One was praying; the other was the big, strong man who had first succoured the wounded traveler.
"I asked for a notary," said Mogente curtly.

Death had not softened him.
He was staring straight in front of him with glassy eyes, thinking deeply and quickly.

At times his expression was one of wonder, as if a conviction forced itself upon his mind from time to time against his will and despite the growing knowledge that he had no time to waste in wondering.
"The notary has been sent for.

He cannot delay in coming," replied the friar.

"Rather give your thoughts to Heaven, my son, than to notaries." "Mind your own business," replied Mogente quietly.