With _rebosos_ closely drawn, the women scurried homeward, leaving the dead men alone where they had fallen. Heartless of them? Well, no, for in the tropics law and order sometimes mean little, and these women knew well that, if they gave the alarm, they would probably be suspected and convicted of the murder. Stealthily opened, at midnight, the box proved to contain what old Juana and her daughter mistook for mere white, red, and green glass--no gold and no silver! The old woman, in a transport of rage, sorrow, and disappointment, spit upon the jewels. “Accursed things of mere glass,” she screamed, “to think that my poor Bendito died for such valueless things as _you_.” There was great lamentation next morning when old Bendito was found and brought home to his alarmed family. They wept and wailed so that people were very sorry for them, and Padre Diego volunteered, in the goodness of his heart, to say fifty masses, “at a merely nominal price,” for the soul of the departed _peon_. Andrés, no one seemed to regret, and no masses were ever said over him, at bargain prices or otherwise. And so Andrés and Bendito passed away, by no means the first men to die for the sake of greed and riches. While the widow and daughter of Bendito considered the “glass jewels” of no value, for all the world wore gold and silver trinkets, they were nevertheless afraid to speak or even hint of them, lest they be suspected of complicity in the murder. Therefore, the box was kept hidden in a secret place, and for a while the widow kept her mouth closed, though she dearly loved to gossip. But the custody of the box, and the consequent secrecy entailed upon her, were entirely too much for poor Juana. She sickened and began to pine for her country, as the Indians so quaintly call their birthplaces. Wherefore, their belongings were disposed of, and the two women proceeded to their old home, many leagues distant. With them was carried the crumbling box of jewels. Not long after reaching her birthplace, Juana proceeded to die. Toward the last, she grew exceedingly nervous over the “glass jewels,” speculating much as to their value, and declaring that at the worst they might be pawned for a _peso_ or two. And, still babbling of them, the old woman died, and was, in Biblical fashion, “buried with her fathers.” While not of a superstitious disposition, Bendita began to experience some of her mother’s qualms about the box and its contents. Finally, for its safety, she secretly removed several tiles from the floor of her room, and concealed the jewels therein. Then, satisfied that no one would find them there, she gave no more thought to the matter, for of what avail were the baubles? “One can not eat or drink them,” she mused. “But for their sake my poor father died.”