The alferez went to look for a watch that he might count the minutes.
In the meantime, Tarsilo was hanging, his long hair waving in the air and his eyes half closed.
“If you are Christians, if you have hearts,” he begged, in a low voice, “let me down rapidly and make my head strike against the wall that I may die. God would reward such a good deed.... Perhaps some day you will be in the same straits as I am now.”
The alferez returned and with watch in hand witnessed the descent.
“Slowly, slowly!” cried Doña Consolacion following the poor fellow with her eyes. “Be careful!”
The pole was being lowered slowly. Tarsilo rubbed against the projecting stones and the dirty plants which grew in the crevices. Then, the pole ceased to move. The alferez was counting the seconds.
“Up!” he ordered dryly, at the end of a half minute.
The silvery harmony of the drops of water falling back into the well, announced the return of the unfortunate man to the light. As the weight on the end of the lever was heavy, he came up quickly. The rough pieces of stone and pebbles, torn loose from the walls, fell with splashes to the bottom.
His face and hair full of filthy mud, his body wet and dripping, he appeared again in the sight of the silent crowd. The wind made him shiver with cold.
“Do you want to make a declaration?” they asked him.