The executioner disappeared in the inferniello; the clank of chains was heard, and he again emerged from the den, bringing with him the unfortunate prisoner.
"Por el amor de Dios!" implored the latter. "Cosmo will do any thing, confess every thing"—
"He raves," interrupted the alcalde.
"Jesus Maria," groaned Cosmo again. "We begged, we entreated him not to fire at Major Ulloa. Never in my life will I again take a trabuco in my hand."
"That voice!"——exclaimed the cloaked figure—
"Is altered," hastily interposed the alcalde. "The poor fellow has lost voice, reason, and courage. But it is always so."
"There," muttered the hangman; "these bracelets might have been made for your Excellency; they just fit on over the fur cuffs." And so saying, he pushed the prisoner against the wall, and placed both his arms in rings.
"Santissima Madre, ora pro nobis!" prayed poor Cosmo between his teeth, which chattered as he spoke. Then suddenly he raised his voice, and broke out into the beautiful hymn, "Madre dolorosa, dulcissima y hermosa," which he sang, in this his moment of extreme anguish, with such expression and melody, that even the executioner suspended his proceedings, and listened for a moment, visibly moved. A sign from the alguazil recalled him to his duty.
"A little farther back, Señoria. The legs asunder, on either side of this stone. We want you to sit comfortably."
"It is cold, bitter cold!" whined the poor fellow. "Oh, my poor mother!"