ien_, you have much to learn. I took to you on
the boat because I knew you had made a mess of things, and it was not
entirely your fault. I have seen others like you. You are no more in
the Church than I am. Now why do you stay here? Do I offend in
asking?"

Jose hesitated. "I--I have--work here, senor," he replied.

"True," said Don Jorge, "a chance to do much for these poor people--if
the odds are not too strong against you. But--are you working for them
alone? Or--does Diego's child figure in the case? No offense, I assure
you--I have reason to ask."

Jose sought to read his eyes. The man looked squarely into his own,
and the priest found no deception in their black depths.

"I--senor, she cannot be Diego's child--and I--I would save her!"

Don Jorge nodded his head. "_Bien_," he said, "to-morrow I leave for
San Lucas. I will return this way."

After the evening meal the _guaquero_ spread his _petate_ upon the
floor and disposed himself for the night. He stubbornly refused to
accept the priest's bed. _"Caramba!"_ he muttered, after he had lain
quiet for some time, "why does not the Church permit its clergy to
marry, like civilized beings! Do you know, _Senor Padre_, I once met a
woman in Bogota and held some discussion with her on this topic. She
said, as between a priest who had children, and a married minister,
she would infinitely prefer the priest, because, as she put it, no
matter how dissolute the priest, the sacraments from his hands would
still retain their validity--but never from those of a married
minister! _Caramba!_ what can you do against such bigotry and awful
narrowness, such dense ignorance! Cielo!"

The following morning, before sunrise, Don Jorge and his boatmen were
on the lake, leaving Jose to meditate on the vivid experiences of the
past few days, their strange mental origin, and the lesson which they
brought.

CHAPTER 22

"Padre dear," said Carmen, "you know the question that we put under
the altar of the old church? Well, God answered it, didn't He?"

"I--why, I had forgotten it, child. What was it? You asked Him to tell
us why the people thought they had to die, did you not? Well--and what
was His answer?"

"Why, He told us that they were frightened to death, you know."

"True, _chiquita_. Fear killed them--nothing else! They paid the
penalty of death for believing that Feliz Gomez had slept on a bed
where a man had died of the plague. They died because they--"

"Beca