f hypocrisy would have to be raised, and the
resultant exposure would be worse then than open apostasy now!

He entered his dreary little abode and threw himself upon a chair.
There had been no reaction like this for days. He looked out into the
deserted street. Mud hovels; ragged, thatched roofs; lowly _peones_
drowsing away life's little hour within! There was scarcely a book in
the town. Few of its inhabitants could even read or write. Culture,
education, refinement--all wanting. Nothing but primal existence--the
barest necessities of real life. He could not stand it! He had been a
fool all his years! He would throw everything to the winds and go out
into the world to live his life as it had been intended he should live
it. He would send his resignation to the Bishop to-morrow. Then he
would hire Juan to take him to Bodega Central; and the few _pesos_ he
had left would get him to Barranquilla. There he would work until he
had earned enough for his passage to the great States up north, of
which the explorer had told such wonderful tales. Once there, he could
teach, or--

His thought turned to Rosendo. He saw him, bent with age, and wearied
with toil, alone in the awful solitude of the jungle, standing knee
deep in the cold mountain water, while from early dawn till sunset he
incessantly swung the heavy _batea_ to concentrate the few flakes of
precious gold it might contain. And the old man was facing years of
just such loneliness and heavy toil--facing them gladly.

He thought of Carmen. Was she worth such sacrifice as he and Rosendo
were making? God forgive him! Yes--a thousand times yes! If he
betrayed Rosendo's confidence and fled like a coward now, leaving her
to fall into the sooty hands of men like Padre Diego, to be crushed,
warped, and squeezed into the molds of Holy Church, could he ever
again face his fellow-men?

He jumped to his feet. "Get thee behind me, Satan!" he cried in a
voice that echoed through the barren rooms. He smote his chest and
paced the floor. Then he stopped still. He heard Carmen's voice again.
It was the same simple melody she had sung the day he awoke from his
fever. He stood listening. His eyes filled. Then--

"Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with
might,
Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of
sight."

CHAPTER 12

In the days that followed, while at times Jose still struggled
desperately against t