“Let me show you I am not so bad,” pleaded Andres.
“Bear in mind, boy, that if your courage fails when you get to that height it will cost you your life.”
“Don’t be afraid; my courage will not be wanting,” replied Andres.
“Be it so then,” rejoined Juan de Herrera; “to-morrow you shall show what you are worth,” and he clasped the boy’s hand to encourage him in his courageous resolution, and all round the table applauded his pluck.
The next morning found all who were at the banquet, and many more whose curiosity the report of the story had excited, gathered in the plaza round the Church of Coveña. There at the foot of the steeple lay shining the huge cross and ball, newly clad with gilding and bound with strong ropes, by means of which it was to be hoisted over the ready adjusted pulleys into its place.
“If you don’t feel up to the mark, you had better give in, even now!” whispered Juan de Herrera, under the porch. “It is still time; and, mind, it is no easy task!”
“My head is quite steady,” answered Andres, piqued to find his father still doubted his daring; and, his head erect, without waiting to hear another word of warning, he commenced the ascent of the spiral stair at a rapid pace.
Not altogether free from uneasiness, Juan de Herrera went out to watch the result from the stone cross in the centre of the plaza. The whole crowd was nearly as breathless and anxious as the father, but before two minutes had elapsed Andres was seen emerging from behind one of the pinnacles of a platform, level with the beam on which the bell had been hung a few days before.
A shudder seized the throng, for some one whispered that he had heard the bell sound as the youth passed by, and the rest took up the words and repeated under their breath with superstitious terror, “La campana ha tocado á muerto[2]!”
Herrera, meantime, stood leaning against the cross a little way from the crowd, and too much absorbed to catch the report. He seemed quite tranquil and had heard no sound.