ds--which must be heard to be
appreciated--he cast upon Benito a glance in order to catch from him a
little of his philosophy. For the first time a cloud of sadness
appeared on the ex-herdsman's brow, and his eyes looked as though tears
stood in them. Baraja was struck by the change, and laid his head upon
the old man's arm. Benito raised his head.

"I understand you," said he, "but man has his moments of weakness. I am
like him who is called from his hearth by the sound of the trumpet at a
time he least thought to quit it. Amidst those howls I hear from above
the sound of the last trumpet calling me, and although I am old, it
grieves me to go. I leave neither wife nor children to regret, nor
those who would weep for me; but there is an old companion of my
solitary life from whom I cannot separate without grief. It is at least
a consolation for the Indian warrior to know that his war-horse will
share his tomb, and to believe that he shall find him again in the land
of spirits. How many times have we scoured the woods and the plains
together. How often have we borne together heat, hunger, and thirst!
This old and faithful friend is my horse, as you may have guessed. I
give him to you, friend Baraja. Treat him kindly--love him as I love
him, and he will love you as he loves me. His companion was killed by a
tiger, and he will now be left alone."

So saying, the old man pointed to a noble courser, champing his bit
proudly, among the other horses. He then went towards him, caressed
him, and, this moment of weakness over, his countenance recovered its
habitual serenity. As he recovered his calmness, he renewed his
predictions, careless of the terror he excited in others.

"Listen!" said he to Baraja; "to recompense you for the care you will
take of my old friend, I shall teach you, while there is still time, a
verse of the psalm for the dying, that may serve you as--"

"Well!" said Baraja, as he did not go on, "what more terrifying things
have you to say?"

Benito did not reply, but his companion felt him press his arm
convulsively, and then the sight which struck Baraja was more terrible
than any answer. The old man's eyes were rolling wildly, and he was
vainly trying to stanch the blood which flowed from a wound made by an
arrow that had just pierced his throat.

He fell, crying: "What is ordained must happen. No," added he,
repulsing the assistance that Baraja was endeavouring to render him, "my
hou