ead. As he read, his eyes snapped,
and at times he paused and looked up curiously at the priest. Then,
without comment, he folded the letters and put them into a pocket of
his crash coat.

"_Bien_," he said politely, "we must have the Padre meet Don Felipe
Alcozer as soon as he returns. Some repairs are needed on the
church; a few of the roof tiles have slipped, and the rain enters.
Perhaps, _Senor Padre_, you may say the Mass there next Sunday. We
will see. A--a--you had illustrious ancestors, Padre," he added with
hesitation.

"Do the letters mention my ancestry?" asked Jose with something of
mingled surprise and pride.

"They speak of your family, which was, as we all know, quite
renowned," replied the Alcalde courteously.

"Very," agreed Jose, wondering how much the Alcalde knew of his
family.

"Don Ignacio was not unknown in this _pueblo_," affably continued the
Alcalde.

At these words Rosendo started visibly and looked fixedly at the
priest.

"The family name of Rincon," the Alcalde went on, "appears on the old
records of Simiti in many places, and it is said that Don Ignacio
himself came here more than once. Perhaps you know, _Senor Padre_,
that the Rincon family erected the church which stands in the _plaza_?
And so it is quite appropriate that their son should officiate in it
after all these centuries, is it not?"

No, Jose had not known it. He could not have imagined such a thing. He
knew little of his family's history. Of their former vast wealth he
had a vague notion. But here in this land of romance and tragedy he
seemed to be running upon their reliques everywhere.

The conversation drifted to parish matters; and soon Rosendo urged
their departure, as the sun was mounting high.

Seated at the table for the midday lunch, Jose again became lost in
contemplation of the child before him. Her fair face flushed under his
searching gaze; but she returned a smile of confidence and sweet
innocence that held him spellbound. Her great brown eyes were of
infinite depth. They expressed a something that he had never seen
before in human eyes. What manner of soul lay behind them? What was it
that through them looked out into this world of evil? Childish
innocence and purity, yes; but vastly more. Was it--God Himself? Jose
started at his own thought. Through his meditations he heard Rosendo's
voice.

"Simiti is very old, Padre. In the days of the Spaniards it was a
large town, with many rich people. The