There was no answer from the tightly closed lips; and Bansemer shook
him a little roughly. Then, for the first time, he perceived that
he was not a Filipino. His skin was dark, but not the skin of the
native; the handsome, boyish face had regular features, European
in character.

"Spaniard?" inquired Bansemer, a trifle more gently; and again the
boy flashed a look of hatred into his captor's eyes.

"Look here, my young spalpeen," said Connell, gruffly; "Filipino
or Spaniard, if you want to save your hide, you'd better answer
questions--and no lies, do you hear?"

At this threat, a deep groan was heard to come from somewhere back
in the recesses of the chancel. The men were startled. Involuntarily,
the boy cast a furtive glance in that direction. Connell noticed
it, and leaving the boy with Bansemer, hurried away and soon was
looking down into the face of a prostrate man, young, but aged with
emaciation.

"You must not touch him! Don't you see that he is dying?" cried
the boy piteously in broken English. "He cannot fight you--he's
dying;" and then, in a perfect frenzy of rage to Bansemer: "Let me
go--pig!"

Not until afterwards did Bansemer recall that in the general
excitement it was the boy who dragged him along to the spot. And
in spite of the solemnity of the scene, there was something in his
manner of delivering the insult that amused rather than angered
the American.