Seizing the expiring Lázaro, they hurriedly dragged him down the aisle and took refuge back of the brick altar. The bullets, now piercing the walls of the church with ease, whizzed about them. One struck the pendant figure of the Christ, and it fell crashing to the floor. Rosendo stood in horror, as if he expected a miracle to follow this act of sacrilege.
“Oh, God!” prayed Josè, “only Thy hand can save us!”
“He will save us, Padre––He will!” cried Carmen, creeping closer to him through the darkness. “God is everywhere, and right here!”
“Padre,” said Don Jorge hurriedly, “the Host––is it on the altar?”
“Yes––why?” replied the priest.
“Then, when the doors fall, do you stand in front of the altar, holding it aloft and calling on the people to stand back, lest the hand of God strike them!”
Josè hesitated not. “It is a chance––yes, a bare chance. They will stop before it––or they will kill me! But I will do it!”
“Padre! You shall not––Padre! Then I shall stand with you!” Carmen’s voice broke clear and piercing through the din. Josè struggled to free himself from her.
“Na, Padre,” interposed Rosendo, “it may be better so! Let her stand with you! But––Caramba! Make haste!”