At the sound of this last the old man raised himself on his knees. His eyes fell again on the shining dollars all around him. His throat worked. Suddenly terror broke out in beads on his forehead. Someone was shaking the door! Thieves were there trying the door: they were come to rob him! He drew himself up slowly. As he did so the door ceased to rattle, and presently, somewhere near the windy edge of the ravine, a faint cry sounded. But long after the door had ceased to rattle, old Gil Chaleco stared at it, fascinated. And long after the cry had died away it beat from side to side within the walls of his head, while he listened and life trickled from him, drop by drop. "Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night." But he was listening for it: it would come again.... And it came--with a rough summons on the door, and, a moment later, with a thunderous blow. The old man stood up, knee-deep in dollars, lifting both arms to cover his head. As the door fell he seemed to bow himself toward it, toppled, and slid forward--still with his arms crooked--amid a rush of silver. III Although crushed in the rear and broken inwards there, the hut showed its ordinary face to the path as Mercedes reached it in the failing daylight. She ran like a madwoman, and with short, distraught cries, as she neared her home. Her eyes were wild as a hunted creature's, her coarse black hair streamed over her shoulders, her bare feet bled where the rocks and ice had cut them. But one thing she did not doubt--would not allow herself to doubt--that at home she would find her child. For two days she had been parted from him, and in those two days ... God had been good to her, very good: but she could not thank God yet--not until she clutched Sebastianillo in her arms, held his small, wriggling body, felt his feet kick against her breast.... The great sty beside the cabin was empty, of course: and the cabin itself looked strange to her and desolate and unfriendly. For some hours the snow had ceased falling, and, save in a snowstorm or a gale, it was not the family custom to close door or window before dark: indeed, the window-hole usually stood open night and day the year round. Now both were closed. But warm firelight showed under the chink of the door; and on the door she bowed her head, to take breath, and beat with her hands while she called urgently-- "Mother! Quickly, mother--open to me for the love of God!" No answer came from within. "Mother! Father! Open to me--it is I, Mercedes!" Then, after listening a moment, she began to beat again, frantically, for at length she was afraid. "Quick! Quick! Ah, do not be playing a trick on me: I want my child--Sebastianillo!" Again and again she called and beat. No answer came from the hut or from the sombre twilight around her. She drew back, to fling her full weight against the door. And at this moment she heard, some way down the path, a man's footstep crunching the snow.