o. Come."

He took her hand and led her, weeping, but no longer resisting, down
to the canoe. Carmen followed, dancing like an animated sunbeam. "What
fun, oh, what fun!" she chirped, clapping her hands. "And just as soon
as we get home we will go right up to the _carcel_ and let padre
Rosendo out!"

"_Na, chiquita_," said Jose, shaking his head mournfully; "we have no
power to do that."

"Well, then, God has," returned the girl, nothing daunted.

Juan pushed the heavily laden canoe from its mooring, and set its
direction toward Simiti. Silence drew over the little group, and the
hours dragged while the boat crept slowly along the margin of the
great river. The sun had passed its meridian when the little craft
turned into the _cano._ To Jose the change brought a most grateful
relief. For, though his long residence in Simiti had somewhat inured
him to the intense heat of this low region, he had not yet learned to
endure it with the careless indifference of the natives. Besides, his
mind was filled with vivid memories of the horrors of his first river
trip. And he knew that every future experience on the water would be
tinged by them.

In the shaded _cano_ the sunlight, sifting through the interlocking
branches of ancient palms and _caobas_, mellowed and softened into a
veil of yellow radiance that flecked the little stream with splashes
of gold. Juan in the prow with the pole labored in silence. At times
he stopped just long enough to roll a huge cigar, and to feast his
bright eyes upon the fair girl whom he silently adored. Lazaro, as
_patron_, sat in the stern, saturnine and unimpassioned. The woman,
exhausted by the recent mental strain, dozed throughout the journey.
Carmen alone seemed alive to her environment. Every foot of advance
unfolded to her new delights. She sang; she chirped; she mimicked the
parrots; she chattered at the excited monkeys. It was with difficulty
that Jose could restrain her when her sharp eyes caught the glint of
brilliant Passion flowers and orchids of gorgeous hue clinging to the
dripping trees.

"Padre!" she exclaimed, "they are in us, you know. They are not out
there at all! We see our thoughts of them--and lots of people wouldn't
see anything beautiful about them at all, just because their thoughts
are not beautiful. Padre, we see--what you said to me once--we see our
interpretations of God's ideas, don't we? That is what I told Padre
Diego. But--well, he will just _have_ to see