"He is absent--"
"May God bless him and make him happy! When you see him, ask him to
forgive me even as I believe God has already forgiven me. Tell him I
love him yet, although this love is the cause of my death."
We had arrived at the foot of the scaffold stairway, where I was
compelled to leave her. A tear, perhaps the last one there was in that
suffering heart, rolled down her cheek. Once more she said: "Tell him
that I died blessing him."
Suddenly there came a roar like that of thunder. The mass of people
swayed, shouted, danced, laughed like maniacs, and above all this
tumult one word rang out clearly:
"Pardoned! Pardoned!"
At the entrance to the square appeared a man on horseback, galloping
madly toward the scaffold. In his hand he waved a white handkerchief,
and his voice rang high above the clamor of the crowd: "Pardoned!
Pardoned!"
It was the judge. Reining up his foaming horse at the foot of the
scaffold, he extended a paper to the chief of police.
Gabriela, who had already mounted some of the steps, turned and gave
the judge a look of infinite love and gratitude.
"God bless you!" she exclaimed, and then fell senseless.
As soon as the signatures and seals upon the document had been verified
by the authorities, the priest and the judge rushed to the accused to
undo the cords which bound her hands and arms and to revive her.
All their efforts were useless, however. Gabriela Zahara was dead.