They passed away with quick, frightened footsteps.
But as for Commendone, he went to the centre of the alcove, and knelt down just below the long black table.
The three bodies of the men they had slain he could not see. He could only see the black form of the tablecloth, and above it the great white Crucifix.
He prayed that nothing he had done upon this night should stain his soul, that Jesus—as indeed he believed—had been looking on him and all that he did, with help and favour.
And once more he renewed his vow to live for Jesus and for the girl he loved.
Crossing himself, he rose, and clapped his hands to his right side. Once more he found he was without a sword. He bowed again to the cross. "It will come back to me," he said, in a quiet voice.
He turned to go, he had no concern with those who lay dead above him; but as he went towards the door leading to the place of the torturers, his eye fell upon the oak stool in the middle of the room—the oak chair by which the brazier still glowed, and in which a silent, doll-like figure was bound.
He stepped up to the chair, and immediately he saw that Don Luis was dead.
The shock had killed him. He lay back there with patches of grey marked in his hair, as if fingers had been placed upon it—a young face, now prematurely old, and writhed into horror, but with a little quiet smile of satisfaction upon it after all....