CHAPTER XXXIII.
Playing Cards with the Shades.
A cloudy sky hides the moon, and a cold wind, the omen of approaching December, whirls the dry leaves and dust in the narrow path leading to the cemetery.
Under the gate, three forms are conversing in a low tone.
“Have you spoken to Elias?” asked a voice.
“No; you know he is very odd and discreet. But he ought to be with us. Don Crisostomo saved his life.”
“I accepted the offer for the same reason,” said the first voice. “Don Crisostomo is having my wife treated at a doctor’s house in Manila. I have agreed to take charge of the convent in the attack, so that I can settle my accounts with the curate.”
“And we, we will have charge of the attack on the cuartel, so that we can say to the members of the Guardia Civil that our father had sons
