the Christ. Midnight then was long past. Day was not so far away. Oh, if the remainder of this night of horror would only slip away.
A crunching of sand under feet! He is in his stockings and has not moved. The sound is repeated,—again—again. Someone is outside—near. He stands up, grabs his chest convulsively. He tries to swallow the bunch in his throat. Men are outside.—George!
Yes, it is he. The bells have rung out the hour of the resurrection!
They are talking softly—the men.
“But I tell you that he is asleep! I saw him put the light out!”
“All the better—we'll clean the place out then.”
“I can open the door. I know just how it works. We'll break one of the little windows in. The bolt is near it—”
Then one heard fingers groping in the darkness—and making measurements. An auger is thrust into the dry oak of the old door and begins to turn. Zibal has to lean against the wall for support; with the left hand he supports himself upon the door, while the right covers his eyes.
