By such reflections Geronimo sought to endure patiently the pangs of hunger.  He put his ear to the keyhole and ceased breathing that he might catch the slightest sound.  Alas! hour after hour passed in unbroken silence.  Although Geronimo knew not whether it was day or night, his increasing sufferings were to him a sure indication of the passage of time.  For a while he encouraged himself by the thought that Julio would not bring him the promised bread until dawn, and that he would give him at the same time food and liberty.

This hope by degrees diminished, and at last vanished entirely.  The suffering young man could not longer deceive either his body or his mind; it became evident to him that the hour which he had hoped would restore him to freedom had long passed.

He had been abandoned—­devoted to a cruel martyrdom, a frightful death!  He was then to die in the midst of the torments of hunger—­to die slowly in indescribable suffering, and fall into the yawning grave prepared for him!

Struck with terror by the conviction thus forced upon him, the unfortunate cavalier arose despairingly and ran panting and crying around the cellar, as though he could thus escape the death which menaced him.

The pain of his wounds was increased by this violent and feverish agitation.  His breast heaved under his difficult respiration, but the gnawing hunger which agonized him made these sufferings seem light.  Falling to the ground from exhaustion, he commenced, as soon as he had gained a little strength, his struggle against the tortures of hungry.  At times his despair was cheered by the thought that even yet Julio might come.  But Julio was plunged by the influence of poison into a mortal sleep, and in all probability would appear before Geronimo at the judgment-seat of God.

Hoping against hope, the young man seated himself on the ground.  The violence of his sufferings seemed to abate and leave him at rest for a few moments.  His thoughts wandered to all he loved upon earth, but the respite was of short duration.  Soon the agony he endured drew from him piercing cries.  During his long martyrdom no torment had equalled the present.  It seemed as though he were being devoured by flames, or as if molten lead were coursing through his veins.

He writhed in convulsions, beat his breast, and in heart-rending accents called upon God for help.  But nothing relieved his horrible sufferings.

He filled the air with his groans and screams, he beat the door with blind fury, tore the flesh from his fingers in his useless efforts to make an opening in his prison-walls, and ran from side to side as though the pangs of hunger had driven him mad.

At last, exhausted and convinced that there was no escape, that he must soon enter into his last agony, he threw himself upon the ground, bowed his head and joined his hands in prayer, begging for resignation to meet the death which would end his cruel martyrdom.  His mind now appeared clear, and he was perfectly conscious, for after a while he shed a torrent of tears.  His lips moved, giving utterance to confused sounds, but by degrees his words became more distinct, and fixing his eye in the darkness on the spot where he knew the grave had been dug, he said: