“To die! to die!” exclaimed the youth again with desperation.
“Fear not,” replied Death, approaching him gently. “It is useless for thee to fly from me. It has been decreed that we should meet, and I do not intend to abandon thee as thou wishest.”
“But why have you come here?” exclaimed Tito, furiously, wiping away his tears, as if relinquishing supplication and perhaps prudence, and addressing Death defiantly. “Why have you come here? Answer!” and he glanced about angrily as if seeking some weapon. Near to him was a large garden axe. He grasped it convulsively, and raised it in the air, as if it were a weak reed (for despair had doubled his strength), and repeated for the third time and with more fury than ever:—“Why have you come here?”
Death burst into a loud, cynical laugh, the echo of which resounded for a long time. It reverberated in the four corners of the garden, imitating with its strident sound the rattling of a skeleton’s bones when knocking against each other. “Thou wishest to kill me!” exclaimed the black spectre. “So, Life opposes itself to Death! This is interesting. Let us fight, then.” Saying this he threw back his long black cape, exposing an arm which grasped a weapon resembling a scythe, and put himself on guard, in front of Tito.
The moon assumed a yellow, waxy color; a cold wind blew, which made the fruit-laden trees groan with sorrow; one heard the distant barking of many dogs, or they seemed rather long howls of funereal omen; and one even seemed to hear, high up in the region of the clouds, the jangling sound of many bells that tolled of death.
Tito, noting all these things, fell upon his knees before his antagonist.
“Pity! pardon!” he cried, with indescribable anguish.
“Thou art forgiven,” gently responded Death, hiding his weapon; and as if all that funereal pomp of nature might have arisen from the fury of the black divinity, no sooner had a smile appeared on his lips, than the atmosphere calmed, the bells ceased, the dogs stopped howling, and the moon shone as brightly as at the commencement of the night.
“Thou hast pretended to fight with me,” exclaimed Death with good humor. “Physician, at last! Arise unhappy one, and give me thy hand. I have said that thou hast nothing to fear for this night.”