“Jacinta! Rosa! I must have help!” cried Josè, turning to the stunned people. “Bring cloths––hot water––and send for Don Mario. Doña Lucia, prepare an olla of your herb tea at once!”
“Padre”––the boy had become quieter––“when the Turk learned that he was on the wrong boat––he asked to be put off at the next town––which was Bodega Central. The innkeeper put him in the empty house––and he––Dios! he died––on that bed where I slept!”
“Well?” said Josè.
“Padre, he died––the day before I arrived there––and––ah, Santísima Virgen! they said––he died––of––of––la cólera!”
“Cholera!” cried the priest, starting up. At the mention of the disease a loud murmur arose from the people, and they fell back from the shed.
“Padre!––ah, Dios, how I suffer! Give me the sacrament––I cannot live––! Padre––let me confess––now. Ah, Padre, shall I go––to heaven? Tell me––!”
Josè’s blood froze. He stood with eyes riveted in horror upon the tormented lad.
“Padre”––the boy’s voice grew weaker––“I fell sick that day––I started for Simití––I died a thousand times in the caño––ah, caramba! But, Padre––promise to get me out of purgatory––I have no money for Masses. Caramba! I cannot stand it! Oh, Dios! Padre––quick––I have not been very wicked––but I stole––Dios, how I suffer!––I stole two pesos from the innkeeper at Bodega Central––he thought he lost them––but I took them out of the drawer––Padre, pay him for me––then I will not go to hell! Dios!”
Rosendo at that moment entered the house.
“Don’t come in here!” cried Josè, turning upon him in wild apprehension. “Keep away, for God’s sake, keep away!”