Give me the sacrament--I cannot
live--! Padre--let me confess--now. Ah, Padre, shall I go--to heaven?
Tell me--!"

Jose's blood froze. He stood with eyes riveted in horror upon the
tormented lad.

"Padre"--the boy's voice grew weaker--"I fell sick that day--I started
for Simiti--I died a thousand times in the _cano_--_ah, caramba_! But,
Padre--promise to get me out of purgatory--I have no money for Masses.
_Caramba!_ I cannot stand it! Oh, _Dios_! Padre--quick--I have not
been very wicked--but I stole--_Dios_, how I suffer!--I stole two
pesos from the innkeeper at Bodega Central--he thought he lost
them--but I took them out of the drawer--Padre, pay him for me--then I
will not go to hell! _Dios!_"

Rosendo at that moment entered the house.

"Don't come in here!" cried Jose, turning upon him in wild apprehension.
"Keep away, for God's sake, keep away!"

In sullen silence Rosendo disregarded the priest's frenzied appeal.
His eyes widened when he saw the boy torn with convulsions, but he did
not flinch. Only when he saw Carmen approaching, attracted by the
great crowd, he hastily bade one of the women turn her back home.

Hour after hour the poor sufferer tossed and writhed. Again and again
he lapsed into unconsciousness, from which he would emerge to
piteously beg the priest to save him. _"Ah! Dios, Padre!"_ he pleaded,
extending his trembling arms to Jose, "can you do nothing? Can you not
help me? _Santisima Virgen_, how I suffer!"

Then, when the evening shadows were gathering, the final convulsions
seized him and wrenched his poor soul loose. Jose and Rosendo were
alone with him when the end came. The people had early fled from the
stricken lad, and were gathering in little groups before their homes
and on the corners, discussing in low, strained tones the advent of
the scourge. Those who had been close to the sick boy were now cold
with fear. Women wept, and children clung whimpering to their skirts.
The men talked excitedly in hoarse whispers, or lapsed into a state of
terrified dullness.

Jose went from the death-bed to the Alcalde. Don Mario saw him coming,
and fled into the house, securing the door after him. "Go away,
Padre!" he shouted through the shutters. "For the love of the Virgin
do not come here! _Caramba!_"

"But, Don Mario, the lad is dead!" cried Jose in desperation. "And
what shall we do? We must face the situation. Come, you are the
Alcalde. Let us talk about--"

"_Caramba!_ Do what you