his slow, careful gait. At the sight, she could
not repress her tears.

“What, crying again!” he said. “I shall be ashamed of
you soon. If we fail, then you may cry, and — I do not
know but that I will join you. People who weep much
cannot hear as they ought, and I want you to hear every
word. To go on, then: In this guise I mean to wait for
the old slave. When he lets the tray down, I will be
there to climb the ladder. He will see the hood and gown,
and think me his old master. He will not speak, nor will I.
He will let me get to his side, and then —”

After reflection, he continued, —

“Ah, Tecetl! you know not what troubles women sometimes
are. Here am I now. How easy for me, in this
guise, to follow the slave out of the temple! The most I
would have to do would be to hold my tongue. But you, —
I cannot go and leave you; the Señor Hernan would not
forgive me, and I could not forgive myself. Nevertheless,
you are a trouble. For instance, when the slave sees you
with me, will he not be afraid, and run? or, to prevent
that, shall I not have to make him a prisoner? That
involves a struggle. I may have to fight him, to wound
him. I may get hurt myself, and then — alas! what would
become of us?”

Again, he stopped, but at length proceeded, —

“So much for that. Now for my other reliance, — the
Blessed Lady. If the slave escapes me, you see, Tecetl, I must

[figure description] Page 413.[end figure description]

trust to what the infidels call Fortune, — a wicked spirit,
sometimes good, sometimes bad. I mean we shall then have
to hunt the way out ourselves; and, having already tried
that, I know what will happen. Hence these preparations.
With the paint, I will mark the corners we pass, that I may
know them again; the lamp will enable me to see the marks
and keep the direction; if we get hungry, here are bread and
meat, saved, as you know, from our meals; if we get thirsty,
the calabash will be at hand. That is what I call trusting
to ourselves; yet the Blessed Mother enabled me to anticipate
all these wants, and provide for them, as we have
done; therefore I call her my reliance. Now you have my
plans. I said you were my trouble; you cannot work, or
think, or fight; yet there is something you can do. Tecetl,
you can be my pretty beadswoman. I see you do not know
what that is. I will explain. Take these beads.”

While speaking, he took a string of them from his
neck.

“Take these beads, and begin now to say, `O Blessed
Mother, beautiful Mother, save us for Christ's sake.' Repeat!
Good!” he said, his eyes sparkling. “I think the prayer
never sounded as sweetly before; nor was there ever cavalier
with such a beadswoman. Again.”

And again she said the prayer.

“Now,” he said, “take the string in your own hand, —
thus; drop one bead, — thus; and keep on praying, and
for every prayer drop one bead. Only think, Tecetl, how I
shall be comforted, as I go along the gloomy passages, to know
that right behind me comes one, so lately a heathen but now
a Christian, at every step calling on the Mother. Who
knows but we shall be out and in the beautiful day before
the beads are twice counted? If so, then shall we know
that she cared for us; and when we reach the palace we will
go to the chapel, with good Father Bartolomé, and say the

[figure description] Page 414.[end figure description]

prayer together once for every bead on the string. So I
vow, and do you the same.”

“So I vow,” she said, with a pretty submission.

Then, by ropes fixed for the purpose, he raised the calabash,
and mat, and bundle of provisions, and swung them
lightly over his shoulders. Under his arm he took an earthen
vase filled with oil.

“Let us to the door now. The slave should be there.
Before we start, look around: you are leaving this place
forever.”

The thought went to her heart.

“O my birds! What will become of them?”

“Leave them to God,” he replied, laconically.

There were tears and sobs, in the midst of which he
started off, lamp in hand. She gave a look to the fountain,
within the circle of whose voice nearly all her years had
been passed. In her absence, it would play and sing, would
go on as of old; but in her absence who would be there to
see and hear? In the silence and darkness it would live,
but nevermore for her.

And she looked to the corner of the chamber where Orteguilla
had carried the body of the paba. Her tears attested
her undiminished affection for him. The recollection of his
love outlived the influence of his Will. His World was
being abandoned, having first become a tomb, capacious and
magnificent, — his tomb. But Quetzal' had not come.
Broken are thy dreams, O Mualox, wasted thy wealth of
devotion! Yet, at this parting, thou hast tears, — first
and last gift of Love, the sweetest of human principles,
and the strongest, — stronger than the Will; for if the latter
cannot make God of a man, the former can take him
to God.

And while she looked, came again the bird of the breast
of purple and wings of snow, which she placed in her bosom;

[figure description] Page 415.[end figure description]

then she followed the page, saying, trustfully, “O Blessed
Mother, beautiful Mother, save us for Christ's sake!”

Outside the curtain door he deposited his load, and carefully
explained to Tecetl the use of the ladder. Then he
placed a stool for her.

“Sit now; you can do nothing more. Everything depends
on the slave: if he behaves well, we shall have no
need of these preparations, and they may be left here. But
whether he behave well or ill, remember this, Tecetl, — cease
not to pray; forget not the beads.”

And so saying, he tossed a stout cord up through the
trap; then, leaving the lamp below, he clomb to the floor
above. His anxiety may be imagined. Fortunately, the
waiting was not long. Through the gallery distantly he saw
a light, which — praise to the Mother! — came his way. He
descended the ladder.

“He comes, and is alone. Be of cheer, Tecetl; be of
cheer, and pray. O if the Mother but stay with us
now!”

Faster fell the beads.

When the sound of footsteps overhead announced the arrival
of the slave, Orteguilla put his dagger between his
teeth, drew the hood over his head, and began to ascend.
He dared not look up; he trusted in the prayers of the little
beadswoman, and clomb on.

His head reached the level of the floor, and with the trap
gaping wide around, he knew himself under the man's eyes.
Another moment, and his hand was upon the floor; slowly
he raised himself clear of the rope; he stood up, then turned
to the slave, and saw him to be old, and feeble, and almost
naked; the lamp was on his forehead, the tray at his feet;
his face was downcast, his posture humble. The Spaniard's
blood leaped exultantly; nevertheless, carefully and deliberately,
as became his assumed character, he moved to one side

[figure description] Page 416.[end figure description]

of the passage, to clear the way to the trap. The servant
accepted the movement, and without a word took the lamp
from his head, crossed the great stone, fixed the ropes, and
stooped to lower the tray.

Orteguilla had anticipated everything, even this action,
which gave him his supreme advantage; so he picked up
the cord lying near, and stepped to the old man's side.
When the tray was landed below, the latter raised himself
upon his knees; in an instant the cord was around
his body; before he understood the assault, escape was impossible.

Orteguilla, his head yet covered by the hood, said calmly,
“Be quiet, and you are safe.”

The man looked up, and replied, “I am the paba's servant
now, even as I was when a youth. I have done no wrong,
and am not afraid.”

“I want you to live. Only move not.”

Then the page called, “Tecetl! Tecetl!”

“Here,” she answered.

“Try, now, to come up. Be careful lest you fall. If
you need help, tell me.”

“What shall I do with the bread and meat, and —”

“Leave them. The Mother has been with us. Come
up.”

The climbing was really a sailor's feat, and difficult for
her; finally, she raised her head through the trap. At the
sight, the slave shrank back, as if to run. Orteguilla spoke
to him.

“Be not afraid of the child. I have raised her to help
me take care of the temple. We are going to the chapel
now.”

The man turned to him curiously; possibly he detected
a strange accent under the hood. When, on her part, Tecetl
saw him, she stopped, full of wonder as of fear. Old and

[figure description] Page 417.[end figure description]

ugly as he was, he yet confirmed the page's story, and brought
the new world directly to her. So a child stops, and regards
the first person met at the door of a strange house, — attracted,
curious, afraid.

“Come on,” said Orteguilla.

She raised her hand overhead, and held up the bird with
the white wings.

“Take it,” she said.

Used as he was to wonderful things in connection with
his old master, the servant held back. A girl and a bird
from the cells, — a mystery, indeed!

“Take it,” said Orteguilla.

He did so; whereupon the page assisted her to the floor.

“We are almost there, — almost,” he said, cheerfully.
“Have you kept count of the prayers? Let me see the
beads.”

She held out the rosary.

“Ten beads more, — ten prayers yet. The Mother is with
us. Courage!”

Then of the slave he asked, —

“How is the day without?”

“There is not a cloud in the sky.”

“Is it morning or evening?”

“About midday.”

“Is the city quiet?”

“I cannot say.”

“Very well. Give the girl her bird, and lead to the court-yard.”

And they started, the slave ahead, held in check by the
cord in the Spaniard's hand. The light was faint and unsteady.
Once they ascended a flight of steps, and twice
changed direction. When the page saw the many cells on
either side, and the number of intersecting passages, all equal
in height and width, and bounded by the same walls of

[figure description] Page 418.[end figure description]

rough red stone, he understood how he became lost; and
with a shuddering recollection of his wanderings through
the great house, he could not sufficiently thank the Providence
that was now befriending him.

They clomb yet another stairway, and again changed direction;
after that, a little farther walk, and Orteguilla
caught sight of a doorway penetrated by a pure white light,
which he recognized as day. Words cannot express his
emotion; his spirit could hardly be controlled; he would
have shouted, sung, danced, — anything to relieve himself
of this oppression of happiness. But he thought, if he were
out of the temple, he would not yet be out of danger; that
he had to make way, by the great street from which he
had been driven, to the quarters of his friends, before he
could promise himself rest and safety; the disguise was the
secret of his present good-fortune, and must help him further.
So he restrained himself, saying to Tecetl, —

“For the time, cease your prayers, little one. The world
I promised to bring you to is close by. I see the daylight.”

There was indeed a door into the patio, or court-yard, of
the temple. Under the lintel the page lingered a moment,—
the court was clear. Then he gave the cord into the servant's
hand, with the usual parting salutation, and stepped
once more into the air, fresh with the moisture of the lake and
the fragrance of the valley. He looked to the sky, blue as
ever; and through its serenity, up sped his grateful Ave Maria.
In the exulting sense of rescue, he forgot all else, and was well
across the court to the steps leading to the azoteas, when he
thought of Tecetl. He looked back, and did not see her;
he ran to the door; she was there. The bird had fallen to
the floor, and was fluttering blindly about; her hands were
pressed hard over her face.

“What ails you?” he asked, petulantly. “This is not a
time to halt and cry. Come on.”

[figure description] Page 419.[end figure description]

“I cannot —”

“Cannot! Give me your hand.”

He led her through the door, under the colonnade, out into
the court.

“Look up, Tecetl, look up! See the sky, drink the air.
You are free!”

She uncovered her eyes; they filled as with fiery arrows.
She screamed, staggered as if struck, and cried, “Where
are you? I am lost, I am blind!”

“O Madre de Dios!” said Orteguilla, comprehending the
calamity, and all its inconveniences to her and himself.
“Help me, most miserable of wretches, — help me to a little
wisdom!”

To save her from falling, he had put his arm around her;
and as they stood thus, — she the picture of suffering, and he
overwhelmed by perplexity, — help from any quarter would
have been welcome; had the slave been near, he might have
abandoned her; but aid there was not. So he led her tenderly
to the steps, and seated her.

“How stupid,” he said in Spanish, — “how stupid not to
think of this! If, the moment I was born, they had carried
me out to take a look at the sun, shining as he is here, I
would have been blinder than any beggar on the Prado,
blinder than the Bernardo of whom I have heard Don
Pedro tell. My nurse was a sensible woman.”

Debating what to do, he looked at Tecetl; and for the
first time since she had come out of the door, he noticed
her dress, — simply a cotton chemise, a skirt of the same
reaching below the knees, a blue sash around the waist,—
very simple, but very clean. He noticed, also, the exceeding
delicacy of her person, the transparency of her complexion,
the profusion of her hair, which was brown in the sun.
Finally, he observed the rosary.

“She is not clad according to the laws which govern

[figure description] Page 420.[end figure description]

highborn ladies over the water; yet she is beautiful, and — by
the Mother! she is a Christian. Enough. By God's love, I,
who taught her to pray, will save her, though I die. Help
me, all the saints!”

He adjusted the hood once more, and, stooping, said, in
his kindliest tone, “Pshaw, Tecetl, you are not blind. The
light of the sun is so much stronger than that of your lamps
that your eyes could not bear it. Cheer up, cheer up! And
now put your arm around my neck. I will carry you to
the top of these steps. We cannot stay here.”

She stretched out her arms.

“Hark!” he cried. “What is that?”

He stood up and listened. The air above the temple
seemed full of confused sounds; now resembling the distant
roar of the sea, now the hum of insects, now the yells of
men.

“Jesu! I know that sound. There, — there!”

He listened again. Through the soaring, muffled din,
came another report, as of thunder below the horizon.

“It is the artillery! By the mother that bore me, the
guns of Mesa!”

The words of Io', spoken in Xoli's portico, came back to
him.

“Battle! As I live, they are fighting on the street!”

And he, too, sat down, listening, thinking. How was he
to get to his countrymen?

The sounds overhead continued, at intervals intensified
by the bellowing guns. Battle has a fascination which
draws men as birds are said to be drawn by serpents. They
listen; then wish to see; lingering upon the edge, they catch
its spirit, and finally thrill with fierce delight to find themselves
within the heat and fury of its deadly circle. The
page knew the feeling then. To see the fight was an overmastering
desire.

[figure description] Page 421.[end figure description]

“Tecetl, poor child, you are better now?”

“I dare not open my eyes.”

“Well, I will see for you. Put your arms around my
neck.”

And with that, he carried her up the steps. All the time,
he gave ear to the battle.

“Listen, Tecetl; hear that noise! A battle is going on
out in the street, and seems to be coming this way. I
will lead you into the chapel here, — a holy place, so your
father would have said. In the shade, perhaps, you can
find relief.”

“How pleasant the air is!” she said, as they entered.

“Yes, and there is Quetzal',” — he pointed to the idol, —
“and here the step before the altar upon which, I venture,
your father spent half his life in worship. Sit, and rest
until I return.”

“Do not leave me,” she said.

“A little while only. I must see the fight. Some good
may come of it, — who knows? Be patient; I will not
leave you.”

He went to the door. The sounds were much louder and
nearer. All the air above the city apparently was filled
with them. Amongst the medley, he distinguished the
yells of men and peals of horns. Shots were frequent, and
now and then came the heavy, pounding report of cannon.
He had been at Tabasco, at Tzimpantzinco, and in the three
pitched battles in Tlascala, and was familiar with what he
heard.

“How they fight!” he said to himself. “Don Pedro is
a good sword and brave gentlemen, but — ah! if the Señor
Hernan were there, I should feel better: he is a good
sword, brave gentleman, and wise general, also. Heaven
fights for him. Ill betide Narvaez! Why could he not
have put off his coming until the city was reduced? Jesu!

[figure description] Page 422.[end figure description]

The sounds come this way now. Victory! The guns have
quit, the infidels fly, on their heels ride the cavaliers.
Victory!”

And so, intent upon the conflict, insensibly he approached
the front of the temple, before described as one great
stairway. On the topmost step he paused. A man looking
at him from the street below would have said, “It
is only a paba”; and considering, further, that he was a
paba serving the forsaken shrine, he would have passed by
without a second look.

What he looked down upon was a broad street, crowded
with men, — not citizens, but warriors, and warriors in such
splendor of costume that he was fairly dazzled. Their
movement suggested a retreat, whereat pride dashed his eyes
with the spray of tears; he dared not shout.

More and more eagerly he listened to the coming tumult.
At last, finding the attraction irresistible, he descended the
steps.

The enemy were not in rout. They moved rapidly,
but in ranks extending the width of the street, and perfectly
ordered. The right of their column swept by the
Spaniard almost within arm's reach. He heard the breathing
of the men, saw their arms, — their shields of quilted
cotton, embossed with brass; their armor, likewise of
quilted cotton, but fire-red with the blood of the cochineal;
he saw their musicians, drummers, and conch-blowers, the
latter making a roar ragged and harsh, and so loud that
a groan or death-shriek could not be heard; he saw, too,
their chiefs, with helms richly plumed or grotesquely
adorned with heads of wild animals, with escaupiles of
plumage, gorgeous as hues of sunset, with lances and maquahuitls,
and shields of bison-hide or burnished silver,
mottoed and deviced, like those of Christians; amongst
them, also, he saw pabas, bareheaded, without arms, frocked

[figure description] Page 423.[end figure description]

like himself, singing wild hymns, or chanting wilder
epics, or shouting names of heroic gods, or blessing the
brave and cursing the craven, — the Sun for the one, Mictlan
for the other. The seeing all these things, it must be
remembered, was very different from their enumeration;
but a glance was required.

The actual struggle, as he knew, was at the rear of the
passing column. In fancy he could see horsemen plunging
through the ranks, playing sword, lance, and battle-axe. And
nearer they came. He could tell by the signs, as well as the
sounds; by the files beginning to crowd each other; by the
chiefs laboring to keep their men from falling into confused
masses. At length the bolt of a cross-bow, striking a man,
fell almost at his feet. Only the hand of a Spaniard could
have launched the missile.

“They come, — they are almost here!” he thought, and
then, “O Madre de Dios! If they drive the infidels past
this temple, I am saved. And they will. Don Pedro's
blood is up, and in pursuit he thinks of nothing but to slay,
slay. They will come; they are coming! There — Jesu
Christo! That was a Christian shout!”

The cross-bow bolts now came in numbers. The warriors
protected themselves by holding their shields over the
shoulder behind; yet some dropped, and were trampled
under foot. Orteguilla was himself in danger, but his suspense
was so great that he thought only of escape; each
bolt was a welcome messenger, with tidings from friends.

The column, meantime, seemed to become more disordered;
finally, its formation disappeared utterly; chiefs and warriors
were inextricably mixed together; the conch-blowers
blew hideously, but could not altogether drown the yells of
the fighting men.

Directly the page saw a rush, a parting in the crowd as
of waters before a ship; scores of dark faces, each a picture

[figure description] Page 424.[end figure description]

of dismay, turned suddenly to look back; he also looked,
and over the heads and upraised shields, half obscured by a
shower of stones and arrows, he saw a figure which might
well have been taken for the fiend of slaughter, — a horse and
rider, in whose action there were a correspondence and unity
that made them for the time one fighting animal. A frontleted
head, tossed up for a forward plunge, was what he saw
of the horse; a steel-clad form, swinging a battle-axe with
the regularity of a machine, now to the right, now to the
left of the horse's neck, was all he saw of the rider. He
fell upon his knees, muttering what he dared not shout,
“Don Pedro, brave gentleman! I am saved! I am saved!”
Instantly he sprang to his feet. “O my God! Tecetl, — I
had almost forgotten her!”

He climbed the steps again fast as the gown would
permit.

“My poor girl, come; the Mother offers us rescue. Can
you not see a little?”

She smiled faintly, and replied, “I cannot say. I have
tried to look at Quetzal' here. He was said to be very beautiful;
my father always so described him; but this thing is
ugly. I fear I cannot see.”

“It is a devil's image, Tecetl, a devil's image, — Satan
himself,” said the page, vehemently. “Let him not lose us a
moment; for each one is of more worth to us than the gold
on his shield there. If you cannot see, give me your hand.
Come!”

He led her to the steps. The infidels below seemed to have
held their ground awhile, fighting desperately. Eight or ten
horsemen were driving them, though slowly; if one was
struck down, another took his place. The street was dusty as
with the sweeping of a whirlwind. Under the yellow cloud
lay the dead and wounded. The air was alive with missiles,
of which some flew above the temple, others dashed against

[figure description] Page 425.[end figure description]

the steps. It looked like madness to go down into such a
vortex; but there was no other chance. What moment Don
Pedro might tire of killing no one could tell; whenever he
did, the recall would be sounded.

“What do I hear? What dreadful sounds!” said Tecetl,
shrinking from the tumult.

“Battle,” he answered; “and what that is I have not
time to tell; we must go down and see.”

He waited until the fighting was well past the front of
the old Cû, leaving a space behind the cavaliers clear of all
save those who might never fight again; then he threw back
the hood, loosed the cord from his waist, and flung the disguise
from him.

“Now, my pretty beadswoman, now is the time! Begin
the prayer again: `O Mother, beautiful Mother, save us for
Christ's sake!' Keep the count with one hand; put the
other about my neck. Life or death, — now we go!”

He carried her down the steps. Over a number of
wounded wretches who had dragged themselves, half dead,
out of the blood and trample, he crossed the pavement. A
horseman caught sight of him, and rode to his side, and
lifted the battle-axe.

“Hold, Señor! I am Orteguilla. Viva España!”

The axe dropped harmless; up went the visor.

“In time, boy, — in time! An instant more, and thy soul
had been in Paradise,” cried Alvarado, laughing heartily.
“What hast thou there? Something from the temple?
But stay not to answer. To the rear, fast as thy legs
can carry thee! Faster! Put the baggage down. We
are tired of the slaughter; but for thy sake, we will push
the dogs a little farther. Begone! Or stay! Arrows are
thicker here than curses in hell, and thou hast no armor.
Take my shield, which I have not used to-day. Now be
off!”

[figure description] Page 426.[end figure description]

Orteguilla set the girl upon her feet, took the shield,
and proceeded to buckle it upon his arm, while Alvarado
rode into the fight again. A moment more, and he would
have protected her with the good steel wall. Before he
could complete the preparation, he heard a cry, quick, shrill,
and sharp, that seemed to pierce his ear like a knife, — the
cry by which one in battle announces himself death-struck,—
the cry once heard, never forgotten. He raised the shield,—
too late; she reeled and fell, dragging him half down.

“What ails thee now?” he cried, in Spanish, forgetting
himself. “What ails thee? Hast thou looked at the sun
again?”

He lifted her head upon his knee.

“Mother of Christ, she is slain!” he cried, in horror.

An arrow descending had gone through her neck to the
heart. The blood gushed from her mouth. He took her
in his arms, and carried her to the steps of the temple. As
he laid her down, she tried to speak, but failed; then she
opened her eyes wide: the light poured into them as into
the windows of an empty house; the soul was gone; she
was dead.

In so short a space habitant of three worlds, — when was
there the like?

From the peace of the old chamber to the din of battle,
from the din of battle to the calm of paradise, — brief
time, short way!

From the sinless life to the sinful she had come; from
the sinful life sinless she had gone; and in the going what
fulness of the mercy of God!

I cannot say the Spaniard loved her; most likely his feeling
was the simple affection we all have for things gentle and
helpless, — a bird, a lamb, a child; now, however, he knelt
over her with tears; and as he did so, he saw the rosary,
and that all the beads but one were wet with her blood. He

p733-446 [figure description] Page 427.[end figure description]

took the string from the slender neck and laid her head
upon the stone, and thought the unstained bead was for a
prayer uncounted, — a prayer begun on earth and finished
in heaven.