The soldiers had left her house; they were coming away without her children. Sisa breathed once more; her senses came back. She looked again, this time with grateful eyes, at the sky, furrowed now by a band of garzas, those clouds of airy gray peculiar to the Philippines; confidence sprang again in her heart; she walked on. Once past those dreadful men, she would have run, but prudence checked her. She had not gone far, when she heard herself called imperiously. She turned, pale and trembling in spite of herself. One of the guards beckoned her. Mechanically she obeyed: she felt her tongue grow paralyzed, her throat parch. "Speak the truth, or we'll tie you to this tree and shoot you," said one of the guards. Sisa could do nothing but look at the tree. "You are the mother of the thieves?" "The mother of the thieves?" repeated Sisa, without comprehending. "Where is the money your sons brought home last night?" "Ah! the money----" "Give us the money, and we'll let you alone." "Senores," said the unhappy woman, gathering her senses again, "my boys do not steal, even when they're hungry; we are used to suffering. I have not seen my Crispin for a week, and Basilio did not bring home a cuarto. Search the house, and if you find a real, do what you will with us; the poor are not all thieves." "Well then," said one of the soldiers, fixing his eyes on Sisa's, "follow us!" "I--follow you?" And she drew back in terror, her eyes on the uniforms of the guards. "Oh, have pity on me! I'm very poor, I've nothing to give you, neither gold nor jewelry. Take everything you find in my miserable cabin, but let me--let me--die here in peace!" "March! do you hear? and if you don't go without making trouble, we'll tie your hands." "Let me walk a little way in front of you, at least," she cried, as they laid hold of her. The soldiers spoke together apart. "Very well," said one, "when we get to the pueblo, you may. March on now, and quick!" Poor Sisa thought she must die of shame. There was no one on the road, it is true; but the air? and the light? She covered her face, in her humiliation, and wept silently. She was indeed very miserable; every one, even her husband, had abandoned her; but until now she had always felt herself respected. As they neared the pueblo, fear seized her. In her agony she looked on all sides, seeking some succor in nature--death in the river would be so sweet. But no! She thought of her children; here was a light in the darkness of her soul. "Afterward," she said to herself,--"afterward, we will go to live in the heart of the forest." She dried her eyes, and turning to the guards: "We are at the pueblo," she said. Her tone was indescribable; at once a complaint, an argument, and a prayer. The soldiers took pity on her; they replied with a gesture. Sisa went rapidly forward, then forced herself to walk tranquilly.