vet, and laden with delicious fragrance; the vast solitude,
stretching in trackless wilderness to unknown reaches on either hand;
the magic stillness of the tropic night; the figures of the dancers
weirdly silhouetted in the gorgeous moonlight; with the low, unvaried
beat of the _tom-tom_ rising dully through the warm air--all merged
into a scene of exquisite beauty and delight, which made an indelible
impression upon the priest's receptive mind.

And when the sounds of simple happiness had again died into silence,
and he lay in his hammock, listening to the spirit of the jungle
sighing through the night-blown palms, as the boat glided gently
through the lights and shadows of the quiet river, his soul voiced a
nameless yearning, a vague, unformed longing for an approach to the
life of simple content and child-like happiness of the kind and gentle
folk with whom he had been privileged to make this brief sojourn.

* * * * *

The crimson flush of the dawn-sky heralded another day of implacable
heat. The emerald coronals of palms and towering _caobas_ burned in
the early beams of the torrid sun. Light fogs rose reluctantly from
the river's bosom and dispersed in delicate vapors of opal and violet.
The tangled banks of dripping bush shone freshly green in the misty
light. The wilderness, grim and trenchant, reigned in unchallenged
despotism. Solitude, soul-oppressing, unbroken but for the calls of
feathered life, brooded over the birth of Jose's last day on the
Magdalena. About midday the steamer touched at the little village of
Bodega Central; but the iron-covered warehouse and the whitewashed mud
hovels glittered garishly in the fierce heat and stifled all desire to
go ashore. The call was brief, and the boat soon resumed its course
through the solitude and heat of the mighty river.

Immediately after leaving Bodega Central, Don Jorge approached Jose
and beckoned him to an unoccupied corner of the boat.

"_Amigo_," he began, after assuring himself that his words would not
carry to the other passengers, "the captain tells me the next stop is
Badillo, where you leave us. If all goes well you will be in Simiti
to-night. No doubt a report of our meeting with Padre Diego has
already reached Don Wenceslas, who, you may be sure, has no thought of
forgetting you. I have no reason to tell you this other than the fact
that I think, as Padre Diego put it, you are being jobbed--not by the