"Why, sir, would you believe it? They fear this child--my
granddaughter, seated there before you. A poor innocent girl of
seventeen summers, a Christian who knows her Catechism, and would
not harm the smallest thing that God has made--no, not a fly,
which is not regarded on account of its smallness. Why, sir, it
is due to her tender heart that you are safely sheltered here,
instead of being left out of doors in this tempestuous night."

"To her--to this girl?" I returned in astonishment. "Explain,
old man, for I do not know how I was saved."

"Today, senor, through your own heedlessness you were bitten by a
venomous snake."

"Yes, that is true, although I do not know how it came to your
knowledge. But why am I not a dead man, then--have you done
something to save me from the effects of the poison?"

"Nothing. What could I do so long after you were bitten? When a
man is bitten by a snake in a solitary place he is in God's
hands. He will live or die as God wills. There is nothing to be
done. But surely, sir, you remember that my poor grandchild was
with you in the wood when the snake bit you?"

"A girl was there--a strange girl I have seen and heard before
when I have walked in the forest. But not this girl--surely not
this girl!"

"No other," said he, carefully rolling up another cigarette.