The hunter felt moved by this poignant grief.
"I swear it," he said.
The condemned seemed to be collecting his ideas. "Paper and a pencil," he said.
Marksman still held the portfolio; he tore a leaf from it, and gave it to him, with the pencil.
Don Estevan smiled bitterly at the sight of his portfolio. He clutched the paper, and hurriedly wrote a few lines, which he gave to the hunter. An extraordinary change had taken place in the prisoner's face; his features were calm, his glance gentle and suppliant. "Here," he said, "I count on your word. Take this letter; it is for my brother. I recommend my children to him; it is for their sake I am dying. No matter! if they are happy, I shall have attained my object—that is all I want. My brother is good; he will not abandon the unhappy orphans I leave as a heritage to him. I implore you, give him that paper."
"Within an hour it shall be in his hands; I swear it!"
"Thanks. Now do with me what you please; I care little. I have insured the welfare of my children; that was all I wished for."
The hole had been dug. Two Gambusinos seized Don Estevan, and lowered him into it. When he was standing upright in the hole, the ground was just on a level with his armpits; his right arm was fastened along his side, the other left free. Then the earth was piled up around this living man, who was already no more than a corpse. When the hole was filled up, a Gambusino approached the condemned man with a scarf.
"What are you going to do?" he asked in terror, though he guessed the man's purpose.
"To gag you," the Gambusino said, brutally.