part of his sentence once, and his crime had been a shocking one. To kill a defenseless old woman, just for the sake of a few wretched pieces of gold! The terrible scene once more unrolled itself before her eyes. How did they dare to pardon the beast who had inflicted that fearful knife-thrust? Antonia remembered that the lips of the wound were livid, and it seemed as though she could still see the coagulated blood at the foot of the narrow bed.
She locked herself into her house, and passed the hours seated in a low chair before the hearth. Bah! If they were bound to kill her, they might as well come and do it!
Nothing but the plaintive voice of the little boy aroused her from her self-absorption.
"Mother, I am hungry! Mother, who is at the door? Who is coming?"
But at last. en a beautiful, sunny morning, she roused herself and, taking a bundle of soiled clothing. made her way towards the public washing place. To the many affectionate inquiries she answered only in slow monosyllables, and her eyes rested in unseeing absorption on the soapy water that now and again splashed in her face.
Who was it that brought to the laundry the unlooked-for news? It happened just as Antonia was gathering up her washing and preparing to start for home. Did someone invent the story, meaning to be kind, or was it one of those mysterious rumors, of unknown origin, which on the eve of momentous happenings, whether personal or public, palpitate and whis-
