y wife!' What
could I do? I was bound to a man of the vilest character and habits,
whom I loathed. Well, I killed this man, believing that I was
committing an act of justice, and God punished me, for my lover
abandoned me. And now I am very, very tired of life, and all I ask of
you is that death may come as quickly as possible."

Gabriela stopped speaking. The judge had buried his face in his hands,
as if he were thinking, but I could see he was shaking like an
epileptic.

"Your honor," repeated Gabriela, "grant my request that I may die
soon."

The judge made a sign to the guards to remove the prisoner.

Before she followed them, she gave me a terrible look in which there
was more of pride than of repentance.

* * * * *

I do not wish to enter into details of the condition of the judge
during the following day. In the great emotional struggle which took
place, the officer of the law conquered the man, and he confirmed the
sentence of death.

On the following day the papers were sent to the Court of Appeals, and
then Zarco came to me and said: "Wait here until I return. Take care of
this unfortunate woman, but do not visit her, for your presence would
humiliate instead of consoling her. Do not ask me whither I am going,
and do not think that I am going to commit the very foolish act of
taking my own life. Farewell, and forgive me all the worry I have
caused you."

Twenty days later the Court of Appeals confirmed the sentence, and
Gabriela Zahara was placed in the death cell.

* * * * *

The morning of the day fixed for the execution came, and still the
judge had not returned. The scaffold had been erected in the center of
the square, and an enormous crowd had gathered. I stood by the door of
the prison, for, while I had obeyed the wish of my friend that I should
not call on Gabriela in her prison, I believed it my duty to represent
him in that supreme moment and accompany the woman he had loved to the
foot of the scaffold.

When she appeared, surrounded by her guards, I hardly recognized her.
She had grown very thin and seemed hardly to have the strength to lift
to her lips the small crucifix she carried in her hand.

"I am here, senora. Can I be of service to you?" I asked her as she
passed by me.

She raised her deep, sunken eyes to mine, and, when she recognized me,
she exclaimed:

"Oh, thanks, thanks! This is a great consolation for me