lear understanding of what it is
doing, the wisest attempts will fail, and better that they do fail,
since why commit the wife to the husband if he does not sufficiently
love her, if he is not ready to die for her?"

Padre Florentino felt the sick man catch and press his hand, so he
became silent, hoping that the other might speak, but he merely felt
a stronger pressure of the hand, heard a sigh, and then profound
silence reigned in the room. Only the sea, whose waves were rippled
by the night breeze, as though awaking from the heat of the day,
sent its hoarse roar, its eternal chant, as it rolled against the
jagged rocks. The moon, now free from the sun's rivalry, peacefully
commanded the sky, and the trees of the forest bent down toward one
another, telling their ancient legends in mysterious murmurs borne
on the wings of the wind.

The sick man said nothing, so Padre Florentino, deeply thoughtful,
murmured: "Where are the youth who will consecrate their golden hours,
their illusions, and their enthusiasm to the welfare of their native
land? Where are the youth who will generously pour out their blood to
wash away so much shame, so much crime, so much abomination? Pure and
spotless must the victim be that the sacrifice may be acceptable! Where
are you, youth, who will embody in yourselves the vigor of life that
has left our veins, the purity of ideas that has been contaminated
in our brains, the fire of enthusiasm that has been quenched in our
hearts? We await you, O youth! Come, for we await you!"

Feeling his eyes moisten he withdrew his hand from that of the sick
man, arose, and went to the window to gaze out upon the wide surface
of the sea. He was drawn from his meditation by gentle raps at the
door. It was the servant asking if he should bring a light.

When the priest returned to the sick man and looked at him in the
light of the lamp, motionless, his eyes closed, the hand that had
pressed his lying open and extended along the edge of the bed,
he thought for a moment that he was sleeping, but noticing that he
was not breathing touched him gently, and then realized that he was
dead. His body had already commenced to turn cold. The priest fell
upon his knees and prayed.

When he arose and contemplated the corpse, in whose features were
depicted the deepest grief, the tragedy of a whole wasted life which
he was carrying over there beyond death, the old man shuddered and
murmured, "God have mercy on those who