ere is only one argument," he said. "We came here, came to the
wilderness out of civilization, for one object only--to lead the heathen
to God. We have met with a fair success. Shall we leave these miserable
islanders to perish, when we have it in our power to save?"

"But no one knows exactly where this island is, Father Jimeno," replied
the young priest. "And we know little of navigation, and may perish
before we find it. Our lives are more precious than those of savages."

"In the sight of God one soul is of precisely the same value as another,
Father Carillo."

The young priest scowled. "We can save. They cannot."

"If we refuse to save when the power is ours, then the savage in his
extremest beastiality has more hope of heaven than we have."

Father Carillo looked up at the golden sun riding high in the dark blue
sky, down over the stately oaks and massive boulders of the valley where
quail flocked like tame geese. He had no wish to leave his paradise, and
as the youngest and hardiest of the priests, he knew that he would be
ordered to take charge of the expedition.

"It is said also," continued the older man, "that once a ship from the
Continent of Europe was wrecked among those islands--"

"No? No?" interrupted several of the priests.

"It is more than probable that there were survivors, and that their
descendants live on this very island to-day. Think of it, my brother!
Men and women of our own blood, perhaps, living like beasts of the
field! Worshipping idols! Destitute of morality! Can we sit here in hope
of everlasting life while our brethren perish?"

"No!" The possibility of rescuing men of European blood had quenched
dissent. Even Carillo spoke as spontaneously as the others.

As he had anticipated, the expedition was put in his charge. Don
Guillermo Iturbi y Moncada, the magnate of the South, owned a small
schooner, and placed it at the disposal of the priests.

Through the wide portals of the mission church, two weeks later, rolled
the solemn music of high mass. The church was decorated as for a
festival. The aristocrats of the town knelt near the altar, the people
and Indians behind.

Father Carillo knelt and took communion, the music hushing suddenly to
rise in more sonorous volume. Then Father Jimeno, bearing a cross and
chanting the rosary, descended the altar steps and walked toward the
doors. On either side of him a page swung a censer. Four women neophytes
rose from among the worshipp