ken a longer journey now; emigrated
to a more distant country. And there will be no coming back to
Murviedro."

"And the parents?"

"Poor things! They are heartbroken. There goes his mother, supported by
two women friends. One can almost hear her weeping. Oh that horrible
music! It goes through my spine as if it would tear it asunder. When I
am buried I hope they will have no music. I think I should turn in my
coffin. Is it not a splendid view, senor? This fortress may well be
called the key of Valencia. The key of the province, you understand,
not of the town. We command the best of the country. You should see it
in summer, when every tree is in full leaf and every flower in bloom,
and the branches droop with the weight of their fruit. A land of
abundance, is it not, Miguella?" turning to the old woman, who stood
looking at the sad cortege with weeping eyes.

"Ay, Juan, it is so," she returned with tearful voice. "Abundance of
everything. But fate is cruel, and strong youth must die, and old people
like you and I who half starve, for all the abundance, must still cumber
the earth."

"Speak for yourself, Madre Miguella," returned the man sharply.
"Whatever you may be, I am not yet old and I don't see that I take the
place of a better man. I shall be forty-one next New Year's Day. A hard
life I have of it; few pleasures and little food. I am not formed as
other men; no woman looking at me would take me for her husband. For all
that, I am not tired of life, and have no desire to be in the place of
that poor lad. It will come soon enough, Madre Miguella, without wishing
oneself there before the time."

"Santa Maria! what a clucking about nothing!" retorted Miguella. "If I
called you an old man it was only a form of speech. I had in my mind's
eye the strong lusty youth who has gone to his burial. Compared with him
I should call you old and of little worth. After all, I was only
thinking of the uncertainty of human life. You won't deny that, friend
Juan."

"I suppose I can't," replied the contrite hunchback. "Poor lad! I could
almost have found it in my heart to die for him. He was always good to
me; never mocked at me; gave me many a centimo from his little hoard;
often shared his dinner if I met him on the road. I have lost a friend
in him."

Miguella was shedding tears afresh at the recital of the lad's virtues.

"Poor boy!" she cried. "But he's better off. He hadn't time to grow hard
and wicked. The angels mak