"We shall wait for a sign. Bring oil. We will give the Sun God time for a sign. Bring a candle."
Pouring the jar of oil over the faggots to make them more inflammable, he set the lighted stub of a candle in the midst of the saturated fuel, and said: "The life of the candle will be the duration of the time for the sign. Is it well, People?"
And all the Lost Souls murmured, "It is well."
Torres looked appeal to Francis, who replied:
"The old brute certainly pinched on the length of the candle. It won't last five minutes at best, and, maybe, inside three minutes we'll be going up in smoke."
"What can we do?" Torres demanded frantically, while Leoncia looked bravely, with a sad brave smile of love, into Francis' eyes.
"Pray for rain," Francis answered. "And the sky is as clear as a bell. After that, die game. Don't squeal too loud."
And his eyes returned to Leoncia's and expressed what he had never dared express to her before his full heart of love. Apart, by virtue of the posts to which they were tied and which separated them, they had never been so close together, and the bond that drew them and united them was their eyes.
First of all, the little maid, gazing into the sky for the sign, saw it. Torres, who had eyes only for the candle stub, nearly burned to its base, heard the maid's cry and looked up. And at the same time he heard, as all of them heard, the droning flight as of some monstrous insect in the sky.
"An aeroplane," Francis muttered. "Torres, claim it for the sign."