“Do not go yet,” replied the daughter of Candiola. “Day is coming, it is true; but they do not need you yet upon the walls.”
The bell in the tower sounded.
“Look how those birds cruise about in the heavens, announcing the dawn,” said Augustine, with bitter irony.
One, two, three bombs traversed the sky, as yet faintly illumined.
“How frightful!” cried Mariquilla, yielding to the embrace of Montoria. “Will God keep us today as He preserved us yesterday?”
“We must go to the walls,” I cried, rising quickly. “Do you not hear all the drums and bells sounding the call to arms?”
Mariquilla, in indescribable panic, was weeping and trying to detain Montoria. I was resolved on going at once, and endeavored to take him away with me. The noise of the drums and the bells in the belfries of the city were sounding the call to arms. And if we did not rush instantly into the lines, we ran the risk of being shot or arrested.
“I must go, I must go, Mariquilla,” said my friend, with profound emotion. “Are you afraid? No, this house is sacred because you live in it, and will be respected by the enemy’s fire. God will not visit your father’s cruelty upon your sacred head.”
The Doña Guedita appeared abruptly, saying that her master was up and dressing hastily. Then Mariquilla herself hurried us to the foot of the garden, ordering us to go at once. Augustine was in anguish, and at the gate, hesitated and stepped backward as if to return to the side of the unhappy girl, who, half dead of fright, her hands folded in prayer, was