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ment escaped from his bosom, sufficiently betrayed the violence of his affliction.
Father Pablos probed the wound. As he drew out his lancet, its point was tinged with a greenish hue. He shook his head mournfully, and quitted the bed side.
"'Tis as I feared," said he; "there is no hope."
"No hope!" exclaimed the monks with one voice; "say you, no hope?"
"From the sudden effects, I suspected that the abbot was stung by a cientipedoro[1]: the venom which you see upon my lancet confirms my idea. He cannot live three days."
"And can no possible remedy be found?" enquired Rosario.
"Without extracting the poison, he cannot recover; and how to extract it is to me still a secret. All that I can do is to apply such herbs to the wound as will re-
- ↑ The cientipedoro is supposed to be a native of Cuba, and to have been brought into Spain from that ⟨i⟩sland in the vessel of Columbus.
lieve
