ateo Gil, he thought, could
not live the night through. He knelt at the loathsome bedside of the
suffering man and prayed long and earnestly for light. He tried not to
ask, but to know. While there, he heard a call from the street,
announcing the passing of Guillermo Hernandez. Another one! His heart
sank again. The plague was upon them in all its cruel virulence.

Sadly he returned to the hill, just as the sun tipped the highest
peaks of the _Cordilleras_. Standing on the crest, he waited with
heavy heart, while the mournful little procession wended its sad way
through the streets below. An old, battered wooden image of one of the
Saints, rescued from the oblivion of the _sacristia_, had been dressed
to represent Santa Barbara. This, bedecked with bits of bright colored
ribbon, was carried at the head of the procession by the faithful
Juan. Following him, Pedro Gonzales, old and tottering, bore a dinner
plate, on which rested the _hostia_, while over the wafer a tall young
lad held a soiled umbrella, for there was no canopy.

A slow chant rose from the lips of the people like a dirge. It struck
the heart of the priest like a chill wind. _"Ora pro nobis! Ora pro
nobis!"_ Tears streamed from his eyes while he gazed upon his stricken
people. Slowly, wearily, they wound around the base of the hill, some
sullen with despair, others with eyes turned beseechingly upward to
where the priest of God stood with outstretched hands, his full heart
pouring forth a passionate appeal to Him to turn His light upon these
simple-minded children. When they had gone back down the road, their
bare feet raising a cloud of thick dust which hid them from his view,
Jose sank down upon the rock and buried his face in his hands.

"I know--I think I know, oh, God," he murmured; "but as yet I have not
proved--not yet. But grant that I may soon--for their sakes."

Rosendo touched his shoulder. "There is another body to bury to-night,
Padre. Eat now, and we will go down."

* * * * *

Standing over the new grave, in the solemn hush of night, the priest
murmured: "I am the resurrection and the life." But the mound upon
which Rosendo was stolidly heaping the loose earth marked only another
victory of the mortal law of death over a human sense of life. And
there was no one there to call forth the sleeping man.

"Behold, I give you power over all things," said the marvelous Jesus.
The wondrous, irresistible