For Bob was dying; but it was no longer the death of the despairing murderer. The expression of his features was calm and composed, and his eyes were raised to heaven with a look of hope and supplication.
I stooped down and asked him how he felt himself, but he made no answer, and evidently did not recollect me. After a minute or two,
"How goes it with the fight?" he asked in a broken voice.
"We have conquered, Bob. The enemy killed or taken. Not a man escaped."
He paused a little, and then spoke again.
"Have I done my duty? May I hope to be forgiven?"
The Alcalde answered him in an agitated voice.
"He who forgave the sinner on the cross, will doubtless be merciful to you, Bob. His holy book says: There is more joy over one sinner that repenteth than over ninety and nine just men. Be of good hope, Bob! the Almighty will surely be merciful to you!"
"Thank ye, squire," gasped Bob "you're a true friend, a friend in life and in death. Well, it's come at last," said he, while a resigned and happy smile stole over his features. "I've prayed for it long enough. Thank God, it's come at last!"
He gazed up at the Alcalde with a kindly expression of countenance. There was a slight shuddering movement of his whole frame—Bob was dead.