A blinding light flashed before him as he reached the margin of the lake. The universe burst into a ball of fire. He clasped his head in his hands––stumbled––and fell, face down, in the tepid waters.
CHAPTER 2
“It was the little Carmen, Padre, who saw you run to the lake. She was sitting at the kitchen door, studying her writing lesson.”
The priest essayed to rise from his bed. Night had fallen, and the feeble light of the candle cast heavy shadows over the 10 room, and made grotesque pictures of the black, anxious faces looking in at the grated window.
“But, Rosendo, it––was––a dream––a terrible dream!”
“Na, Padre, it was true, for I myself took you from the lake,” replied Rosendo tenderly.
Josè struggled to a sitting posture, but would have fallen back again had not Rosendo’s strong arm supported him. He passed his hand slowly across his forehead, as if to brush the mental cobwebs from his awakening brain. Then he inquired feebly:
“What does the doctor say?”