"No one is moving about the streets. We ought to get into a house. My querida lives in Calle Arzobispo."
"From here over there is quite a distance and we'll get wet," answered the distinguido.
"What does that matter just so the lightning doesn't strike us?"
"Bah, don't worry! The nuns surely have a lightning-rod to protect them."
"Yes," observed the private, "but of what use is it when the night is so dark?"
As he said this he looked upward to stare into the darkness. At that moment a prolonged streak of lightning flashed, followed by a terrific roar.
"Nakú! Susmariosep!" exclaimed the private, crossing himself and catching hold of his companion. "Let's get away from here."
"What's happened?"
"Come, come away from here," he repeated with his teeth rattling from fear.
"What have you seen?"
"A specter!" he murmured, trembling with fright.
"A specter?"
"On the roof there. It must be the nun who practises magic during the night."
The distinguido thrust his head out to look, just as a flash of lightning furrowed the heavens with a vein of fire and sent a horrible crash earthwards. "Jesús!" he exclaimed, also crossing himself.
In the brilliant glare of the celestial light he had seen a white figure standing almost on the ridge of the roof with arms and face raised toward the sky as if praying to it. The heavens responded with lightning and thunderbolts!
As the sound of the thunder rolled away a sad plaint was heard.
"That's not the wind, it's the specter," murmured the private, as if in response to the pressure of his companion's hand.
