elves
that makes for righteousness," the unknown, almost unacknowledged
force that ceases not to combat evil in the human consciousness.
Clinging to his petty egoisms; hugging close his shabby convictions of
an evil power opposed to God; stuffed with worldly learning and pride
of race and intellect, in due season, as he sank under the burden of
his imaginings, the veil had been drawn aside for a fleeting
moment--and his soul had frozen with awe at what it beheld!

For, back of the density of the human concept, the fleeting,
inexplicable medley of good and evil which constitutes the phenomenon
of mortal existence, _he had seen God_! He had seen Him as all-inclusive
mind, omnipotent, immanent, perfect, eternal. He had caught a moment's
glimpse of the tremendous Presence which holds all wisdom, all
knowledge, yet knows no evil. He had seen a blinding flash of that
"something" toward which his life had strained and yearned. With it had
come a dim perception of the falsity of the testimony of physical
sense, and the human life that is reared upon it. And though he
counted not himself to have apprehended as yet, he was struggling,
even with thanksgiving, up out of his bondage, toward the gleam. The
shafts of error hissed about him, and black doubt and chill despair
still felled him with their awful blows. But he walked with Carmen. With
his hand in hers, he knew he was journeying toward God.

On the afternoon before his departure Rosendo entered the parish house
in apprehension. "I have lost my _escapulario_, Padre!" he exclaimed.
"The string caught in the brush, and the whole thing was torn from my
neck. I--I don't like to go back without one," he added dubiously.

"Ah, then you have nothing left but Christ," replied Jose with fine
irony. "Well, it is of no consequence."

"But, Padre, it had been blessed by the Bishop!"

"Well, don't worry. Why, the Holy Father himself once blessed this
republic of ours, and now it is about the most unfortunate country in
the whole world! But you are a good Catholic, Rosendo, so you need not
fear."

Rosendo was, indeed, a good Catholic. He accepted the faith of his
fathers without reserve. He had never known any other. Simple,
superstitious, and great of heart, he held with rigid credulity to
all that had been taught him in the name of religion. But until Jose's
advent he had feared and hated priests. Nevertheless, his faith in
signs and miracles and the healing power of blessed image