Below lay San Severino, the execution-place;
above was the site of the old Verona home. More than once on his
way about the city O'Reilly had lifted his eyes in the direction
of the latter, feeling a great hunger to revisit the scene of his
last farewell to Rosa, but through fear of the melancholy effect
it would have upon him he had thus far resisted the impulse. To-
day, however, he could no longer fight the morbid desire and so,
in spite of Jacket's protest at the useless expenditure of effort,
he set out to climb the hill. Of course the boy would not let him
go alone.
Little was said during the ascent. The La Cumbre road seemed very
long and very steep. How different the last time O'Reilly had
swung up it! The climb had never before tired him as it did now,
and he reasoned that hunger must have weakened him even more than
he realized. Jacket felt the exertion, too; he was short of breath
and he rested frequently. O'Reilly saw that the boy's bare, brown
legs had grown bony since he had last noticed them, and he felt a
sudden pang at having brought the little fellow into such a plight
as this.
"Well, hombre," he said when they paused to rest, "I'm afraid we
came too late. I'm afraid we're licked."
Jacket nodded listlessly; his optimism, too, was gone. "They must
all be dead or we would have found them before this," said he.
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