“Aha!” he shouted, his eyes sparkling, while he wildly clutched my arm with his skinny, claw-like hands, “did I not know--have I not said it? Did I not fight for a hundred years, wading through blood every day, and then at last send you forth to finish the battle? And every day our enemies came and shouted in my ears, 'Victory--victory!' They told me you were dead, Calixto--that their weapons had pierced you, that they had given your flesh to be devoured of wild dogs. And I shouted with laughter to hear them. I laughed in their faces, and clapped my hands and cried out, 'Prepare your throats for the sword, traitors, slaves, assassins, for a Peralta--even Calixto, devoured of wild dogs--is coming to execute vengeance! What, will God not leave one strong arm to strike at the tyrant's breast--one Peralta in all this land! Fly, miscreants! Die, wretches! He has risen from the grave--he has come back from hell, armed with hell-fire to burn your towns to ashes--to extirpate you utterly from the earth!'” His thin, tremulous voice had risen towards the close of this mad speech to a reedy shriek that rang through the quiet, darkening house like the long, shrill cry of some water-fowl heard at night in the desolate marshes. Then he loosened his hold on my arm and dropped back moaning and shivering into his seat. His eyes closed, his whole frame trembled, and he looked like a person just recovering from an epileptic fit; then he seemed to sink to sleep. It was now getting quite dark, for the sun had been down some time, and it was with the greatest relief that I saw Doña Demetria gliding like a ghost into the room. She touched me on the arm and whispered, “Come, señor, he is asleep now.” I followed her out into the fresh air, which had never seemed so fresh before; then, turning to me, she hurriedly whispered, “Remember, señor, that what you have told me is a secret. Say not one word of it to any other person here.” CHAPTER XXIII She then led me to the kitchen at the end of the house. It was one of those roomy, old-fashioned kitchens still to be found in a few _estancia_ houses built in colonial times, in which the fireplace, raised a foot or two above the floor, extends the whole width of the room. It was large and dimly lighted, the walls and rafters black with a century's smoke and abundantly festooned with sooty cobwebs; but a large, cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, while before it stood a tall, gaunt woman engaged in cooking the supper and serving _maté_. This was Ramona, an old servant on the _estancia_.