Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 3).djvu/22

 I seemed to be lying on my bed in the prison. I could see nothing. I raised my hand to my eyes to take off the bandage, but I touched my eyes instead; they were wide open.

"The prison cell was quite dark; I heard the noise of bells and trembled. It was the evening bells. 'Nine o'clock,' I thought; 'but what day is it?'

"A shadow, blacker than the darkness of the cell, bent over me. It appeared to be a man; and where were all the others? All shot dead? And I? I lived; or else I was in my grave, dreaming all kinds of nonsense. My lips mechanically whispered a name, the name which filled my mind:

Ramon!'

What do you want?’ answered the shadow at my side.

Great Heaven!' I cried, shuddering with horror; "am I in the other world?'

No,' said the same voice.

And I, am I alive too?'

Yes.'

Ramon! Are you alive?'

Yes.'

Where am I? Is this the Asylum of San Nicolas! Then I am not a prisoner, and T have dreamt it all.'

No, Basilio, you have not dreamt it. Listen.' And this is what he told me:

Yesterday I killed the Colonel on the field of battle; I am avenged! I continued to fight and deal out death, for I was blind and mad with rage; and I fought till the night fell, and the battle was over.

I was much fatigued; and, as I saw the moon rising, I thought of you, and bent my steps towards the San Nicolas Asylum to await your coming. It was ten o'clock, and the appointed time was one o'clock. On the previous night I had not had a wink of sleep, so I fell into a sound slumber.

I awoke with a cry of fright as the clock struck one. I had dreamt that you were dead. I looked around, and found myself alone. Where were you? The clock struck two—then three—then four: still you did not come. Of a certainty you were dead.

The thought drove me to despair. The day was breaking, and I left the Asylum, and made my way hither to rejoin my troop. I reached here at sunrise. They all thought that I had fallen in the battle, and when they saw me they overwhelmed me with congratulations, embraced me, and told me that I was just in time to see twenty-one prisoners shot,

Suddenly a thought sprang up in my mind—was Basilio among them? I hurried to the place of execution; the square had already been formed, and I heard shots. The firing had begun.

I strained my eyes to distinguish the prisoners, but I saw nothing. Pain made me blind; my brain reeled with anxiety and excitement. At last I distinguished you—you were to be shot, you!

Two more victims, then it would be your turn. What was to be done? My senses threatened to leave me; I uttered a cry; I threw my arms around you; and in a choking, yet clear tone, I cried out: "Not this one! Not this one, General!"

The General who commanded this division, and who knew me, and also knew how I behaved yesterday, asked me: "Why not? Is he a musician?"