y.

"Bring that prisoner to me," the captain ordered, later in the day.

"Do you want to go free?" he asked, when the Tagalog had been brought.

"If the Senor wills."

"What is that book?"

The man made no answer.

"Tell me what the book is, and why you wanted it; and you may go home."

"Will the Senor give me back the book to carry home with me?"

"I don't know. I'll see later about that."

"It was an 'anting-anting.' The strongest we ever knew. The man who
had it was a chief. When he was dead I wanted it."

"If this was such a powerful charm why was the man killed who had it
on. Why didn't it save him?"

The Tagalog was silent.

"Come. Tell me that, and you may go."

"And have the book?"

"Yes; and have the book."

"It is a very great 'anting-anting.' It never fails in its time. The
man who made it, a famous wise man, very many years ago, watched
one whole month for the secrets which the stars told him to write in
it; but the last night, the night of the full moon, he fell asleep,
and on that one day and night of the month the 'anting-anting' has
no good in it for the man who wears it. Else the chief would not be
dead. You made the attack, that day. Our people never would."

"Lieutenant Smith to see you, sir," an orderly announced.

"All right. Send him in; and take this fellow outside."

"But, Senor," the man's eyes plead for him as loudly as his words;
"the 'anting-anting.' You said I could have it and go."

"Yes, I know. Go out and wait."

"What do you report, Lieutenant? Can you read it?"

"Yes. This is very singular. There is no doubt but the book is now
nothing but a charm."

"Yes. I found that out."

"But I feel sure it was originally something more than that. Something
very strange."

"What?"

"It purports to be the record of the doings of a man who seems to have
died here many years ago, written by himself. It tells a strange story,
which, if true, may be of great importance now. To make sure the record
would be kept the writer made the natives believe it was a charm, while
its being written in Latin kept the nature of its message from them."

"Have you read it?"

"Most of it. Sometimes a word is gone--faded out;--and a few words I
cannot translate;--I don't remember all my Latin. I have written out
a translation as nearly as I can make it out." He handed a paper to
the captain, who read:

"I, Christopher Lunez, am about to die. Once I had not thought that
this would be m