fore them.

Raising her head, she cried aloud, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Can you not believe me? Please! I do not know where my father is. I swear. Can you not at least loosen my bonds? The pains are so terrible. My thumbs. My poor breasts. Oh PLEASE!"

The priests stared at the pleading girl without a shred of pity. Their eyes travelled over her every curve

and crevice. The thoughts in their minds were not the least bit of a good nature. They then questioned her, but were quite unsuccessful in learning anything about her father, who had been a thorn in the Spaniards' side

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