The Molimo took hold of the cloths that seemed almost as
good now as on the day when they were woven, and lifted them,
revealing beneath the figures of a man and woman. The features were
unrecognizable, although the hair, white in the man's case and raven
black in that of the woman, remained perfect. They had been great
people, for orders glittered upon the man's breast, and his sword was
gold hilted, whilst the woman's bones were adorned with costly necklaces
and jewels, and in her hand was still a book bound in sheets of
silver. Benita took it up and looked at it. It was a missal beautifully
illuminated, which doubtless the poor lady had been reading when at
length she sank exhausted into the sleep of death.
"See the Lord Ferreira and his wife," said the Molimo, "whom their
daughter laid thus before she went to join them." Then, at a motion from
Benita, he covered them up again with their golden cloths.
"Here they sleep," he went on in his chanting voice, "a hundred and
fifty and three of them--a hundred and fifty and three; and when I dream
in this place at night, I have seen the ghosts of every one of them
arise from beside their forms and come gliding down the cave--the
husband with the wife, the child with the mother--to look at me, and
ask when the maiden returns again to take her heritage and give them
burial.
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