“Beyond your help, my dear doctor,” said the skipper; “she is dead--all that remains of her you see within that small railing there.” “Ah, indeed!” quoth the Medico, “poor girl--poor girl--deep decline, wasted, terribly wasted,” said he, as he returned from the railing of the altar-piece, where he had been to look down upon the body; and then, as if there never had been such a being as poor Maria Olivera in existence, he continued, “Pray, Mr Bang, what may you have in that bottle?” “Brandy, to be sure, doctor,” said Bang. “A thimbleful then, if you please.” “By all means”--and the planting attorney handed the black bottle to the surgeon, who applied it to his lips, without more circumlocution. “Lord love us!--poisoned--Oh, gemini!” “Why, doctor,” said Transom, “what has come over you?” “Poisoned, Captain--only taste.” The bottle contained soy. It was some time before we could get the poor man quieted; and when at length he was stretched along a bench, and the fire stirred up, and new wood added to it, the fresh air of early morning began to be scented. At this time we missed Padre Carera, and, in truth, we all fell fast asleep; but in about an hour or so afterwards, I was awoke by some one stepping across me. The same cause had stirred Transom. It was Aaron Bang who had been to look out at the door. “I say, Cringle, look here--the Padre and the servants are digging a grave close to the chapel--are they going to bury the poor girl so suddenly?” I stepped to the door; the wind had entirely fallen--but it rained very fast--the small chapel door looked out on the still swollen, but subsiding river, and beyond that on the mountain, which rose abruptly from the opposite bank. On the side of the hill facing us was situated a negro village, of about thirty huts, where lights were already twinkling, as if the inmates were preparing to go forth to their work. Far above them, on the ridge, there was a clear cold streak towards the east, against which the outline of the mountain, and the large trees which grew on it, were sharply cut out; but overhead, the firmament was as yet dark and threatening. The morning star had just risen, and was sparkling bright and clear through the branches of a magnificent tree, that shot out from the highest part of the hill; it seemed to have attracted the Captain’s attention as well as mine. “Were I romantic now, Mr Cringle, I could expatiate on that view. How cold, and clear, and chaste, every thing looks! The elements have subsided into a perfect calm, every thing is quiet and still, but there is no warmth, no comfort in the scene.”