preparations of the soldiers with a fixed
look. He was pale, and his lips trembled or murmured a prayer. The
haughtiness of his desperation seemed to have disappeared or, at least,
to have weakened. Several times he bent his stiff neck and fixed his
gaze on the ground as though resigned to his sufferings. They led
him to the well-curb, followed by the smiling Dona Consolacion. In
his misery he cast a glance of envy toward the heap of corpses and
a sigh escaped from his breast.

"Talk now," the directorcillo again advised him. "They'll hang you
anyhow. You'll at least die without suffering so much."

"You'll come out of this only to die," added a cuadrillero.

They took away the gag and hung him up by his feet, for he must go
down head foremost and remain some time under the water, just as
the bucket does, only that the man is left a longer time. While the
alferez was gone to look for a watch to count the minutes, Tarsilo
hung with his long hair streaming down and his eyes half closed.

"If you are Christians, if you have any heart," he begged in a low
voice, "let me down quickly or make my head strike against the sides
so that I'll die. God will reward you for this good deed--perhaps
some day you may be as I am!"

The alferez returned, watch in hand, to superintend the lowering.

"Slowly, slowly!" cried Dona Consolacion, as she kept her gaze fixed
on the wretch. "Be careful!"

The well-sweep moved gently downwards. Tarsilo rubbed against the
jutting stones and filthy weeds that grew in the crevices. Then the
sweep stopped while the alferez counted the seconds.

"Lift him up!" he ordered, at the end of a half-minute. The silvery
and harmonious tinkling of the drops of water falling back indicated
the prisoner's return to the light. Now that the sweep was heavier he
rose rapidly. Pieces of stone and pebbles torn from the walls fell
noisily. His forehead and hair smeared with filthy slime, his face
covered with cuts and bruises, his body wet and dripping, he appeared
to the eyes of the silent crowd. The wind made him shiver with cold.

"Will you talk?" he was asked.

"Take care of my sister," murmured the unhappy boy as he gazed
beseechingly toward one of the cuadrilleros.

The bamboo sweep again creaked, and the condemned boy once more
disappeared. Dona Consolacion observed that the water remained
quiet. The alferez counted a minute.

When Tarsilo again came up his features were contracted and livid. With
h