The men made no answer, but looked at each other.
"For the last time, will you drink or not?" she cried, as she placed the point of the knife on the skin.
"Stay," the monk shouted, as he rose and rushed towards her. "Demonios! She would do as she said."
And seizing a cup, he emptied it at a draught, his companions following his example. This mouthful of water—for the cups were very small—sufficed, however to calm their irritation—the fire that burned them was extinguished, they breathed more easily, and gave vent to a grunt of satisfaction, as they fell back on the ground. An angelic smile lit up the maiden's radiant face.
"You see," she said, "all is not lost yet."
"Come, come, Niña," the monk remarked, tranquilly, "why lull us with foolish hopes? The drop of water you have given us can only check our sufferings for a little while; within an hour our thirst will be more ardent and terrible than ever."
"Do you know what Heaven may reserve for you between this and then?" she asked, softly. "A respite, however short it may be, is in your position everything; all depends for you, not on the present moment, but on the coming one."
"Good, good! We'll not dispute after the service you have rendered us, Niña; still, everything seems to prove you wrong."
"How so?"
"Why, Caspita, what I say is very easy to understand; without going further, your father, who pledged his word never to desert us—"