must _know_ that it is
coming. But you must not say how it shall come, nor what it shall look
like. You must not say that it shall be just as you may think you
would like to have it. Leave the--the externalization to God. Then it
will meet all your needs.

"You see, Padre dear"--oh, how the memory of her words smote him
now!--"you see, the good Jesus told the people to clean their
window-panes and let in the light--good thoughts--for then these would
be externalized in health, happiness, and all good, instead of the
old, bad thoughts being externalized longer in sickness and evil.
Don't you see?"

Aye, he saw. He saw that the Christ-idea found expression and
reflection in the pure mentality of this girl. He saw that that
mentality was unsullied, uneducated in the lore of human belief, and
untrained to fear. He saw that the resurrection of the Christ, for
which a yearning world waits, was but the rising of the Christ-idea
in the human mentality. And he saw, too, that ere the radiant
resurrection morn can arrive there must be the crucifixion, a
world-wide crucifixion of human, carnal thought. Follow Christ! Aye,
follow him! But will ye not learn that following him means _thinking_
as he did? And his thoughts were God's.

But Jose had tried to think aright during those years in Simiti. True,
but the efforts had been spasmodic. From childhood he had passed
through doubt, fear, scepticism, and final agnosticism. Then he had
started anew and aright. And then had come the "day of judgment," the
recurrent hours of sore trial--and he had not stood. Called upon to
prove God, to prove the validity of his splendid deductions, he had
vacillated between the opposing claims of good and evil, and had
floundered helplessly. And now he stood confronting his still unsolved
problem, realizing as never before that in the solving of it he must
unlearn the intellectual habits of a lifetime.

There were other problems which lay still unsolved before him as he
sat there that night. The sable veil of mystery which hung about
Carmen's birth had never been penetrated, even slightly. What woman's
face was that which looked out so sadly from the little locket?
"Dolores"--sorrowful, indeed! What tragedy had those great, mournful
eyes witnessed? No, Carmen did not greatly resemble her. He used to
think so, but not of late. Did she, he wondered, resemble the man? And
had the mother's kisses and hot tears blurred the portrait beneath
which he had