"Yonder is the place you seek, Senor," he said, in a tone of
commiseration which touched my heart. "You are seeking for parents whom
you have known, and their memory is dear to you. I, alas! have never
known any parents to love, and my heart is vacant."

I knew he wished to utter words of consolation, but I have no
recollection of what more he said. My mind was too full of the work
before me. I urged on my mule, for I felt an eager desire to search
through the village; yet what information could I expect to find in
those deserted ruins? As we approached, we saw a wretched half-starved
dog skulking among the walls. He looked at us to see if we were friends
whom he knew, and then fled away. Not a human being was to be seen. We
passed through the desolate streets. Some of the walls had been cast
down, and the roofs of all the houses had been burned and fallen in.
The church only was standing; but the doors were open, and the interior
presented a scene of horror which baffles description. Numbers of the
unfortunate inhabitants had fled there as their last place of refuge,
but it had proved no sanctuary to them. In every part of the building,
on the steps of the altar, and by the altar itself, were seen heaped
together the mangled remnants of the forms of human beings. Their
dresses showed that they were those of men, women, and children; but
weeks had now passed since they were slain, and their bones alone
remained. The beasts and even the birds of prey had been there, or it
would have been impossible to enter into that charnel-house.

Pale and trembling I wandered through it, scarcely able to draw breath
from the foul air which filled the place; but no sign of those I sought
could I find. At length I staggered out again into the open air, where
Pedro, who was holding our mules, waited for me. I determined next to
search each of the houses separately.

As we were wandering through one of them, an object met my sight which
riveted my attention. It was a silk handkerchief. With a trembling
hand I picked it up. It was exactly such a one as I remembered to have
seen my sister Lilly wear round her neck. It was of an ordinary sort; a
little three-cornered handkerchief with a pink fringe. There might be
many such in the country. This might have been the property of some
Spanish girl or young Chola, for there was no mark on it to distinguish
it; but still, as I looked at it, I felt almost confident that it ha