“To the jail!” ordered the alferez. “This afternoon, send him to the capital.”
Chapter XXXVIII.
The Accursed.
The news that the prisoners were going to depart spread quickly through the town. At first, the news was heard with terror; afterward, came tears and lamentations.
The members of the families of the prisoners were running about madly. They would go from the convent to the cuartel from the cuartel to the tribunal, and not finding consolation anywhere, they filled the air with cries and moans. The curate had shut himself up because he was ill. The alferez had increased his guards, who received the supplicants with the butts of their guns. The gobernadorcillo, a useless being, anyway, seemed more stupid and useless than ever.
The sun was burning hot, but none of the unhappy women who were gathered in front of the cuartel thought of that. Doray, the gay and happy wife of Don Filipo, wandered about, with her tender little child in her arms. Both were crying.
“Get out of the sun,” they said to her. “Your son will catch a fever.”
“What is the use of his living if he has no father to educate him?” replied the dispirited woman.
“Your husband is innocent. Perhaps he will return.”