water; begin with the face, and proceed successively to my limbs
and the rest of my body; my dear son, the power of God is so
great that you must be astonished at nothing."

Don Juan felt death so near, that he added in a terrible voice,
"Be careful not to drop the flask."

Then he breathed his last gently in the arms of his son, and his
son's tears fell fast over his sardonic, haggard features.

It was almost midnight when Don Felipe Belvidero laid his
father's body upon the table. He kissed the sinister brow and the
gray hair; then he put out the lamp.

By the soft moonlight that lit strange gleams across the country
without, Felipe could dimly see his father's body, a vague white
thing among the shadows. The dutiful son moistened a linen cloth
with the liquid, and, absorbed in prayer, he anointed the revered
face. A deep silence reigned. Felipe heard faint, indescribable
rustlings; it was the breeze in the tree-tops, he thought. But
when he had moistened the right arm, he felt himself caught by
the throat, a young strong hand held him in a tight grip--it was
his father's hand! He shrieked aloud; the flask dropped from his
hand and broke in pieces. The liquid evaporated; the whole
household hurried into the room, holding torches aloft. That
shriek had startled them, and filled them with as much terror as
if the Trumpet of the Angel sounding on the Last Day had rung
through earth and sky. The room was full of people, and a
horror-stricken crowd beheld the fainting Felipe upheld by the
strong arm of his father, who clutched him by the throat. They