Fabian buried its point in the sand.
The shadow of the poignard far exceeded its length.
“The sun,” he said, “shall determine how many moments you have to live. When the shadow disappears you shall appear before God, and my mother will be avenged.”
A deathlike silence succeeded Fabian’s last words, who, overcome with long suppressed emotions, fell, rather than seated himself upon the stone.
Bois-Rose and Pepé both retained their seats. The judges and the criminal were alike motionless.
Diaz perceived that all was over, but he did not wish, to take any part in the execution of the sentence.
He approached the Duke de Armada, knelt down before him, took his hand and raised it to his lips.
“I will pray for the salvation of your soul,” said he in a low tone. “Do you release me from my oath?”
“Yes,” replied Don Antonio, in a firm voice; “go, and may God bless you for your fidelity!”
The noble adventurer retired in silence.