rise into the spiritual
consciousness in which she dwelt. And thus the year fell softly into
the yawning arms of the past and became a memory.

Then one day Simiti awoke from its lethargy in terror, with the
spectre of pestilence stalking through her narrow streets.

CHAPTER 19

Feliz Gomez, who had been sent to Bodega Central for merchandise which
Don Mario was awaiting from the coast, had collapsed as he stepped
from his boat on his return to Simiti. When he regained consciousness
he called wildly for the priest.

"Padre!" he cried, when Jose arrived, "it is _la plaga_! Ah,
_Santisima Virgen_--I am dying!--dying!" He writhed in agony on the
ground.

The priest bent over him, his heart throbbing with apprehension.

"Padre--" The lad strove to raise his head. "The innkeeper at Bodega
Central--he told me I might sleep in an empty house back of the
inn. _Dios mio!_ There was an old cot there--I slept on it two
nights--_Caramba!_ Padre, they told me then--Ah, _Bendita Virgen_!
Don't let me die, Padre! _Carisima Virgen_, don't let me die! _Ah,
Dios--!_"

His body twisted in convulsions. Jose lifted him and dragged him to
the nearby shed where the lad had been living alone. A terror-stricken
concourse gathered quickly about the doorway and peered in wide-eyed
horror through the narrow window.

"Feliz, what did they tell you?" cried Jose, laying the sufferer upon
the bed and chafing his cold hands. The boy rallied.

"They told me--a Turk, bound for Zaragoza on the Nechi river--had
taken the wrong boat--in Maganguey. He had been sick--terribly sick
there. _Ah, Dios!_ It is coming again, Padre--the pain! _Caramba!_
_Dios mio!_ Save me, Padre, save me!"

"Jacinta! Rosa! I must have help!" cried Jose, turning to the stunned
people. "Bring cloths--hot water--and send for Don Mario. Dona Lucia,
prepare an _olla_ of your herb tea at once!"

"Padre"--the boy had become quieter--"when the Turk learned that he
was on the wrong boat--he asked to be put off at the next town--which
was Bodega Central. The innkeeper put him in the empty house--and
he--_Dios_! he died--on that bed where I slept!"

"Well?" said Jose.

"Padre, he died--the day before I arrived there--and--ah_, Santisima
Virgen_! they said--he died--of--of--_la colera_!"

"Cholera!" cried the priest, starting up. At the mention of the
disease a loud murmur arose from the people, and they fell back from
the shed.

"Padre!--_ah, Dios_, how I suffer!