"

"Yes, Padre, that is true," assented Rosendo gravely.

"I was led here," continued Jose; "I see it now. Rosendo, all my life
I have regarded evil as just as real and powerful as good. And my life
has been one of bitterness and woe. Carmen sees only the good God
everywhere. And she dwells in heaven. What is the logical inference?
Simply that my mental attitude has been all wrong, my views erroneous,
my thinking bad. I have tried to know both good and evil, to eat of
the forbidden tree. And for so doing I was banished from paradise. Do
you understand me?"

"Why--well, no, Padre--that is, I--" The honest fellow was becoming
confused.

"Well, just this, then," explained the priest with animation. "I
haven't gotten anywhere in life, and neither have you, because we have
limited ourselves and crippled our efforts by yielding to fear, pride,
ignorance, and the belief in evil as a real power opposed to good."

"I have often wondered myself, Padre, how there could be a devil if
God is almighty. For in that case He would have had to make the devil,
wouldn't He?"

"Just so!" cried Jose enthusiastically. "And as He did make
everything, then either He made the devil, or else there isn't any."

"But that is pretty hard to see, Padre," replied the puzzled Rosendo.
"Something makes us do wicked things."

"Simply the belief that there is a power apart from God."

"But doesn't that belief come from the devil?"

"Surely--the devil of imagination! Listen, Rosendo: Carmen is daily
putting into practice her instinctive knowledge of a mighty fact. She
will reveal it all to us in due time. Let us patiently watch her, and
try to see and understand and believe as she does. But in the
meantime, let us guard our minds as we would a treasure house, and
strive never to let a thought of evil get inside! My past life should
serve as a perpetual warning."

Rosendo did not reply at once, but sat staring vacantly at the ground.
Jose knew that his thoughts were with his wayward daughter. Then, as
if suddenly remembering the object of his call, he took from his
wallet two letters, which he handed to Jose with the comment: "Juan
brought them up from Bodega Central this morning."

Jose took them with quickening pulse. One was from Spain, from his
uncle. He devoured it eagerly. It was six weeks old when it arrived in
Simiti, and had been written before the news of his removal from
Cartagena had reached Seville. His mother was well; and her h