eon gaze the round, staring eyes in
which innocence alone is reflected--this night brought to Basilio
only orphanhood. Who knows but that perhaps in the home whence came
the taciturn Padre Salvi children also played, perhaps they sang

"La Nochebuena se viene,
La Nochebuena se va." [172]

For a long time the boy wept and moaned. When at last he raised his
head he saw a man standing over him, gazing at the scene in silence.

"Are you her son?" asked the unknown in a low voice.

The boy nodded.

"What do you expect to do?"

"Bury her!"

"In the cemetery?"

"I haven't any money and, besides, the curate wouldn't allow it."

"Then?"

"If you would help me--"

"I'm very weak," answered the unknown as he sank slowly to the ground,
supporting himself with both hands. "I'm wounded. For two days I
haven't eaten or slept. Has no one come here tonight?"

The man thoughtfully contemplated the attractive features of the boy,
then went on in a still weaker voice, "Listen! I, too, shall be dead
before the day comes. Twenty paces from here, on the other side of
the brook, there is a big pile of firewood. Bring it here, make a
pyre, put our bodies upon it, cover them over, and set fire to the
whole--fire, until we are reduced to ashes!"

Basilio listened attentively.

"Afterwards, if no one comes, dig here. You will find a lot of gold
and it will all be yours. Take it and go to school."

The voice of the unknown was becoming every moment more
unintelligible. "Go, get the firewood. I want to help you."

As Basilio moved away, the unknown turned his face toward the east
and murmured, as though praying:

"I die without seeing the dawn brighten over my native land! You,
who have it to see, welcome it--and forget not those who have fallen
during the night!"

He raised his eyes to the sky and his lips continued to move, as if
uttering a prayer. Then he bowed his head and sank slowly to the earth.

Two hours later Sister Rufa was on the back veranda of her house
making her morning ablutions in order to attend mass. The pious woman
gazed at the adjacent wood and saw a thick column of smoke rising
from it. Filled with holy indignation, she knitted her eyebrows
and exclaimed:

"What heretic is making a clearing on a holy day? That's why so many
calamities come! You ought to go to purgatory and see if you could
get out of there, savage!"

EPILOGUE

Since some of our characters are still living and