anded to give them up;
or--it is God's word--there is only hell fire."

"Mother of Sorrows, pity me! What shall I do?"

She looked with the terror of a child into the dark, cruel face of the
priest. It was as immovably stern as if carved out of stone. Then her
eyes sought those of Antonia, who sat at a distant window with her
embroidery in her hand. She let it fall when her mother's pitiful,
uncertain glance asked from her strength and counsel. She rose and
went to her. Never had the tall, fair girl looked so noble. A sorrowful
majesty, that had something in it of pity and something of anger,
gave to her countenance, her movements, and even her speech, a kind of
authority.

"Dear mother, do as the beloved and kindhearted Ruth did. Like you, she
married one not of her race and not of her religion. Even when God had
taken him from her, she chose to remain with his people--to leave her
own people and abide with his mother. For this act God blessed her, and
all nations in all ages have honored her."

"Ruth! Ruth! Ruth! What has Ruth to do with the question? Presumptuous
one! Ruth was a heathen woman--a Moabite--a race ten times accursed."

"Pardon, father. Ruth was the ancestress of our blessed Saviour, and of
the Virgin Mary."

"Believe not the wicked one, Senora? She is blinded with false
knowledge. She is a heretic. I have long suspected it. She has not been
to confession for nine months."

"You wrong me, father. Every day, twice a day, I confess my sins
humbly."

"Chito! You are in outrageous sin. But, then, what else? I hear, indeed,
that you read wicked books--even upon your knees you read them."

"I read my Bible, father."

"Bring it to me. How could a child like you read the Bible? It is a book
for bishops and archbishops, and the Immaculate Father himself. What
an arrogance? What an insolence of self-conceit must possess so young a
heart? Saints of God! It confounds me."

The girl stood with burning cheeks gazing at the proud, passionate man,
but she did not obey his order.

"Senora, my daughter! See you with your own eyes the fruit of your sin.
Will you dare to become a partner in such wickedness?"

"Antonia! Antonia! Go at once and bring here this wicked book. Oh, how
can you make so miserable a mother who loves you so much?"

In a few moments Antonia returned with the objectionable book. "My dear
grandmother gave it to me," she said. "Look, mi madre, here is my name
in her writing. Is it concei