said eagerly, "in
Simiti. And his name--I am named for him--it is Jose. And I am going
to visit him some day. Tia Catalina said I should, no, Tia?"

Harris fumbled in his pocket and drew out some money, which he handed
to the woman. Her eyes lighted, and a cavernous smile spread over her
wrinkled face.

"_Ah, gracias, senor_," she murmured, bending over his hand; "we need
it. The boy's father has sent us but little of late."

Carmen's heart was fluttering wildly. "Tell me," she said in a cold
voice, "the boy's father is Padre Jose de Rincon, of Simiti? You need
not fear to speak. We have just come from Simiti, and have seen him.
We are leaving to-morrow for the States."

"Yes, senorita," replied the woman in a thin, cracking voice, now
completely disarmed of her suspicion. "The little fellow was born here
some seven years ago. Ah, well I remember the day! And his mother,
poor little lamb! She died the same night. But the good Padre has sent
us money ever since to care for him, until of late. Senorita, why is
it, think you, that he sends us so little now?"

"I--do--not--know," murmured Carmen abstractedly, scarce hearing the
woman. Then she turned to the boy. She bent over him and looked long
and wistfully into his eyes. He was a bright, handsome little fellow;
and though her heart was crushed, she took him into it. Swallowing the
lump which had come into her throat, she drew him to the window and
sat down, holding him before her.

"Your father--I know him--well. He is a--a good man. But--I did not
know--I never knew that he had a son." She stopped, choking.

"Tia Catalina says he is a fine man," proudly answered the boy.
"And she wants me to be a priest, too. But I am going to be a
bull-fighter."

"It is true, senorita," interposed the woman. "We cannot keep him
from the _arena_ now. He hangs about it all day, and about the
slaughter-house. We can hardly drag him back to his meals. What
can we do, senorita? But," with a touch of pride as she looked at him,
"if he becomes a bull-fighter, he will be the best of them all!"

Carmen turned again to the woman. Her question carried an appeal which
came from the depths of her soul. "Senora, is there no doubt--no doubt
that Padre Rincon is the father of the boy?"

"We think not, senorita. The lad's mother died in the good Padre's
arms. She would not say positively who was the boy's father. We
thought at first--it was some one else. Marcelena insisted on it to
her dy