ong the crest of the hill. The morning
was glorious--but for the blighting thoughts of men. The vivid green
of the dewy hills shone like new-laid color. The lake lay like a
diamond set in emeralds. The dead town glowed brilliantly white in the
mounting sun. Jose knew that the heat would soon drive him from the
hill. He glanced questioningly at the old church. He walked toward it;
then mounted the broken steps. The hinges, rusted and broken, had let
the heavy door, now bored through and through by _comejen_ ants, slip
to one side. Through the opening thus afforded, Jose could peer into
the cavernous blackness within. The sun shot its terrific heat at him,
and the stone steps burned his sandaled feet. He pushed against the
door. It yielded. Then through the opening he entered the dusty,
ill-smelling old edifice.

When his eyes had become accustomed to the dimness within, he saw that
the interior was like that of the other church, only in a more
dilapidated state. There were but few benches; and the brick altar,
poorer in construction, had crumbled away at one side. Dust, mold, and
cobwebs covered everything; but the air was gratefully cool. Jose
brushed the thick dust from one of the benches. Then he lay down upon
it, and was soon sunk in heavy sleep.

* * * * *

The sun had just crossed the meridian. Jose awoke, conscious that he
was not alone. The weird legend that hung about the old church
filtered slowly through his dazed brain. Rosendo had said that an
angel of some kind dwelt in the place. And surely a presence sat on
the bench in the twilight before him! He roused up, rubbed his sleepy
eyes, and peered at it. A soft laugh echoed through the stillness.

"I looked all around for the bad angel that padre Rosendo said lived
here, and I didn't find anything but you."

"Carmen, child! What are you doing here? Don't come near me!" cried
Jose, drawing away.

"Why, Padre--what is it? Why must I keep away from you? First, madre
Maria tells me I must go to Boque with her. And now you will not let
me come near you. And I love you so--" Tears choked her voice, and she
sat looking in mute appeal at the priest.

Jose's wit seemed hopelessly scattered. He passed his hand dully
across his brow as if to brush the mist from his befogged brain.

"Padre dear." The pathetic little voice wrung his heart. "Padre dear,
when madre Maria told me I had to go to Boque, I went to your house to