hollow that his throat seemed
to lack vocal chords. "You, Crispin, must stay tonight, until what
you stole reappears."

Crispin looked at his brother as if pleading for protection.

"But we already have permission--mother expects us at eight o'clock,"
objected Basilio timidly.

"Neither shall you go home at eight, you'll stay until ten."

"But, sir, after nine o'clock no one is allowed to be out and our
house is far from here."

"Are you trying to give me orders?" growled the man irritably, as he
caught Crispin by the arm and started to drag him away.

"Oh, sir, it's been a week now since we're seen our mother," begged
Basilio, catching hold of his brother as if to defend him.

The senior sacristan struck his hand away and jerked at Crispin,
who began to weep as he fell to the floor, crying out to his brother,
"Don't leave me, they're going to kill me!"

The sacristan gave no heed to this and dragged him on to the
stairway. As they disappeared among the shadows below Basilio stood
speechless, listening to the sounds of his brother's body striking
against the steps. Then followed the sound of a blow and heartrending
cries that died away in the distance.

The boy stood on tiptoe, hardly breathing and listening fixedly,
with his eyes unnaturally wide and his fists clenched. "When shall I
be strong enough to plow a field?" he muttered between his teeth as
he started below hastily. Upon reaching the organ-loft he paused to
listen; the voice of his brother was fast dying away in the distance
and the cries of "Mother! Brother!" were at last completely cut
off by the sound of a closing door. Trembling and perspiring, he
paused for a moment with his fist in his mouth to keep down a cry of
anguish. He let his gaze wander about the dimly lighted church where
an oil-lamp gave a ghostly light, revealing the catafalque in the
center. The doors were closed and fastened, and the windows had iron
bars on them. Suddenly he reascended the stairway to the place where
the candle was burning and then climbed up into the third floor of
the belfry. After untying the ropes from the bell-clappers he again
descended. He was pale and his eyes glistened, but not with tears.

Meanwhile, the rain was gradually ceasing and the sky was
clearing. Basilio knotted the ropes together, tied one end to a rail
of the balustrade, and without even remembering to put out the light
let himself down into the darkness outside. A few moments later voices