El Sarria knew his man by this time, though he had not seen him for many years. The grave-digger was Don Tomas, Luis Fernandez's ne'er-do-well brother, who had been compelled to flee the country the year of Angouleme's French invasion, for giving information to the enemy. He it was whom he had seen at his old tricks by the Devil's Canyon. Not but what Luis must all the same have set him on, for he alone knew of the secret way of retreat. Presently with many puffs and pants Tomas finished the work to his satisfaction. Then he shook a handful of grass and leaves into the bottom of the excavation. "There," he muttered with a cackle of laughter, "there is your cradle-bed cosily made, young Don Ramon! Would that your father were lying cheek by jowl with you! Would not I cover you both up snugly. Holy Coat of Treves, but I am in a lather! This it is to labour for others' good! I wonder how soon that hell-hog Tia Elvira will be ready to do her part. The _Sangrador_ must have gone home hours ago. She is to bring the youngling out and then go back to tell her story to the mother how sweetly it passed away--ah, ah--how heavenly was its smile. So it will be--so it will! Tomas Fernandez knows the trick. He has quieted many a leveret the same way!" The garden door opened again, this time very slightly, a mere slit of light lying across the tangled green and yellowish grey of the garden. It just missed El Sarria and kindled to dusky purple a blossom of oleander that touched his cheek as he stooped. The whites of his eyes gleamed a moment, but the digger saw him not. His gaze was fixed on his brother in the doorway. "The signal," he muttered, "I am to go and wait outside for the Tia. Of course, as usual, my good and respectable brother will not put a finger to the job himself. Well, _toma_! he shall pay the more sweetly when all is done--oh yes, Luis shall pay for all!" He was standing leaning upon his mattock at the head of the little grave which he had destined for the child of Dolores Garcia. He had been whistling a gay Andalucian lilt of tune he had learned on his long travels. A devil of a fellow this Tomas in his day, and whistled marvellously between his teeth--so low that (they said) he could make love to a Senorita in church by means of it, and yet her own mother at her elbow never hear. "Well, better get it over!" he said, dropping his mattock and starting out towards the door. "Here comes the Tia!" But at that moment the heavens fell. Upon the head of the midnight workman descended the flat of his own spade. El Sarria had intended the edge, but Tomas's good angel turned the weapon at the last moment or else he had been cloven to the shoulder-blade. For it was a father's arm that wielded the weapon. Down fell the digger of infant graves, right athwart the excavation he himself had made. His mouth was filled with the dirt he had thrown out, and the arm that threw it swung like a pendulum to and fro in the hole. CHAPTER XIV