nveloped him, the old man held his
course undeviatingly toward the distant isle, into the low, muddy
shore of which his boat at length forced its way under the impulse of
his great arms.

The island, a low patch a few acres in extent, lay far out in the lake
like a splotch of green paint on a plate of glass. Its densely wooded
surface, rising soft and oozy only a few feet above the water, was
destitute of human habitation, but afforded a paradise for swarms of
crawling and flying creatures, which now scattered in alarm at the
approach of these early visitors coming so unexpectedly out of the
heavy fog.

When the canoe grounded, Rosendo sprang out and pulled it well up into
the mud. Then he lifted the priest out and staggered into the thick
brush, where he threw his burden heavily upon the ground. Leaving his
prisoner for a moment, he seized his _machete_ and began to cut back
into the brush. A grunt of satisfaction came from his lips. Returning
to the now conscious Diego, he grasped the rope which bound him and
dragged him along the newly opened trail into a little clearing which
lay beyond. There he propped him up against a huge cedar. As he did
this, Diego's mouth opened wide and a piercing scream issued.
"Ricardo--help!" he called.

The cry echoed dismally across the desolate island. In an instant
Rosendo was upon him, with his knife clutched in his fist. "Repeat
that, _cayman_," he cried furiously, "and this finds your wicked
heart!"

The craven Diego shook with fear; but he fell silent before the threat
of the desperate man into whose hands he had so unwittingly fallen.

Rosendo stepped back and stood before his captive, regarding him
uncertainly. Diego's quick intuition did not fail to read the old
man's perplexity; and his own hope revived accordingly. It was a
pretty trick, this of Rosendo's--but, after all, he would not dare too
much. Diego gradually became easier in mind. He even smiled unctuously
at his captor.

"_Bien, amigo_," he said at length, "is this your customary reception
to visitors in your village? _Caramba!_ but what will the good Bishop
say when he learns that you have thus mistreated his trusted agent?"

Rosendo stood before him like a statue. His thought was confused, and
it moved slowly. In the cries of the disturbed birds he seemed now to
hear the warning voice of Carmen. In the watery vapor that rolled over
him he seemed to feel the touch of her soft, restraining hand.

"_Bien, co