The day drew to a close, and the flaming sun rested for a brief moment on the lofty tip of Tolima. Josè awoke, dripping with perspiration, his steaming blood rushing wildly through its throbbing channels. Blindly he rose from his rough bed and stumbled out of the stifling chamber. The living room was deserted. Who might be in the kitchen, he did not stop to see. Dazed by the garish light and fierce heat, he rushed from the house and over the burning shales toward the lake. What he intended to do, he knew not. His weltering thought held but a single concept--water! The lake would cool his burning skin--he would wade out into it until it rose to his cracking lips--he would lie down in it, till it quenched the fire in his head--he would sleep in it--he would never leave it--it was cool--perhaps cold! What did the word mean? Was there aught in the world but fire--flames--fierce, withering, smothering, consuming heat? He thought the shales crackled as they melted beneath him! He thought his feet sank to the ankles in molten lava, and were so heavy he scarce could drag them! He thought the blazing sun shot out great tongues of flame, like the arms of a monster devilfish, which twined about him, transforming his blood to vapor and sucking it out through his gaping pores! A blinding light flashed before him as he reached the margin of the lake. The universe burst into a ball of fire. He clasped his head in his hands--stumbled--and fell, face down, in the tepid waters. CHAPTER 2 "It was the little Carmen, Padre, who saw you run to the lake. She was sitting at the kitchen door, studying her writing lesson." The priest essayed to rise from his bed. Night had fallen, and the feeble light of the candle cast heavy shadows over the room, and made grotesque pictures of the black, anxious faces looking in at the grated window. "But, Rosendo, it--was--a dream--a terrible dream!" "_Na_, Padre, it was true, for I myself took you from the lake," replied Rosendo tenderly. Josè struggled to a sitting posture, but would have fallen back again had not Rosendo's strong arm supported him. He passed his hand slowly across his forehead, as if to brush the mental cobwebs from his awakening brain. Then he inquired feebly: "What does the doctor say?" "Padre, there is no doctor in Simití," Rosendo answered quietly. "No doctor!" Josè kept silence for a few moments. Then-- "But perhaps I do not need one. What time did it occur?" "It did not happen to-day, Padre," said Rosendo with pitying compassion. "It was nearly a week ago." "Nearly a week! And have I lain here so long?" "Yes, Padre." The priest stared at him uncomprehendingly. Then-- "The dreams were frightful! I must have talked--raved! Rosendo--you heard me--?" His voice betrayed anxiety. "There, Padre, think no more about it. You were wild--I fought to keep you in bed--we thought you must die--all but Carmen--but you have your senses now--and you must forget the past."