chord which all the years of his unhappy life had hung mute, until
here, in this moldering town, in the wilderness of forgotten Guamoco,
the hand of Love had swept it.

The sun stood at the zenith. The day was white-hot. Dona Maria
summoned her little family to the midday repast. Rosendo brought a
chair for Jose and placed it near the rose garden in the shade of the
house, for, despite all protest, the priest had stubbornly refused to
return to his bed. Left now to himself, his thought hovered about the
child, and then drifted out across the incandescent shales to the
beautiful lake beyond. The water lay like shimmering glass. In the
distance the wooded slopes of the San Lucas mountains rose like green
billows. Brooding silence spread over the scene. It was Nature's hour
of _siesta_. In his own heart there was a great peace--and a strange
expectancy. He seemed to be awaiting a revelation of things close at
hand. In a way he felt that he had accomplished his purpose of coming
to Simiti to die, and that he was now awaiting the resurrection.

The peaceful revery was interrupted by Rosendo. "Padre, if you will
not return to your bed--" He regarded the priest dubiously.

"No, Rosendo. I grow stronger every minute. But--where is Carmen?"

"She must help her mother."

A long pause ensued, while Jose impatiently waited for Rosendo to
continue. The child was becoming his obsession. He was eager to talk
of her, to learn her history, to see her, for her presence meant
complete obliteration of self.

"Padre," Rosendo at length emerged from his meditation. "I would like
to speak of the little Carmen."

"Yes," responded Jose with animation. Life and strength seemed to
return to him with a bound.

"But--what say you? Shall we visit the church, which is only across
the road? There we can talk without interruption. No one will be in
the streets during the heat. And I will carry you over."

"Let us go to the church, yes; but I can walk. It is only a step."

Jose leaned upon Rosendo, the latter supporting him with his great
arm, and together they crossed the road and mounted the shale platform
on which stood the ancient edifice. Rosendo produced a huge key of
antique pattern; and the rusty lock, after much resistance, yielded
with a groan, and the heavy door creaked open, emitting an odor of
dampness and must. Doffing their hats, the men entered the long,
barn-like room. Rosendo carefully closed and locked the door behind
them