bed priests are sacrificing
an infant which cries aloud."

"Pass on, pass on," Meyer said hurriedly, as though the horror of that
scene had leapt to his eyes. "Pass on two thousand seven hundred years
and tell me what you see."

Again there was a pause, while the spirit he had evoked in the body of
Benita lived through those ages. Then slowly she answered:

"Nothing, the place is black and desolate, only the dead sleep beneath
its floor."

"Wait till the living come again," he commanded; "then speak."

"They are here," she replied presently. "Tonsured monks, one of whom
fashions this crucifix, and their followers who bow before the Host upon
the altar. They come, they go--of whom shall I tell you?"

"Tell me of the Portuguese; of those who were driven here to die."

"I see them all," she answered, after a pause. "Two hundred and three of
them. They are ragged and wayworn and hungry. Among them is a beautiful
woman, a girl. She draws near to me, she enters into me. You must ask
her,"--this was spoken in a very faint voice--"I am I no more."

Mr. Clifford attempted to interrupt, but fiercely Meyer bade him to be
silent.

"Speak," he commanded, but the crouching figure shook her head.

"Speak," he said again, whereon another voice, not that of Benita,
answered in another tongue:

"I hear; but I do not understand your language."

"Great Heaven!" said Meyer, "it is Portuguese," and for a while the
terror of the thing struck him dumb, for he was aware that Benita knew
no Portuguese. He knew it, however, who had lived at Lorenco Marquez.

"Who are you?" he asked in that tongue.

"I am Benita da Ferreira. I am the daughter of the Captain da Ferreira
and of his wife, the lady Christinha, who stand by you now. Turn, and
you will see them."

Jacob started and looked about him uneasily.

"What did she say? I did not catch it all," asked Mr. Clifford.

He translated her words.

"But this is black magic," exclaimed the old man. "Benita knows no
Portuguese, so how comes she to speak it?"

"Because she is no longer our Benita; she is another Benita, Benita da
Ferreira. The Molimo was right when he said that the spirit of the dead
woman went with her, as it seems the name has gone," he added.

"Have done," said Mr. Clifford; "the thing is unholy. Wake her up, or I
will."

"And bring about her death. Touch or disturb her, and I tell you she
will die," and he pointed to Benita, who crouched before them so white