This vision, which he never mentioned to a soul, he could not get
rid of. To be left hanging there by his hair--what a strange
punishment for rebelling against his father!

Certainly he already knew the history, but till now he had paid no
special heed to it.

It was on a Friday that this great impression had been made on
him, and on the following Thursday morning he awoke to see his
mother standing over him with her most wondering expression. Her
hair still as she had plaited it for the night; one plait had
touched him on the nose and awoke him before she spoke. She stood
bending over him, in her long white nightgown with its dainty lace
trimming, and with bare feet. She would never have come in like
that if something terrible had not happened. Why did she not
speak? only look and look--or was she really frightened?

"Mother!" he cried, sitting up.

Then she bent close down to him. "THE MAN IS DEAD," she whispered.
It was his father whom she called "the man," she never spoke of
him otherwise.

Rafael did not comprehend what she said, or perhaps it paralysed
him. She repeated it again louder and louder, "The man is dead,
the man is dead."

Then she stood upright, and putting out her bare feet from under
her nightgown, she began to dance--only a few steps; and then she