try." said the Senorita, turning to Alessandro. "Sing
something low and soft."

Alessandro walked from the bed to the open window, and after thinking
for a moment, began a slow strain from one of the masses.

At the first note, Felipe became suddenly quiet, evidently listening. An
expression of pleasure spread over his feverish face. He turned his head
to one side, put his hand under his cheek and closed his eyes. The three
watching him looked at each other in astonishment.

"It is a miracle," said Father Salvierderra. "He will sleep."

"It was what he wanted!" whispered Ramona.

The Senora spoke not, but buried her face in the bedclothes for a
second; then lifting it, she gazed at Alessandro as if she were praying
to a saint. He, too, saw the change in Felipe, and sang lower and lower,
till the notes sounded as if they came from afar; lower and lower,
slower; finally they ceased, as if they died away lost in distance. As
they ceased, Felipe opened his eyes.

"Oh, go on, go on!" the Senora implored in a whisper shrill with
anxiety. "Do not stop!"

Alessandro repeated the strain, slow, solemn; his voice trembled; the
air in the room seemed stifling, spite of the open window; he felt
something like terror, as he saw Felipe evidently sinking to sleep by
reason of the notes of his voice. There had been nothing in Alessandro's
healthy outdoor experience to enable him to understand such a
phenomenon. Felipe breathed more and more slowly, softly, regularly;
soon he was in a deep sleep. The singing stopped; Felipe did not stir.

"Can I go?" whispered Alessandro.

"No, no." replied the Senora, impatiently. "He may wake any minute."

Alessandro looked troubled, but bowed his head submissively, and
remained standing by the window. Father Salvierderra was kneeling on
one side of the bed, the Senora at the other, Ramona at the foot,--all
praying; the silence was so great that the slight sounds of the rosary
beads slipping against each other seemed loud. In a niche in the wall,
at the head of the bed, stood a statue of the Madonna, on the other side
a picture of Santa Barbara. Candles were burning before each. The long
wicks smouldered and died down, sputtering, then flared up again as
the ends fell into the melted wax. The Senora's eyes were fixed on the
Madonna. The Father's were closed. Ramona gazed at Felipe with tears
streaming down her face as she mechanically told her beads.

"She is his betrothed, no doubt," thou