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 bedside.

“ ’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 relieve the anguish: the patient will be restored to his senses; but the venom will corrupt the whole mass of his blood, and in three days he will exist no longer.”