University of California Berkeley 
 
c 
 
FROM THE CRUCIFIX 
 TO THE CROSS 
 
 AND 
 
 THE HERETICS 
 
 STORIES OF WESTERN MEXICO 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRIET CRAWFORD 
 
 F. I,. ROWE, PUBLISHES, CINCINNATI, OHIO 
 
 1909 
 
PUBLISHER'S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The two stories comprising this volume 
 are true delineations of life in Old Mexico. 
 The writer of these stories has been quite 
 a part of the incidents of the stories. 
 
 They deal in a mild spirit with the 
 teachings and practices of the Catholic 
 Church, and show the gradual leading out, 
 by Protestant teaching, from the errors 
 of the former to the clearer light as taught 
 by the latter. 
 
 We are hopeful that the circulation of 
 these stories may be encouraged by all lov- 
 ers of the truth, and that the impressions 
 made may lead others from darkness into 
 the glorious light of God's truth. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 FROM THE CRUCIFIX TO THE CROSS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Chapter I. "The Crazy Old Monk" 5 
 
 Chapter II. The Bequeathed Crucifix.. 10 
 
 Chapter III. Elena 23 
 
 Chapter IV. Purgatory 29 
 
 Chapter V. The Young Priest 34 
 
 Chapter VI. Juan 42 
 
 Chapter VII. The Word of God 48 
 
 Chapter VIII. Danger 57 
 
 Chapter IX. Deceived 66 
 
 Chapter X. Faithful 70 
 
 Chapter XL Released 76 
 
 Chapter XII. Found .82 
 
 THE HERETICS. 
 
 Chapter I. Dona Alicia and Her 
 
 Treasures 91 
 
 Chapter II. The Mother of God 100 
 
 Chapter III. The Ransom 105 
 
 (3) 
 
PAGE. 
 
 Chapter IV. A Deserted City ^ 111 
 
 Chapter V. A Very Strange Thing... 115 
 Chapter VI. "The Heretics" and 
 
 Father Lorenzo 118 
 
 Chapter VII. "Thou Hast Not Denied 
 
 My Name" 124 
 
 Chapter VIII. Two Mothers 135 
 
 Chapter IX. Mariana 139 
 
 Chapter X. The Bishop and His Pover.144 
 Chapter XL Altizo Town and its 
 
 Mayor 149 
 
 Chapter XII. Saint Francisco 157 
 
 Chapter XIII. Strong Enough and 
 
 Brave Enough 164 
 
 Chapter XIV. The Power of the Priest- 
 hood 19 
 
 Chapter XV. Tested 173 
 
 Chapter XVI. A Wedding Guest 181 
 
 Chapter XVII. Aurelio 184 
 
 Chapter XVIII. A Work Well Finished. 194 
 
 (4) 
 
FROM THE CRUCIFIX TO 
 THE CROSS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 "THE CBAZY OLD MONK." 
 
 Brother Leonardo, the old priest of the 
 Oalistro School, was kneeling on the cold, 
 earth floor of his cell. The cell was his 
 own little room> and he was his own 
 willing prisoner. The room was bare of 
 furnishings, save a narrow iron bedstead 
 and a low wooden stand. A "petate" (na- 
 tive mat) served as mattress, and across 
 this lay a coarse woolen blanket, the only 
 covering. The walls were of adobe, the 
 plastering still clinging in places. On 
 these walls hung a few brightly-colored 
 prints of some of the saints, most con- 
 spicuous that of .St. Peter, with keys sus- 
 pended from his girdle. 
 
 In a niche in the wall stood a clay 
 figure of the Virgin Mary, bright in blue 
 and gold, with the infant Jesus in her 
 (5) 
 
arms. Hanging above this image was a 
 wooden cross, upon it the painted figure 
 of Jesus crucified. 
 
 Under this cross and under this image 
 kneeled the old man. His worn black robe 
 had fallen from him, revealing undergar- 
 ments coarse and still more worn. His 
 face was very thin and deeply marked by 
 suffering. As he kneeled, clasping his 
 brazen crucifix, his black sunken eyes fixed 
 upon the image before him, he prayed. 
 
 "O, holy Mother of God, have pity upon 
 this feeble child of thine! Precious heart 
 of Mary, be my salvation!" 
 
 Suddenly, there was a voice at his door, 
 a child's voice, calling, "Abre, Tio, abre!" 
 (Open, Uncle, open!) A light crept into 
 those dull eyes. The old man arose, moved 
 slowly across the floor, and withdrew the 
 bolt from the door. There sprang into the 
 room a handsome boy of about twelve years 
 of age, straight and lithe, with the step of 
 a soldier and with eyes flashing and black. 
 
 "Santisima Virgen! How you do love 
 this dark corner! Come out into the gar- 
 den, Tio mio, into the sunlight and 
 among the flowers!" 
 
 The old man looked fondly into the eyes 
 of the boy and said: 
 
 "My beautiful, the Virgin smiled when 
 thou wast born! Sunshine, birds and flow- 
 
 (6) 
 
ers were made for thee! But not for me? 
 I soon must leave them all, but ere I go 
 I must find peace, peace for my soul!" 
 
 "And wilt thou find it here?" interrupted 
 the boy, looking about him. 
 
 The old man only replied by drawing the 
 boy toward him. Then he led him to the 
 little iron bedstead, where together they 
 sat a moment in silence. 
 
 "Uncle," began the boy, "there is a 
 stranger in our town, a white man, from 
 the great country north of us. As he 
 walks our streets he carries papers and 
 little books. We met him this morning, 
 Juan and I. He held out a little paper to 
 me, and I reached to take it, but Juan 
 drew me back, and told me not to touch it. 
 The stranger did not speak. He only 
 looked at me and smiled, and there was 
 kindness in his smile and in his face. But 
 Juan hurried me on and told me that the 
 holy father said that whoever should talk 
 to this stranger, or should take aught from 
 him, would be cut off from the Holy 
 Church and his soul forever lost. For this 
 stranger, Juan said, is one of those 'Prot- 
 estantes' lately come into our town." 
 
 The old man had been listening, but at 
 
 the word "Protestante" he raised his head, 
 
 and with horror in his voice, exclaimed, 
 
 'Ay Dios mio! And have those accursed 
 
 (7) 
 
heretics found our beautiful little city? 
 Have they come here to lead away our 
 young and our. innocent ones? But sure- 
 ly the Holy Church will not permit! Thou, 
 my boy, avoid them, for they are the 
 devil, and they lie in wait to destroy both 
 soul and body!" 
 
 The boy did not reply. The old man 
 paused and seemed lost in thought. At 
 length the boy arose, threw his arms 
 around his uncle's neck, saying, "Juan is 
 waiting for me in the court, and I must 
 be going. Then, adios, till to-morrow!" 
 
 "My boy, my beautiful boy!" murmured 
 the old man, as the boy disappeared. "The 
 Holy Virgin and the Saints protect him! 
 Save him from the clutches of those 
 devils!" 
 
 The old monk was too well wrought up 
 to return to his knees. He could only 
 walk his floor. But at length he went to 
 the little iron-grated window, the only 
 place, save the door, where the sun and 
 air could enter. There he stood, looking 
 into the courtyard, and over the wall, into 
 the street beyond. But he saw not what 
 his eye rested upon. He saw not the sink- 
 ing sun was touching with gold the dis- 
 tant hilltops, the cathedral spires and even 
 the old adobe walls about him, before 
 leaving them in darkness. He saw nothing 
 (8) 
 
and knew naught but his boy, and that he 
 was in danger. 
 
 At last, as the gold was fading from sky 
 and mountain tops, the old man turned, 
 drew his cloak about him, passed through 
 his door out into the yard. He seated him- 
 self on a low bench which stood against 
 the high adobe wall surrounding the build- 
 ing. As he sat there, again lost in 
 thought, we leave him a moment to repeat 
 the story of his life. 
 
 Spain had taken possession of Mexico, 
 and for three hundred years her people had 
 been under the yoke of the Church of 
 Rome. Among those who had crossed the 
 seas from old Castile to seek the silver and 
 the gold of the new country was the high- 
 born family of Calistro. More than one 
 generation had made their homes in the 
 Capital City of Mexico, and had ever given 
 freely to the Church their silver and their 
 gold, their sons and their daughters. 
 
 Ignacio Calistro was the first to break 
 the family circle, and he, with his young 
 bride, crossed the vast tablelands, the 
 high mountains, and came into the new 
 and western lands of Mexico. 
 
 Their son, Leonardo, was dedicated, from 
 
 infancy, to the priesthood. Submissive by 
 
 nature, his childhood and youth were easily 
 
 molded by instructors of the Holy Church. 
 
 (9) 
 
But not so his beautiful Sister Feliciana, 
 a couple of years his senior. Her high 
 spirit chafed under the confinement of "Sis- 
 ters' Schools," and for her family's sake 
 she was privileged, as no other pupil, to 
 go and come largely at will. 
 
 When Feliciana was only 18 years of age 
 she attracted the admiration of the hand- 
 some and brave Colonel Valentino, who 
 had been sent with troops from the City of 
 Mexico to protect the newer towns of the 
 west from the devastations of mountain 
 brigands and lawless tribes of Indians. 
 The Church was wise enough to see a great 
 gain for herself in the marriage of one of 
 her favorite daughters to the popular 
 young "Independente" and soldier, for the 
 country had been passing through years of 
 struggle, that terrible struggle between 
 Church and State when the State, under 
 its noble leader Juarez, had come off vic- 
 torious. 
 
 Some years later, upon the death of the 
 parents, the Calistro estates were left in 
 larger part to the Church, the son and 
 daughter receiving smaller shares. Leo- 
 nardo, now a young man, a little over 20 
 years of age, had learned perfectly the first 
 great commandment of the Church of Rome 
 submission. It was only to be expected, 
 
 (10) 
 
then, that he yielded to her request to dedi- 
 cate to the "Holy Church" his own beau- 
 tiful home, retaining such a part of it as 
 he should require. As a return for his sac- 
 rifice he was promised a high position in 
 the Church, honor in this life, and his 
 soul's eternal happiness. 
 
 For some years he was happy in his 
 surrender, and in the praise of men. His 
 home became the Bishop's residence, and 
 the young man was his favored adopted 
 son. But upon the death of the Bishop 
 the building became the training school 
 for the young priests. The new instructors 
 required more and more of the building, 
 until it became evident to Leonardo that 
 the only room he could call his own was 
 the little back room in which we found 
 him. He had finished his course of instruc- 
 tion, and was prepared for promotion in 
 orders. 
 
 But when he dared remind his in- 
 structors of that promise, he was briefly 
 told that the promise, as well as other con- 
 ditions of the past, were no longer of value. 
 And as the young man grew sad and silent 
 under his disappointment, he was told that 
 such spirit was insubordination. He was 
 told that with a spirit in rebellion his 
 great gift of property even could count him 
 
 (11) 
 
nothing, and he must again, by other gifts 
 and other good deeds, gain the approbation 
 of the Church and his soul's salvation. 
 
 Gradually hope had gone out of his life, 
 and with it ambition. Happiness, too, had 
 left him. He cared no longer for a place 
 among men. But his troubled, wearied 
 soul longed for peace, and for such peace 
 he sought day and night, if by hunger or 
 by thirst, or by cold or by solitude, or 
 by prayers he might find rest and quiet for 
 his soul. His sister had begged him to 
 make his home with her, but in vain. She 
 however, sent almost daily the old servant 
 Juan to minister to his needs. But the 
 food was scarcely tasted. He remained 
 apart from men, alone in his little room 
 scarce past the prime of life, yet worn, 
 bent and broken, known only to men as 
 the "Crazy old monk of the Calistro 
 School." 
 
 But life still held one thing for the old 
 man, and that was the beautiful boy 
 Rudolfo, his sister's youngest child. For 
 the daily visits of his boy the old man 
 waited, as the fevered man watches 
 through the hours of the night for the 
 coming day; and it was of this boy, Ru- 
 dolph, that he was thinking as he sat upon 
 the bench against the old adobe wall. 
 Passers along the street moved near the 
 (12) 
 
wall, and the old man could hear their 
 words if he ehose to listen. A voice sud- 
 denly waked him from his reveries. 
 
 " Tis a new doctrine, this stranger 
 brings. A new doctrine, yet I like it, for it 
 seems the truth! He further explains to- 
 night in his own dwelling. I care not what 
 the priest may say, I go to hear!" 
 
 "Then I will accompany thee," was the 
 reply. "Where lives this stranger?" 
 
 "On the corner of Streets Cuatro and 
 Don Luis." 
 
 The voices passed on, but the old man 
 started, for, like a flood breaking its bar- 
 riers, so rushed forth long-pent memories, 
 sweeping before him the years forgotten. 
 
 "Calles Cuatro and Luis!" He could see 
 those streets; he could see the corner, 
 where stood the long low adobe room, the 
 school room, where so long ago he had 
 learned to spell the words of his primer, 
 and where he had committed to memory 
 his catechism. His sister's home was now 
 near that corner, where lived his beauti- 
 ful boy. And there, too, near to them, 
 lived that heretic, that Protestant! Oh, 
 ic must not be! His boy so near to danger, 
 and he so powerless to save! 
 
 He could no longer sit there. He arose, 
 and when again in his little room the door 
 barred behind him, he kneeled under the 
 (13) 
 
painted image and under the wooden cross. 
 
 "Holy Mother of my Church, save my 
 boy! My own, beautiful boy!" 
 
 Long time he kneeled, his crucifix in 
 hand, prayers on his lips, but chill and 
 midnight in his soul. 
 
 At length he arose, and with no light 
 in his room save the light of the stars 
 through the little grated window, he laid 
 himself down upon his hard bed. But not 
 to sleep; the floods of memory still swept 
 on, bringing before him scenes long gone. 
 He saw again the days of his boyhood, the 
 days of his youth, when he passed from 
 the parochial school into the school for the 
 training of the priests. He saw the com- 
 panions of that school. One face came 
 before him, which he had long forgotten, 
 Felipe, his happy, merry companion. He 
 remembered that Felipe had sometimes 
 talked about the "Protestantes." Felipe 
 had known them in his own town, and he 
 said they were a good people. Indeed, 
 Felipe had called into question some of the 
 teachings of their own Church, contrast- 
 ing them unfavorably with the teachings 
 of the Protestants. 
 
 He remembered how, one day, the Father 
 
 Superior had called his pupils together 
 
 and told them that among them was a 
 
 traitor, a false one, and that he must, at 
 
 (14) 
 
once, be driven from them before' he could 
 do injury. It was Felippe who was thus, 
 without warning, sent from them. But 
 Felipe had found the moment to say be- 
 fore leaving: "I am driven from you be- 
 cause I dare utter what is true. It is the 
 truth; some time this truth will reach 
 you here, and you will know it for your- 
 selves!" 
 
 And then there passed before him, slowly 
 and wearily, the long years of disappoint- 
 ments and of sufferings. He had failed to 
 find in life what he had expected, and he 
 supposed the fault was his. He did not 
 know that he had been deceived by those 
 who had been his guides along his path 
 through life. 
 
 (15) 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 THE BEQUEATHED CRUCIFIX. 
 
 When Rudolfo went to visit his uncle, 
 the following day, the old monk repeated 
 his warnings. Each successive day the 
 priest earnestly besought his boy to avoid 
 the Protestant stranger. Rudolfo said lit- 
 tle. But there came a day when he found 
 his uncle unable to arise from his bed. 
 
 "Bios mio! You are sick and alone! I 
 will call the physician at once!" 
 
 "No, no, my boy! I need no medicine, 
 save for my soul! My body you will soon 
 lay to rest. But my soul I can not tell. 
 I have worn all my life the scapular,* and 
 the Holy Mother may be pleased to re- 
 member her promise, but I am not sure, 
 my boy, I am not sure. But I can do no 
 more!" 
 
 "I will run and call my mother!" inter- 
 rupted the boy. 
 
 "Nay, go not! Stay thou by me! Come 
 
 * Scapular. "To those who wear th 
 scapular during life, the Virgin makes thli 
 promise: 'I, their glorious Mother, on the 
 Saturday after their death, will descend to 
 purgatory, and deliver those whom I shall 
 find there and take them up to the holy 
 mountain of eternal life?" "What Rome 
 Teaches," page 193. 
 
 (16) 
 
nearer to me and make me this last prom- 
 ise! Avoid 1 those heretics! And one thing 
 more, when I am gone, wilt -tihou take this 
 little crucifix which has hung on my bosom 
 all these years and wear it on thine own 
 heart? It will keep thee from harm and 
 it will save thee from the evil workings 
 of those heretics." 
 
 "I will keep it, Uncle; anid now shall I 
 go and call 'the priest to hear thy last 
 confession?" 
 
 "'Nay, boy, they helped me not while I 
 lived, will they help me while I die? 
 There is no one to 'help me!" The voice 
 was very weak. "My boy, stay by me, for 
 I am alone, alone!" 
 
 The frightened iboy was kneeling, sob- 
 bing, by the bedside. The old man lay 
 quietly, too weak to speak. 
 
 "Tio," said the boy, after his sobs had 
 passed. "Tio, I have listened to the 
 sitranger. You told me not to listen to 
 him, so I feared to tell you What I had 
 done. My mother, too, and the priest told 
 me not to go near, but what do I care!" 
 said the boy, throwing proudly back his 
 head, his dark eyes flashing. "I went at 
 night, and stood under his window on the 
 street. I can not tell you much he said, 
 but he s/poke not of saints or of the Holy 
 Virgin. 'Jesus is the one who saves us,' 
 
 (17) 
 
he said. And he sang beautiful words 
 about Jesus and about heaven. His voice 
 is soft and sad when he sings, Tio. I 
 wisih you could hear him. I stood at the 
 door and waited a moment. He came to 
 speak to others who were standing there. 
 But when he saw me he smiled and said: 
 'Yes, I remember you.' And he gave me 
 this little paper. Shall I read it to you, 
 Tio?" 
 
 The old man was looking at the boy. 
 He made no reply. 
 
 Rndolfo read slowly, spelling some of 
 the words. 
 
 '"For God so loved the world that he 
 gave his only begotten Son, that whoso- 
 ever believeth in him should not perish 
 but 'have everlasting life." 
 
 "He that believeth on the Son hath ever- 
 lasting life." 
 
 "Neither is there salvation in any other, 
 for there is none other name under heaven, 
 gtven unto men, whereby we must be 
 sared." 
 
 The boy turned the card. "Here are 
 the words he sang, Tio!" 
 "Jesus, lover of my soul, 
 Let me to thy bosom fly. 
 Other refuge have I none, 
 Hangs my helpless soul on thee." 
 
 "Tio," said the boy, raising his head, 
 (18) 
 
"nothing they say or slog is about the 
 Holy Virgin or about the saints. It is only 
 Jesus! Is it true?" 
 
 But tiie old man, still looking at the boy, 
 only said, "I do not know." 
 
 The following day Rudolfo found his 
 uncle scarce able to speak. The food 
 which the faithful Juan had brought was 
 refused. The old man would have no help. 
 
 The boy kneeled by his uncle's bedside. 
 
 "I went again last night to hear the 
 stranger. I do not care, though the priest 
 forbid!" that same fearless look leaping 
 into his eyes. "And there was another 
 man there, one of our own people. He, 
 too, read from the book. He, too, kneeled 
 and prayed; but he held no crucifix and he 
 called no name of virgin or saint. I waited 
 again at the door till they both came. 
 The man of our country -took me by the 
 hand and asked me my name. And when 
 I told him I was the son of General Valen- 
 tino he laughed and said, 'Of course, my 
 boy ; his eyes thou hast, and even his same 
 proud hold of the head! I knew thy father, 
 boy, "and thy mother! And hast thou an 
 Uncle Leonardo?' he asked. And when I 
 told him that thou wast sick, he said, 'Oh, 
 take me to see him, boy!' Shall I bring 
 him to see thee, and dost thou know him, 
 Tio?" 
 
 (19) 
 
The old man mored. "Yes," he said; 
 then suddenly, "Oh, no, boy! it would not 
 do. I am afraid!" he whispered. 
 
 "Uncle, you fear the priests here! But 
 I am not afraid! I will bring him to- 
 night, for I promised him I would. No one 
 shall see us, so do not fear, Tio mio!" 
 
 Through the long hours lay the dying 
 man, waiting. Life was very feeble, but 
 his mind still active. Very quiet it was. 
 in that little back room, but the sick man 
 still could hear the voice of his boy. 
 "There is no other name there is no other 
 name Jesus, let me to thy bosom fly." 
 
 Dusk was sifting over the town, men re- 
 turning to their homes. But no one took 
 special note of two figures, a man and a 
 boy, as they moved silently along the 
 narrow back lane, opened the back court 
 gate, crossed the yard to the door of the 
 "old crazy monk of Calistro." 
 
 Only the light of -the moon shone through 
 the little grated window. The incomer 
 leaned low to look into the face of the 
 dying man, for not even in the clear light 
 of day would one have guessed that tihe 
 tlhin, worn face upon the hard pillow was 
 once the young man Leonardo. 
 
 The visitor spoke his name. The dying 
 man heard the voice, raised his hand and 
 whispered: 
 
 (20) 
 
"Felipe! my old friend Felipe!" Then 
 Felipe sat on the edge of the bed, the boy 
 kneeled on the floor, and the dying man 
 and the boy listened while Felipe .talked. 
 He spoke of the years that had passed 
 when they were boys together. He told 
 of. the new and blessed life which had 
 been his since he had found his Jesus; 
 the story of the cross, so familiar to the 
 dying monk, but never told like this; the 
 sacrifice, so full and complete, that there 
 was no longer need for penance, for inter- 
 cedence of priest, saint or virgin. 
 
 Slowly and feebly the old man's eyes 
 moved from the pictures of saints, dimly 
 outlined on the walls, to the image of the 
 Virgin, then rested upon the little wooden 
 cross. "And I, if I be lifted up from the 
 earth, will draw all men unto me!" softly 
 repeated Felipe. 
 
 The pictures and the image seemed to 
 fade from before the dying man. Only 
 the cross was visible. And then, only him 
 upon the cross, no longer crucified, but 
 glorified, waiting, with welcome in his 
 face, and saying, as Felipe repeated: 
 
 "Come unto me and I will give thee rest 
 rest!" 
 
 Long time talked Felipe, in low tones, 
 the dying man and the boy still listening. 
 
 At length Felipe said, "To-morrow I go 
 
 (21) 
 
away. But we shall both meet again where 
 we shall be at rest. I leave with you this 
 little book, God's Word, the New Testa- 
 ment of his love. Your boy will read it 
 to you when I am gone." 
 
 When the servant came the next morn- 
 irg, he saw the face of the old monk in 
 perfect rest and peace. Rest and peace 
 which his life of penance and of works 
 never could have earned. Rest and peace 
 which is the gift of God through, his Son. 
 
 The little brazen crucifix had fallen to 
 one side, but on his bosom, resting under 
 those thin hands, lay Felipe's gift the lit- 
 tle New Testament. 
 
 Instinctively the servant Juan concealed 
 the little book about his person, before 
 calling help. 
 
 The Superior came for burial rites, the 
 old monk's sister and her boy. The boy 
 took with him the little crucifix as he had 
 promised. There were few ,to mourn, and 
 few to follow, to its resting place, the "old 
 crazy monk of Calistro." But did it mat- 
 ter, if there was rejoicing in heaven? 
 
 122? 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 ELENA. 
 
 It was the beautiful month of May. Al- 
 though. in Western Mexico there are no 
 severe frosts to strip the trees, still spring 
 brings fresh green, and beautiful bloom. 
 The houses of the well-to-do inclose an open 
 court. Into this <tihe rooms of the build- 
 ings open. This courtyard is often filled 
 with beautiful flowers, sometimes a play- 
 ing fountain of water in the midst. 
 
 It was in such a garden that there 
 walked, one bright morning in May, a 
 slender young girl graceful her every 
 movement, and her black eyes, large, soft 
 and dreamy. She paused a moment to 
 touch the snow white "gaTdienia" and then 
 to pluck a spray of the fragrant jasmine. 
 As she stood a moment under the olean- 
 der, with its bright pink blossoms, thte 
 street door opened. There sounded a step 
 down through the corridor, into the gar- 
 den and to her side. It was Rudolfo, her 
 near neighbor, and almost constant com- 
 
 "Bienvenida Rufo! Dost thou remember 
 that this is the month, of OUT Holy Motiher, 
 (23) 
 
the Blessed Virgin, and the month of her 
 beautiful flowers? I go to-morrow to the 
 great Cathedral to carry her my offering of 
 flowers, pure and white, like herself. Thou 
 wilt be there of course, Rufo?" The girl 
 turned toward her friend. 
 "Cierto, Elenita, if tihou art to be there!" 
 Rudolfo stood the next morning among the 
 spectators and watched the girls, Elena 
 among them, beautiful in their white 
 dresses amid fluttering ribbons. He saw 
 them kneeling to lay their gifts of flowers 
 before the large, painted and gilded image 
 of the Virgin. He heard the soft chant- 
 ing and the 'reciting of the prayers by the 
 priests. The odor of the burning incense 
 filled his nostrils. His senses were 
 charmed, sight, hearing and smell. He 
 stood, looked and listened, yet, boy as he 
 was, he felt that something was lacking 
 something, he knew not what. There 
 seemed to come between him, and the glit- 
 ter about him, the little room on the street 
 corner, where there were no bright col- 
 ors, no gaily-painted images. The priests 
 were chanting "Holy Mary! All power is 
 given to thee, in heaven and in earth! 
 There is no one, O most Holy Mary, who 
 can know God but through thee. No one 
 is saved but -through thee!" The boy lis- 
 tening, thought of the words he had heard 
 
 (24) 
 
the night before. The miseionairy had 
 ssid, "Je&us is the one who saves! There 
 is no other name whereby man can be 
 saved!" And the boy wondered as 'he lis- 
 tened and remembered. 
 
 That afternoon, the two, the boy and 
 the girl, were standing again among the 
 flowers. "How lovely it was!" exclaimed 
 Elena. "I know the Holy Virgin has ac- 
 cepted my offering. She will protect my 
 life and she will save my soul." 
 
 "It is Jesus who saves," said the boy 
 quietly. 
 
 Elena turned sharply upon him. "What 
 dost thou mean, Rufo? It is blasphemy to 
 talk so. They say the heretics thus blas- 
 pheme our Holy Virgin. Hast thou been 
 listening to those heretics?" 
 
 The boy raised his head proudly and 
 smiled. 
 
 "Tell me, Rufo, hast thou been listening 
 to those Protestants?" 
 
 "Yes, I have listened to them, and 
 talked with them," said the boy, still hold- 
 ing himself proudly before her. "They 
 do not blaspheme the Holy Virgin! They 
 are good people!" 
 
 "Dost thou not fear? Thou knowest 
 what the Holy Fathers have told us about 
 them." 
 
 "I fear?" laughed the proud boy. '*Never!" 
 
 (25) 
 
She stood for a moment, looking at him. 
 Them, suddenly, as if seeming unwilling 
 that her companion should possess a 
 secret which she did not share, she said, 
 "Cierto, hast thou talked with the Protest- 
 ant priest? Tell me about him. And 
 what does he say?" 
 
 Then he told her of what he knew, but, 
 instinctively, withheld the account of that 
 night's visit with Felipe at his uncle's 
 dying bed. 
 
 "It is strange," said the girl. "I would 
 fear to listen to the stranger, but I would 
 like 'to hear him sing!" 
 
 "Then go with me tonight! I will ac- 
 company thee. We will stand on the street 
 and listen und no one shall know!" 
 
 But not until several nights had passed 
 did the timid girl finally consent. It was 
 already dark and Rudolfo found her wait- 
 ing in the front doorway, her head and 
 shoulders well wrapped in her silk "rebo- 
 zo" (shawl). Yet even then she would 
 retract her promise, but the boy, seizing 
 heir arm, forced her along by his side, 
 down the street, till they stood on the 
 sidewalk under the window. 
 
 There were numbers in the room. Many 
 standing in the doorway and under the 
 window, and the children were not no- 
 ticed. 
 
 (26) 
 
But did the missionary know, as lie 
 talked, that two of God's little ones were 
 waiting' without? "Suffer little ohliMnen 
 to come unto me, and forbid them not, ' 
 he said. "Jesus calls them! Jesus loves 
 the little ones," he said, and then sang 
 in a soft voice. 
 
 "I think when I read that sweet story of 
 old, 
 
 When Jesus was here among men, 
 How he called little children 
 
 Like lambs to his fold," etc. 
 
 The two listening there had not noticed 
 a man in common working clothes wiho had 
 followed tiiem along the street and who 
 had been standing by them. When they 
 turned to go, the man spoke, for it was 
 the old servant Juan, from Rudolfo's home. 
 
 "Young master, this is not the first 
 time I have seen you here. But fear not. 
 I carry no tales." 
 
 "I do not feair," interrupted the boy. 
 
 "Keep by me," added the old man. "You 
 must return, for we may be missed at 
 home." 
 
 "Not until I speak to the man," boldly 
 said the boy, dirawing the girl with him 
 to the doorway, where stood the mission- 
 ary speaking to those about him. 
 
 "My young friend again!" said the good 
 
man, taking the boy by the hand. "Is 
 this your sister?" 
 
 "No, senior, my friend Elena." The timid 
 girl had not da-red raise her eyes, but when 
 the missionary took the little trembling 
 hands in hie, she met his smile with hers. 
 
 "God bless you both," was all he said. 
 
 And then he turned to the servant Juan. 
 
 "I have seen you several times here. 
 Will you not come in the next time?" 
 Silently the old servant walked behind 
 the two. 
 
 "I do not understand it very much," said 
 the girl, "but I like the singing, and I like 
 the Protestant priest, too. I wonder why 
 we must not like him!" 
 
 The boy made no reply. He, too, was 
 wondering. "Step into your own door, 
 young master," said Juan. "I will accom- 
 pany the miss to her home." 
 
 But there was company in the brightly- 
 lighted "sala" in Elena's home; guests 
 were dancing to the sound of music, and 
 Elena slipped through the conridor, unno- 
 ticed, to her own room. 
 
 (28) 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 PURGATORY. 
 
 There was sadness in the great house 
 of General Valentino. He had been brought 
 home wounded in battle. 'Commanding his 
 troops while repulsing an attacking tribe 
 of Indians on the frontier, he hal been 
 seriously hurt. He was carried to his 
 home, but the tedious travel and exposure 
 inevitably had its effect. All that physi- 
 cians and loving friends could do had been 
 in vain, and now the brave soldier lay 
 dying. 
 
 The physician had given place to the 
 priest. The sick man had listened passive- 
 ly to the words of his dying confession 
 which the priest had spoken, for the man 
 had been too weak to utter them himself. 
 The sign of the Holy Cross had been made 
 upon his forehead, and he had been anoint- 
 ed with the holy oil. He heard the words 
 of the priest. "Yo te absuelvo!' (I ab- 
 solve thee!) 
 
 The priest had gone, and now the dying 
 man aroused himself. 
 
 "Bring my boy to me and leave us here 
 alone!" 
 
 ( 29 ) 
 
Rudolfo kneeled, weeping, by the bedaide. 
 "My eon, I had hoped to see thee take my 
 place. There are many battles yet to be 
 fought for our Mexico, and them wilt be 
 needed." The words were spoken slowly. 
 "Yes, my son, thou wilt be needed. Nor 
 are the battles all to be with sword and 
 shot. I see strife of other sort ahead for 
 our own land, and thou must be called to 
 lead it on." His father paused. 
 
 "My boy, I have been watching thee. I 
 have known how thou hast been attracted 
 toward the Protestants. They are right, 
 my boy; stay by them," he added as the 
 boy started and raised his head. "I knew 
 them and respected them when a young 
 man in Mexico City. I knew they were 
 right, but I came here, I forgot them, and 
 forgot their teachings. I became a cow- 
 ard. I, who feared not the cannon's mouth, 
 feared a woman, feared her laugh and ridi- 
 cule, your mother, Rudolfo. And I have 
 lived a life of falsehood. But thou, my 
 boy, be brave, for in the struggle thou wilt 
 be needed." 
 
 It was a very imposing burial service, 
 conducted in the cathedral, and the pro- 
 cession was long that followed to its rest- 
 ing place the earthly remains of the famous 
 and brave General Valentino. The boy, fol- 
 lowing sadly, remembered the quiet, un- 
 (30) 
 
noticed laying away of his uncle, the old 
 monk, and again he wondered. 
 
 The days of mourning were over. The 
 widow, the Senora de Valentino, lived alone 
 in her quiet house, with the servants and 
 with the boy, for her two daughters had 
 long since gone to distant homes of their 
 own. Rudolfo was growing so tall, so 
 handsome, so like his father. Proudly she 
 looked upon him, and fondly she loved 
 him. 
 
 One day a message of great importance 
 was sent to the Senora de Valentino. It 
 had been revealed that the spirit of the 
 departed General Valentino was still in 
 purgatory awaiting further prayers and 
 gifts of money to effect his release. 
 
 The widow pleaded her departed hus- 
 band's deeds of bravery, his generous gifts, 
 when living, to the Church. "Yes," was 
 the reply; his gifts and the gifts of the 
 widow, made at the time of his death for 
 the release of his soul, had been accepted; 
 but they were not enough. During the life- 
 time of her husband, he had lacked a spirit 
 or" entire submission to the teachings of 
 the Holy Church, and a lack of reverence 
 for her doctrine. For this reason a still 
 larger sum of money would be required, 
 and would the widow furnish the means 
 whereby to communicate with the Holy 
 (31) 
 
Virgin? "Thou dost know, daughter," add- 
 ed the priest, "that many things are asked 
 from God and are not granted; they are 
 asked from Mary and are granted. And 
 how is this? It is because God has thus 
 decreed in honor of his Mother." "Mary 
 co-operated in the salvation of man." 
 "Mary was made the mistress of salva- 
 tion." (These words are taken literally 
 from "Glories of Mary.") 
 
 When asked the sum that would be re- 
 quired, the reply was: "Because of the 
 deep esteem in which the departed is held, 
 and because of the deep esteem in which 
 the widow lives, the low sum of four thou- 
 sand dollars will be required." 
 
 When the Senora said that such a sum 
 she could not command, the answer was 
 ready: "It matters not, daughter. It's 
 equivalent will do. This house you live in 
 can easily be transferred to the name and 
 the use of the Church. But there need be 
 no haste, daughter. Take thine own time 
 to find another house, and meantime sup- 
 plications will be made for thy departed 
 husband's speedy release into glory." 
 
 The high-spirited boy was beside himself 
 with wrath. 
 
 "The Church commands, and we must 
 obey," was all the proud, though broken 
 woman could reply. Then, for the first 
 (32) 
 
time, the boy told his mother of his father's 
 dying words, and of the occasion attend- 
 ance upon the preaching of the Protestant. 
 He begged her to go with him to listen, 
 but she seemed only the more broken, and 
 besought 'him not to bring further sorrow 
 and disgrace by associating with the 
 heretics. 
 
 Time passed on, and the widow, her boy and 
 her faithful Juan had found another house, 
 a smaller one, and the great home of the 
 Valentines had passed into the safe keep- 
 ing of the Holy Church, 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 THE YOUNG PBIEST. 
 
 One day, when the Senora de Valentino 
 was seeking absolvence of guilt, at the con- 
 fessional, the man, her holy confessor, be- 
 gan to question her regarding her son. 
 
 "Thou hast good reason, daughter, to be 
 proud of the young man. How handsome 
 he is, how daring, and what talent he pos- 
 sesses! Hast thou thought to what his 
 talents shall be given? Thou dost know, 
 daughter, that there is no higher use for 
 talents, such as his, than the service of 
 our Holy Church. I know thy heart, and 
 that thou dost wish to dedicate him to such 
 service. He is now entering manhood, and 
 it is high time to work in preparation for 
 such high calling." 
 
 "But, Feather," faltered the woman, "his 
 father's wish was that he should follow 
 in his own steps." 
 
 "Ah, yes, daughter, I know that was well. 
 But think! Little dost thou know the honor, 
 the powers of the priesthood. Woman, let 
 me repeat. What are the powers of priest- 
 hood? 
 
 "I. To say mass. 
 
"II. To forgive sins. 
 
 "III. To preach the word of God, and per- 
 form other sacerdotal functions. 
 
 "In order to give to his priests the power 
 of saying mass, our Lord Jesus Christ had 
 to die. To redeem the world, it was not 
 necessary that our Lord should die. A sin- 
 gle drop of his sacred blood, a single tear, 
 a single prayer of his, would have sufficed, 
 but in order to establish the priesthood 
 our Lord had to die. 
 
 "Who can forgive sins? 
 
 "There is a man on earth who can for- 
 give sins, and that man is the Catholic 
 priest. Yes, the priest not only declares 
 that the sinner is forgiven, but he really 
 f 01 gives him. 
 
 "So great is tne power of the priest that 
 the judgments of heaven itself are subject 
 to his decisions. The priest absolves on 
 earth and God absolves in heaven. 
 
 "The priest is the co-operator, the assist- 
 ant of God in heaven." (These words are 
 quoted from "God the Teacher of Man- 
 kind." Michael Muller.) "But thou dost 
 know all this. And more the Holy Church 
 has need of thy son and all his talents. 
 And to this end he must be placed in train- 
 ing. He must become an inmate of the 
 Bishop's College of Training for the priest- 
 hood." 
 
 (36) 
 
The father confessor did not add that 
 he was aware of the growing acquaint- 
 ance of the young man with the accursed 
 Protestantism, and that this or some other 
 step would be forced upon him to break 
 him from such influences. 
 
 "But, Father," sobbed the broken wom- 
 an, "he is my son, my only son. I need 
 him! How can I live without him!" 
 
 "Daughter," said the man coldly, "thou 
 dost forget that the Holy Church can more 
 than make up to thee the sacrifice of thy 
 son. Thy reward will be great in this life 
 and in that to come!" 
 
 "Never for me, mother, the life of a 
 prating priest! Never!" cried the young 
 man, his eyes blazing and his voice 
 trembling with wrath, when later the 
 mother presented the subject to him. 
 
 "Not the black robe for me! Not the 
 confessional box! My father's life for me. 
 A soldier's life for me!" 
 
 "Yes," replied the mother sadly, "I know 
 thy father r s wish, and thou . rt so like him, 
 too! But, son, to serve our Church is 
 nobler, even, than to serve our country!" 
 
 The proud young man refused. Then 
 followed days and weeks of entreaty from 
 his mother, and flattery and promises from 
 (36) 
 
the priest. How he did not know but at 
 last he yielded, surrendered himself un- 
 willingly to the life he hated. He said to 
 himself he would try it for a while; he 
 could leave it when he chose. The school 
 of Calistro, his uncle's old home, became 
 now his home. The little brazen crucifix, 
 bequeathed him by his uncle, he now wore 
 upon his bosom. His life seemed a mock- 
 ery, yet as time wore on, the flattery and 
 homage shrewdly bestowed had its effect, 
 and he became seemingly contented, or at 
 least unresisting. 
 
 He visited his mother, she growing sad 
 in her loneliness and because promises for 
 peace of mind were unfulfilled. 
 
 At such times he usually gained brief 
 interviews with Elena. 
 
 And so the months grew into years. The 
 life of confinement was irksome to his 
 active temperament. He had time for re- 
 flection, for the studies were not pressing, 
 neither did they feed mental cravings. 
 
 Readings and the committal to memory 
 of the lives of the saints; the doctrines. of 
 the Church and the traditions, followed by 
 discussions with the father instructors, or 
 rather by lectures from them, were the 
 principal requirements. Frequent readings 
 of the Breviary and attendance upon the 
 different religious exercises in the college 
 (37) 
 
chapel were also required. The Bible was 
 in the building, in three large volumes, con- 
 taining full notes or expos' tions. These 
 \vere kept under particular care, none of 
 the younger students being allowed to open 
 them, unless by special permission, when 
 the priest was there to give the correct in- 
 terpretations thereof. 
 
 There were times when the young priest 
 loathed his surroundings and himself. At 
 such times he did not fear to express his 
 contempt, though, of course, somewhat 
 guardedly. 
 
 The Superiors, realizing their weak hold 
 on the youth, and realizing his value to 
 themselves, made light of his "pretended 
 insubordination." In the class room free- 
 dom of speech, on his part, was allowed, 
 such as would be permitted from no other. 
 The young man, fully aware of this tolera- 
 tion, took for himself all such advantages. 
 Frequent discussions, like the following, 
 occurred : 
 
 "Is it true, Father, that there is no sal- 
 vation outside of the Roman Catholic 
 Church?" 
 
 "Truth, indeed, my son!" 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 "Because without divine faith no salva- 
 tion is possible, and as divine faith is to 
 
 (38) 
 
be found alone in the Roman Catholic 
 Church, therefore salvation is possible only 
 in the Roman Catholic Church." 
 
 "Then can not a Protestant be saved?" 
 
 "No, because they have no faith in the 
 teaching of the Holy Church; indeed, they 
 reject all her doctrines, therefore salvation 
 to them is impossible. And more, they are 
 not willing to confess their sins to the 
 priest, therefore their sins shall not be 
 forgiven; how, then, can they be saved?' 
 
 "Another question, Father; the Prot- 
 estants say the Bible is the Word of God, 
 and they freely distribute the book for all 
 to read. Is the Bible the Word of God? 
 And if so, why does the Roman Catholic 
 Church prohibit its reading?" 
 
 "Yes, the Bible is the holy Word of God, 
 but here again the Protestants show their 
 wicked audacity by freely circulating it. 
 The Bible was not prepared or intended 
 for the laity. It was intrusted to the holy 
 fathers, by the apostles, to be kept by them 
 and by them to be interpreted. Because 
 of its much obscenity, it is not a fit book 
 for women or children, and because of its 
 much obscurity, it can not be understood 
 by the common people. It can only be read 
 to them by the priest who can rightly ex- 
 plain its meaning." 
 
 (39) 
 
"Then the Bible is not a necessary 
 book?" 
 
 "No, the Bible is not necessary. Wer 
 it to be entirely destroyed from the face 
 of the earth, it would not matter. The 
 Holy Church, by revelations, and traditions, 
 has all the necessary truth, and by faith 
 in the truth which she teaches, is salva- 
 tion found. Thy questions savor of heresy 
 and blasphemy. Thou hast had knowledge 
 of these pestilential Protestants and their 
 teachings. Avoid these heretics; they are 
 an unholy sect, following the teachings of 
 their leader and originator, Martin Luther, 
 that licentious monk, who broke from the 
 Holy Church because he wished to marry." 
 
 "Then is it a sin to marry?' 
 
 "It is a sin for a priest to marry. Celib- 
 acy is a more perfect state than that of 
 marriage, and the priest is the example 
 of that which is the most perfect. That 
 is one of the great sins of the Protestant. 
 By his unholy life he encourages polygamy 
 and concubinage!" 
 
 "Does he encourage it more than the 
 impure priest in his secret immoral life?" 
 asked the young man, a blaze in his eyes. 
 
 "Cease thy blasphemy!" retorted the old 
 priest, turning upon him. 
 
 "Yet one more question!" interrupted the 
 young man, restraining himself. 
 (40) 
 
"Is it true that in the sacrifice of the 
 holy mass, the body of Christ exists literal- 
 ly, flesh and blood?' 
 
 "It is true, because the Church BO 
 teaches." 
 
 "Then I pray thee explain still further. 
 The other day when Father A was of- 
 fering the holy mass, he dropped a holy 
 wafer on the floor. It was not taken up. 
 A few hours later I had occasion to return 
 to the altar, when on looking on the floor, 
 where had fallen the piece of bread, I saw 
 the ants carrying it off in crumbs. Would 
 that have been permitted to the literal 
 nesh of Christ?" 
 
 "Enough!" and with a frown and a stamp 
 of the foot the caviling young priest was 
 dismissed. 
 
CHAPTER. VI. 
 
 JUAN. 
 
 The missionary meantime, had been 
 obliged to seek another house, the owner 
 refusing longer to rent to the Protestante. 
 
 "This is a part of our life and work 
 here," said the good man to his wife. "By 
 moving to different parts of the town, we 
 learn to know the people and they us, 
 thus removing deep fear and prejudice." 
 There had, thus far, been no open attack 
 upon (the life of the missionary; and in- 
 sults, threats, difficulty in obtaining needed 
 help or frequent inability to purchase 
 needed supplies, he looked upon as matters 
 of small import. 
 
 "To wait and to win" had become his 
 motto. Still he knew the cunning watch- 
 fulness of the priests, and while he prayed 
 and waited he watched. 
 
 As the years passed, fear and prejudice 
 were breaking down, and the room fitted 
 up (for preaching services was filled. The 
 listeners were mostly from the humble 
 class, for thy were less watched and fol- 
 (42) 
 
lowed by priests. And of such were also 
 the Masters disciples of old. 
 
 Juan, the long time servant in the house 
 of Valentino since the night when he stood 
 and listened, with the boy and the girl, 
 under the window, had continued his at- 
 tendance. Fearlessly now, he entered and 
 sat among the rest. The little book, the 
 New Testament, which he had found upon 
 the dead monk's bosom, he kept close by 
 him. He had, at first, feared to open the 
 forbidden book. But as he read, the spirit 
 of God which hovers round the searcher 
 for the truth illumined and made plain 
 its meaning. He loved to read his Bible 
 and he loved to listen to its teachings as 
 given by the missionary. 
 
 The new, warm love burning within him 
 could not be hid. He carried its bright- 
 ness into other ihearts; first into the hearts 
 of his two friends, Pepe and his wife, the 
 servants of the Senora de Corona, Elena's 
 mother. The Senora de Corona and the 
 Senora de Valentino knew that their serv- 
 ants were being drawn toward the new 
 doctrine of the Proitestants. B<ut their 
 servants were as indispensable to them as 
 were the roofs that covered their heads. 
 Therefore, as they received no word from 
 the priests to dismiss these servants they 
 chose to ignore the matter. 
 (48) 
 
But the missionary knew that the time 
 had come when the few tried and true 
 must be called out into a visible ohurcsh 
 of Christ. Old Juan, Pepe, his wife and 
 a few others were to be received into 
 church membership. It was at a prepara- 
 tory service, and the room was full of 
 listeners, many there from curiosity. They 
 had sung: 
 
 "Jesus, I my cross have taken, 
 All to leave and follow thee." 
 
 "Brothers," said the missionary, stand- 
 ing before them. "You know that Jesus, 
 wihen here upon earth, called Ms own to 
 follow him. Many left home and lands to 
 be with their Master. 
 
 "He, just as truly, calls us ito-day to 
 follow him. You may not meed to leave 
 home and lands. Yet you know what 
 it will mean, here in Mexico, to follow him. 
 You know also that he said: 'He that 
 loveth father and mother more than me 
 is not worthy of me, and he that loveth 
 son or daughter more than me is not 
 worthy of me.' But he says, too: 'Who- 
 ever shall confess me before men, him will 
 I also confess before my Father which is 
 in heaven.' You know what it will mean 
 here to confess him before men. Some- 
 (44) 
 
times it means the giving up of all that 
 life holds dear. Sometimes it means the 
 giving up of life itself. God grant it may 
 not mean such to any of you, but it will 
 mean the giving up of friends, of employ- 
 ment and perhaps of homes. But then, 
 listen!" added the missionary, a glad Light 
 in his voice. "Listen! Do we fear? Nay, 
 rather we say: 'Who shall separate us 
 from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, 
 or distress, or persecution, or famine, or 
 nakedness, or peril, or sword?' 
 
 "I am persuaded that neither death, nor 
 life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor 
 powers, nor things present nor things to 
 come, nor .height, nor depth, nor any othei 
 creature, shall be able to separate us from 
 the love of God which is in Christ Jesus, 
 our Lord. Can we say this, my friends? ' 
 
 "Amen!" was the low spoken but heart- 
 felt reply of each. 
 
 The service, on the Sunday following, 
 was a quiet but impressive one. But that 
 nigM, on returning ito his home, his mis- 
 tress called her servant Juan into her 
 room. "I am told that this day thou didst 
 identify thyself with the Protestantes. Is 
 it true?" 
 
 "The Senora has heard aright," was the 
 quiet but respectful reply. 
 
 "Art thou aware that by thus doing 
 (45) 
 
thou hast forfeited the shelter of this, thy 
 home?" 
 
 "Yes, Senora," said the old man. 
 
 "But surely, Juan, thou hast not con- 
 sidered! Think of /this to-night, and to- 
 morrow morning come and tell me thou 
 dost repent." 
 
 But, on the morrow, neither threats nor 
 persuasion could avail. The old man tried 
 to tell his well-loved mistress of the glad, 
 new life that was his. But she dared not 
 listen, and though there were tears in her 
 eyes, she turned from her service her 
 well-tried and faithful servant, because the 
 priest had so commanded and she must 
 obey. 
 
 But news of what had been done had 
 come to Rudolfo in his school. The moth- 
 er did not know, neither did the priest 
 know, that the young man sought out his 
 faithful Juan and secured for him a little 
 house on the outskirts of .the town, where 
 he could live with his friends, Pepe and 
 wife, who also had been turned from 
 home. Rudolfo knew that it would be dif- 
 ficult for Juan to obtain work. He left 
 money with him saying: "Do not fear, 
 my Juan. Thou hast ever cared for me, 
 and now I will care that thou dost not 
 suffer. Tell m when thou art in need!" 
 
 "Oh, young master!" said the old man, 
 (46) 
 
"ever kind and true! Yet thou dost lack 
 the one tiling. Come thou also and con- 
 fess Christ. Leave that false life!" 
 
 "Perhaps, after a while, later on, when 
 1 am older!" said the young man gaily. 
 
 (47) 
 
CHAPTER VH. 
 THE WORD OP GOD. 
 
 It was a little adobe house of two low 
 rooms. They were unplastered, the un- 
 covered rafters overhead roughly hewn. 
 The floor was the ground, but it was hard, 
 smooth and well swept. In the little en- 
 closed back yard walked an old woman, 
 singing in a low voice. This corral was 
 her kitchen, and she was preparing the 
 noon meal. She stooped over the little 
 charcoal fire on the ground, placing on the 
 coals her flat earthen griddle, on which 
 she was to bake her tortillas (corn cakes). 
 She was enveloped, head and shoulders, 
 in her rebozo (long cotton shawl). .She 
 had just seated herself on the ground, 
 and drawn to herself the flat stone on 
 which the corn is ground, when the street 
 door opened and in walked a slender girl 
 of near eighteen years. 
 
 "Queridita! Alma mia!" exclaimed the 
 old woman rising, approaching the girl, and 
 taking one little hand between her own. 
 "Are all well at home? And where is 
 Sara?" The girl wore no hat to remove, 
 but she let fall over her shoulders her 
 (48) 
 
long black lace veil with which her head 
 had been enveloped, and sat down upon 
 the little stool. 
 
 "Mamacita is well," was the reply, "and 
 Sara has gone on to her brothers. She 
 will call for me in an hour!" Sara was 
 the maid, for no girl of the better class is 
 allowed to walk the street unaccompanied 
 by mother, friend or maid. 
 
 The girl was Elena, and the old woman 
 was her nurse, who had been turned from 
 her home. Elena watched as she molded 
 bits of the dough, patting and flattening 
 them into thin cakes, and then with her 
 fingers deftly turning them on the heated 
 griddle. "And now a tortilla for me!" 
 laughed the girl, as she took one steam- 
 ing from the pile, and the old nurse hur- 
 ried to bring the only dishes, that the 
 girl might have a taste of her frijoles and 
 a sip of her black coffee. 
 
 "It is good to be with you again, dear 
 old Nanita!" exclaimed the girl impul- 
 sively. 
 
 "And how lonely I am without thy beau- 
 tiful face, and how I wish I might see the 
 dear Madracita!" replied the old woman. 
 "Thy mother was always good to me, and 
 I had a happy home there." 
 
 Elena's mother had parted very un- 
 willingly from her faithful servants. She 
 (49) 
 
 4 
 
knew that her daughter occasionally saw 
 her old nurse; Indeed, she sometimes sent 
 by her some present, but she did not 
 know that her daughter frequently stayed 
 long and talked with the old nurse; for 
 Sara, the maid, loved her young mistress, 
 and would reveal nothing. "And now, Al- 
 ma Mia, before you go, read to me again 
 from my little book. I wish I could read 
 those words myself, but after you havo 
 gone I say them over and over again, when 
 about my work, or when awake at night 
 those beautiful words!" 
 
 The little Bible was taken from its 
 niche in the wall where it was kept, care- 
 fully wrapped up in a cloth. The girl 
 took the book and read. "In my father's 
 house are many mansions. I go to pre- 
 pare a place for you!" 
 
 And so the two sat, and read and talked, 
 the girl fresh and beautiful in her young 
 life, and the old woman sitting on the 
 floor by her side, holding between her 
 brown, wrinkled palms one soft little 
 hand. "And if I go and prepare a place 
 for you, I will come again and receive 
 you unto myself, that where I am there 
 you may be also." 
 
 "1 must go now, for there is Sara knock- 
 ing at the door, and Juan and Pepe will 
 soon be here for their dinner." 
 (50) 
 
"Querida, how I thank thee for coming 
 to see me. How I wish you could go with 
 me to hear the Protestant preacher talk 
 and sing to us of Jesus and of heaven." 
 
 "I wish I could go. But I dare not. I 
 often think of that time when Rudolfo and 
 I listened to him. Poor Rufo, he is so 
 changed! But there is a change in me, 
 too. You, Nanita, and that little hook, ai'3 
 changing me, somehow." 
 
 Elena was seated one afternoon in the 
 garden amid her flowers. The piece of 
 embroidery lay idly in her lap, for she 
 was thinking thinking of what had been 
 coming into her life the past few months 
 since she had been talking and reading 
 to her old nurse from God's own Book. 
 She was wishing that she dared talk to 
 her mother about it, and that she could 
 go to hear the missionary again. Her 
 thoughts were arrested 'by the words of 
 her father and mother, talking in a room 
 near by. 
 
 "Your husband is no longer your con- 
 fidant," she heard him say. "Another has 
 taken my place!" 
 
 "Why! what can you mean!" was the 
 reply. "You have always had the first 
 place!" 
 
 "Yes, perhaps the first place, in some re- 
 spects," was the cold answer, "but cer- 
 (51) 
 
tainly not the first place in your heart. 
 Senora, let us not waste words. You and 
 I both know that another has come in be- 
 tween us, and that other is your priest. 
 To him you go for direction and for com- 
 fort. Your confidence no longer reposes 
 in your husband." 
 
 <v But," faltered the woman, "you know 
 our Holy Church tells us to go to our 
 priest for our instruction and guidance. 
 I must obey! What else can I do?" 
 
 "Do! This you can do you can give 
 un your confessional. No longer shall 
 your priest steal from you your secrets, 
 your heart! I will not have it! Again I 
 say, you must choose between your priest 
 and your husband!" 
 
 The woman was weeping. "You are 
 cruel! You ask o>f me what I can not do!" 
 But the man angrily closed the door be- 
 hind him. 
 
 Elena's mother came out into the corri- 
 dor. These were not their first words on 
 the subject. .She knew that his anger 
 would pass and she would still continue 
 at the confessional. He, too, knew, alas! 
 that there was no other way. His wife, 
 as did the other wives, would still go to 
 their confessional, and he must submit. 
 
 As the mother drew near, Elena ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 (52) 
 
"Oh, mother dear, I heard what you 
 were saying, and father is right. Lot us 
 not go to confess any more!" The woman 
 started, then turned angrily. 
 
 "And who art thou to dictate thus! Art 
 thou wiser and better than our Mother 
 Church, which commands us to confess to 
 our priest!" 
 
 "But, oh, mother," called the girl, "I am 
 not to tell you what to do, but please do 
 not make me go another time to con- 
 fess!" - 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "Because I can not go, mother. The last 
 time I was there I vowed in my heart 
 never to go again, but I dared not tell 
 you." 
 
 "But why? I ask again!" demanded 
 the mother. 
 
 The girl was crying now. "You know, 
 mother. T need not tell you," she fal- 
 tered. "I can not tell you the questions 
 he asks of me. The words he speaks to 
 me I blush to hear. The thoughts he gives 
 to me T hate!" 
 
 The mother looked earnestly into the 
 beautiful innocent face of her daughter. 
 She could not speak for a moment. Then 
 she said: 
 
 "It must be a mistake! The priest is a 
 holy man, and he could only say to you 
 (53) 
 
pure words. He can not mean to say to 
 you what is harmful. But I will talk to 
 him and tell him he must be careful. And, 
 Elena, my child, do not speak of this to 
 any one, especially to thy father, and I 
 will tell the priest to be more careful!" 
 
 "Oh, mother, listen to me! I have 
 learned that it is wrong to confess to a 
 man. Only God is able to hear and to 
 forgive!" 
 
 "What!" said the woman, "that is her- 
 esy. Where hast thou learned such? Has 
 Rudolfo, or has thy nurse been poisoning 
 thy young heart? We will attend to 
 this!" 
 
 And the mother hastened away, unwill- 
 ing to listen to further words from her 
 daughter. 
 
 Elena was still sadly thinking and won- 
 dering, when there came a step along the 
 corridor, to her side, and before her stood 
 Rudolfo. He placed a chair for himself 
 while she drew up her work. 
 
 "So occupied that thou hast not even 
 one word for me!" 
 
 Her eyes were on her work. "Elena, it 
 is a long time since we two used to play 
 here together. Thou wast beautiful then, 
 but far more beautiful now!" 
 
 She quickly looked up at him, anger 
 now in those gentle eyes. 
 (54) 
 
"How darest thou talk thus to me? 
 Thou, so soon to be a priest?" 
 
 "An innocent as ever, sweet maid," 
 laughed the young man, and then, in 
 changed and sober tone, he added, "and 
 didst thou think in truth I am to be a 
 priest? Bah! I hate them all. I am 
 only waiting for the opportune moment to 
 leave them and return to life and thee!" 
 
 Astonished, she said, "And thou, Ru- 
 dolfo, hast been deceiving us, mother, 
 priests and all?" 
 
 "Call it thus if thou dost like. I am 
 only learning their own art. They are de- 
 ceiving us! But I must except one priest: 
 Father Antonio is true and good and hon- 
 est I went there against my will to please 
 my mother. I have remained longer than 
 I thought, because because well be- 
 cause I knew not just how to escape 
 and, well, because I am suited there in 
 some ways. But yes, Elena, I am living 
 a life of deceit. I am a hypocrite and a 
 coward. But T will soon leave." 
 
 "Rufo," said the girl, "do you remem- 
 ber how you used to talk to me about the 
 missionary, and do you remember that 
 night you took me with you to hear him 
 talk and sing? I have been thinking 
 about it this afternoon. The Protestants 
 are right. I wish I knew them better, for 
 (55) 
 
I love their teachings and their book, the 
 Bible. But thou art so changed. Thou 
 art not the same Ruo." 
 
 "Yes," said the young man bitterly, "I 
 know you all think so. But at heart I am 
 not changed." 
 
 He stood upon his feet. "Elena, I aa 
 the same. I must go now, but remember, 
 to you I have not changed. And what- 
 ever happens, do not forget or hate me, 
 Querida." 
 
 (56) 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 DANGER. 
 
 Rudolfo had occasion to pas, one even- 
 ing after dark, the passage leading into 
 the back court of the Bishops' School. The 
 door was closed, but he heard voices on 
 the other side. He stood a moment, with- 
 out special thought, when suddenly his at- 
 tention was arrested by the words of the 
 Father Superior. 
 
 "Sin! It is no sin! On the contrary, it 
 will be a very commendable deed! Why, 
 man, it will be a very meritorious deed! 
 Everything which threatens the safety of 
 our most Holy Church must be removed. 
 And this doctrine threatens and is spread- 
 ing. Think! Would you not do all in your 
 power to remove from us some deadly 
 disease? and this doctrine is worse than 
 a deadly disease, for it destroys both body 
 and soul. And to reach this danger, the 
 leader of this sect, the propagator of this 
 pernicious faith must be 'removed! And 
 whosoever shall do this act for the safety 
 of the Holy Church shall be forever blessed, 
 here and hereafter. Think, man, of the in- 
 dulgenoos such a deed will obtain!" 
 (57) 
 
"Yes, Father," replied an unknown voice. 
 "Yes! But at the -same time, thou know- 
 eat it is a dangerous and a difficult thing 
 that thou and the Church dost ask. So 
 dangerous and difficult that a lifetime of 
 indulgence will not be sufficient recom- 
 pense!" 
 
 "Then, man, a large sum of money shall 
 be added. The Church is ready to grant 
 full and generous recompense for all done 
 in her behalf. Name the sum!" 
 
 "Three hundred dollars, Father." 
 
 "Impossible, man! The deed does not 
 warrant such extravagance!" , 
 
 After some haggling the sum of two 
 hundred dollars was agreed upon. "And 
 now," continued the priest, "as to the 
 opportune time. It is now. To-morrow! 
 He is out of town. Up in the hills among 
 the mines. His return road into the city 
 will be through the south gate. This road 
 is but little traveled and leads through the 
 'arroyo' where are the thickets. But you 
 can plan the details, only remember this: 
 The sooner the better, and as soon as ac- 
 complished come to me and the two hun- 
 dred dollars is yours!" 
 
 The young man, Rudolfo, stood riveted 
 to the spot. Too well he understood the 
 meaning of that conversation. His nat- 
 ural impetuosity was about to open the 
 (58) 
 
door upon them, when some power seemed 
 to restrain him, and he turned as if to 
 flee from the spot. Only a few steps dis- 
 tant, the door suddenly opened and the 
 priest, accompanied by 'two men in common 
 clothes, walked hurriedly past him. The 
 priest turned, paused a moment, his face 
 toward the young man as if about to 
 
 Later that evening Rudolfo was called 
 into the private room of the priest, who 
 looked searchingly into his face, only to 
 meet a steady gaze, and there was scorn 
 in that look. 
 
 "Thou wast in the court as I passed 
 through?" asked the father. 
 
 "Yes, Father." 
 
 "Didst thou hear aught of the words 
 said?" 
 
 "Not a word, Father!" The lie was 
 spoken very calmly and deliberately. 
 
 Again the priest looked searchingly into 
 the young man's face, but nothing was re- 
 vealed. 
 
 "It was nothing, son. Two men were 
 speaking on a private matter of personal 
 importance to themselves. I called thee, 
 eon, to secure thy assistance in the class- 
 room next week. Thou dost know that 
 the new class in church history Is a large 
 one, and the instructor has his hands more 
 (59) 
 
than full. Canst thou assist him to-morrow 
 and this week?" 
 
 "I will think about it." Rudolfo retired 
 to his room, but not to sleep. Well, too 
 well, he understood the meaning of that 
 transaction within the inner court. A 
 price was set on the head of the mission- 
 ary. That man whom he loved and respect- 
 ed. It had been years since he had talked 
 with him, but how well he remembered 
 the conversation when a boy, the mis- 
 sionary's kind face and smile and words. 
 He had occasionally seen him on the street, 
 but not to talk to him. Through the 
 hours of the night the young man lay 
 thinking. "The missionary must not die, 
 and I must save him." His plans were 
 made. While students and servants were 
 busy about the early morning occupations 
 he passed unnoticed into the street. 
 
 Late that afternoon the missionary waa 
 returning home, driving slowly in his lit- 
 the cart over the dry, dusty plain. He nan 
 been spending several days up among the 
 mines. His cart had been filled with Bibles 
 and papers which had all been given away 
 while preaching, singing and talking to 
 the miners. 
 
 And now the long, wearisome ride home 
 But it was almost over now; far off in the 
 distance he could see the western sun re- 
 (60) 
 
fleeted on cathedral walls and spires. But 
 he needs must hasten, for night was fast 
 coming on, and it would be dark ere h 
 pas over the "arroyo' with its heavy mea- 
 quite thickets. He was rounding a Dig 
 pile of boulders and rocks, when his horse 
 suddenly started, nearly overturning the 
 cart. At the same moment a figure sud- 
 denly appeared from behind the boulders; 
 an old man dressed in working clothes, 
 his old straw hat down over his eyes and 
 tied by a cloth under the chin. 
 
 The missionary never carried weapons. 
 He always said they would be no defense, 
 rather a disadvantage, and he noticed that 
 the man carried no weapon. Stepping 
 quickly to the side of the cart, speaking 
 hurriedly, he said: 
 
 "Senor, do not go down through the 
 arroyo! Men are mere waiting to kill 
 you! Believe me. I speak the truth. No 
 matter how I know. Ask no questions, but 
 do as I tell you. Turn here, retrace your 
 way to the hacienda morena and there 
 take the way around by the traveled road 
 into town. It will be very late in the 
 night before you reach home, but better 
 so than to pass through the arroyo! And 
 hereafter be on the watch wherever you 
 go, for your life is In danger!" 
 
 The missionary hesitated. It would so 
 (61) 
 
belate him to retrace his way so many 
 miles, but something in the old man com- 
 pelled him to obey. 
 
 "God reward thee, my friend, for thus 
 coming to warn me! Tell me thy name, 
 old man, or am I mistaken, thy appear- 
 ance is that of an old man, but thy voice 
 and thine eyes belong to one of younger 
 years! Tell me thy name!" 
 
 "No matter, Senor I am a friend. I 
 knew of this danger and have been lying 
 behind these rocks since noon, for 1 knew 
 not when you would pass this way." 
 
 "At least get in here with me and re- 
 turn to the town, for I see you are on foot." 
 
 "No, I can not ride with you. But turn 
 quickly and go. Adios!" And as suddenly 
 as he appeared, so suddenly he disappeared 
 behind the rocks. 
 
 As the good man retraced his weary 
 way, thanking God for his deliverance, he 
 wished that he might know who had been 
 his deliverer. A strange old man. What 
 was it that made him think of Rudolfo 
 his boy friend of years before? How he 
 had loved him and yearned for him! How 
 he grieved when they told him that Rudol- 
 fo had entered the training school for 
 priests! Poor boy. was he to be lost? 
 
 Was the good man's faith growing faint? 
 
 (62) 
 
The same great love which guided the 
 steps of the missionary and turned them 
 from death was watching over this blinded, 
 misguided youth, and was yet to lead him 
 into paths of safety and right. 
 
 It was past the retiring hour in the col- 
 lege. The doorkeeper waited to close the 
 heavy street door. And yet he knew that 
 his favorite, the young man Rudolf o, was 
 not yet within, and he continued to wait. 
 
 "Why is not the door closed?" called 
 the priest on his nightly walk through the 
 corridor. "Close it, I tell thee." 
 
 "Yes, Father," was the obedient reply. 
 The heavy door wa swinging when there 
 was a hurried step on the pavement with- 
 out, and the young priest Rudolfo 
 stepped in. 
 
 "Where hast thou been all day?" de- 
 manded the priest, turning upon him. 
 
 "With my mother!" They faced each 
 other a moment. Both knew the lie. "Re- 
 main in thy room to-morrow till I send 
 for thee!" 
 
 The young priest had never been sub- 
 jected to punishment as had other stu- 
 dents. Well aware of that fact he had but 
 little fear. The excitement and fatigue 
 produced a long, sound sleep. His Impris- 
 onment gave opportunity for the longer 
 
 (63) 
 
rest. About noon he was called into the 
 presence of the father. His manner of the 
 night before had undergone a change. 
 
 With a kind smile and mild tone the 
 priest began. 
 
 "My son, thou dost know how well thou 
 art loved and how thou art privileged as 
 no other here. How it has grieved me to 
 hear thy deliberate falsehood of last 
 night. Why didst thou lie to me?" 
 
 "Perhaps because I have so well learned 
 that art since coming here!" replied the 
 young man in tones equally bland. 
 
 "I had thought last night to visit upon 
 thee deserving punishment!" replied the 
 priest, frowning. "But I have decided to 
 leave thee with thine own conscience. But 
 hereafter thou art not free to come ana 
 go as thou hast done. True, thou hast al- 
 ways been required to obtain the leave of 
 absence from the building, but we have 
 so far always trusted thee to such an ex- 
 tent that thy errand has never been asked. 
 But hereafter remember, that whenever it 
 becomes necessary to grant to thee permis- 
 sion for absence from the building, thy 
 errand will also be required!" 
 
 The young man made no answer. "And 
 one word more before thy departure!" 
 The father was decidedly ill at ease, his 
 
 (64) 
 
manner unlike the air of self-repose of the 
 moment before. 
 
 "Dost thou know aught of the leader of 
 the heretics? Hast thou communications 
 with any of the sect?" 
 
 "I know naught of them," was the reply. 
 
 (65) 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DECEIVED. 
 
 "And so the girl is quite stubborn, is 
 she!" -So said the man within the confes- 
 sional to his penitent, the mother of Elena. 
 "And hast thou done all in thy power, 
 daughter?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Father!" sobbed the woman. 
 
 "Well," continued the man, "then it is 
 time for thy priest to help. She refuses 
 to come to mass, to come to the confes- 
 sional, she insists on attendance upon the 
 services of the heretics and she pretends 
 to read her Bible alone, unaided by 
 her priest. Her soul indeed is in great 
 danger. But do not despair, daughter! 
 I have a plan. She shall yet be saved! 
 She must be removed at once from the 
 pernicious influence of these heretics. 
 This thou dost clearly see, daughter! But 
 I know a safe retreat. In the school of 
 the iSisters Angelina she will be sheltered, 
 and in time the seeds of heresy sown in 
 her heart will die for lack of nourishment. 
 "Now the stage leaves to-morrow morn 
 for the school, and thou must be the one 
 to carry her thence. I will give thee a 
 (66) 
 
letter of introduction to the Sisters, that 
 they may know how to meet the case. But, 
 daughter, there must be all haste. Thou 
 must surely go to-morrow, and there must 
 be all secrecy lest the girl escape us. 
 Tell her that thou art suddenly summoned 
 to the dying bed of some old friend and 
 that thou dost need her assistance. Tell 
 her anything that will take her with thee. 
 Of course the Holy Church does frown 
 upon deceptions. But this is not decep- 
 tion. All means are fair that will save 
 an Immortal soul from destruction, i 
 know it is a hard thing for thee to do, 
 daughter, but thou wilt not fail! It will 
 be< worth the cost, the saving of thy 
 child!" 
 
 The man paused to breathe. He did 
 not add what was in his thoughts, that 
 there had been brewing in his mind for 
 some time a plan for the removal of this 
 fair maid. For there had been whispers 
 of late that there was danger that the 
 Church would lose the young priest Ru- 
 dolfo because of this same girl. 
 
 The mother tearfully promised and 
 went her way. She, with a mother's heart, 
 a mother's love. But before love, before 
 honor even, must be obedience to the 
 voice of her priest. 
 
 It was all over. The girl was safe 
 
 (67) 
 
under lock and key in the "Sister's Ref- 
 uge." Elena knew that she had been de- 
 ceived by mother and by priest. 'She 
 knew, too, that when father and mother 
 forsook, the Lord would take her up. 
 She had been searched. Her little Bible 
 had been taken from her, but, ah! they 
 could not search her heart and take from 
 thence the treasure hid. 
 
 Solitude, cold, hunger, threats and pun- 
 ishment could not draw from that once 
 timid girl the words "I recant." And 
 though the convent walls were thick 
 and cold and dark, the heavenly hope 
 filled her soul with warmth and light. 
 And peace and courage, God's gifts to 
 his children, were hers. 
 
 Months had passed. The mysterious 
 disappearance of Elena, the beautiful 
 daughter of Corona, had ceased to be a 
 subject of public speculation. Her 
 mother's face had grown sad, her steps 
 slow. Did she know aught of her daugh- 
 ter that she would not reveal? And the 
 young priest Rudolfo, what of him? When 
 the girl had first disappeared, in his des- 
 peration he had boldly sought her. Lit- 
 tle did he care, though men wondered and 
 jeered. It was even rumored that Elena 
 was secreted in the house of the Protes- 
 tant priest, and thither he went in his 
 (68) 
 
search. The good man told him how his 
 heart waited and yearned for his salvation, 
 but to the young man, then, there seemed 
 no interest, no thought save to find his 
 lost Elena. All his search had been in 
 vain. He determined then to leave the 
 college, to renounce his priesthood. But 
 the knowledge of his unfitness for any oc- 
 cupation in business, forced him to hes- 
 itate. Even his own mother would prob- 
 ably refuse to receive him again. High 
 life, in iMexico, is in natural enmity to 
 manual labor, and his training for the 
 priesthood in no way gave him a taste 
 for work. He knew not what to do 
 where to go. There seemed nowhere else. 
 Thus it was that the passing weeks and 
 months still found him there, unhappy, 
 restless. The father superior was confi- 
 dent that with Elena removed from his 
 sight and thoughts the young man would 
 in time submit to the career before him. 
 But as time passed and no news came of 
 the lost girl, the young man grew silent, 
 sullen and despairing. 
 
 (69) 
 
CHAPTER. X. 
 
 FAITHFUL. 
 
 "One of those despicable heretics has 
 been brought in hither, and cast into that 
 little empty back room. That room that 
 used to be the cell of the 'old crazy monk'. 
 He has been in there a day and a night. 
 They think to make him recant, but those 
 heretics are a stubborn lot." 
 
 Thus spoke' one of a group of students 
 standing in the college court yard. The 
 young Rudolfo was approaching the group 
 and his blood was stirred at the words. 
 
 "Who put him there?" he ask'ed sharply. 
 
 "By order of the priest, methinks, or 
 better, by order of the Holy hurch," said 
 one. 
 
 "Art thou perchance interested in this 
 dog of a heretic?" sneered another. Ru- 
 dolfo had never entered that little back 
 room since he used to meet his uncle 
 there. He avoided the place, but now he 
 walked quickly across the yard. The door 
 was closed. He stood without a few mo- 
 ments, but heard no sound, and concluded 
 that the prisoner had been released. Ru- 
 dolfo was occupied through the day, for 
 ( 70 ) 
 
he had completed his course of instruc- 
 tion and in a short time was to enter 
 upon the duties of a fully equipped priest. 
 But as night came on his sleep was 
 troubled. In dreams he seemed again a 
 boy, kneeling by his uncle's dying bed and 
 listening to the words of Felipe. Then 
 he heard the missionary saying: 
 
 "Whosoever, therefore, shall confess me 
 before men, him also will I confess before 
 my Father which is in heaven." 
 
 "But whosoever shall deny me before 
 men, him also will I deny before my Fa- 
 ther which is in heaven." 
 
 And now he thought of Juan, his moth- 
 er's w faithful old servant, and how he 
 pleaded with his young master to confess 
 his 'Savior. 
 
 "Poor old Juan!' thought the young 
 priest, aroused from his dreams. "My 
 faithful old Juan! I had well nigh for- 
 gotten thee! 'But I will make amends 
 and soon look thee up again!" 
 
 The next morning as Rudolfo was com- 
 ing out from early mass in the chapel, 
 he heard loud voices in the back court. A 
 crowd had pushed in through the back 
 gate and others were entering. The old 
 prisoner had been dragged into the yard. 
 
 "He will not recant! Then let the dog 
 die!" 
 
 ( 71 ) 
 
"Let him feel first the touch of the 
 lash! Mayhap that will quicken his 
 thoughts!" 
 
 Down on the ground was an old man 
 kneeling, stripped to the waist, his hands 
 fastened behind him. Above him stood 
 one with uplifted hand holding a scourge, 
 a forbidden instrument now, but neverthe- 
 less kept by the most Holy Church to 
 use, in secret, whenever the occasion de- 
 mands. 
 
 The young man stood a moment at a 
 distance, as he saw and heard blow after 
 blow fall and tear the bare flesh. No 
 sound escaped the prisoner. This seemed 
 the more to madden the mob. One drew 
 near and threw a heavy stone. Another, 
 with a savage kick, threw the old man 
 forward upon his face. 
 
 "iHe is dead!" cried one. 
 
 "Have mercy! spare the gray hairs!" 
 came a voice from the crowd. 
 
 At this moment Rudolfo rushed to the 
 center. The old man lay upon the ground, 
 his face turned toward him. One look 
 at that prostrate form and into that face 
 and the young priest leaped like an infu- 
 riated beast. 
 
 "Juan!" he cried. "My old Juan! Diab- 
 clos! Por Dios cease!" 
 
 He leaned over the fallen man to raise 
 (72) 
 
him. The crowd had drawn back a mo- 
 ment. Then one called. "Take him, too. 
 He is one of them. A traitor! Let him 
 die too!" 
 
 The young man sprang to his feet and 
 faced the angry mob, his eyes blazing 
 and every nerve quivering. His voice was 
 strange as he cried: 
 
 "Touch me who dares!" 
 
 T3ut no one dared. Then a sudden si- 
 lence fell, for in through the gate and 
 through the crowd walked the mission- 
 ary. He was silent as he stood before 
 them, but there was something in that 
 stern gaze that no one cared to meet, 
 and one by one the crowd fell back. 
 
 "Bring water!" he said, as he stooped 
 and with his knife cut the cords, and then 
 with his handkerchief bathed the face and 
 head of the unconscious man. And then 
 hr-< looked to see who was supporting in 
 his arms the old man. The eyes of the 
 two met for a moment, but no word was 
 said. 
 
 From his concealment walked forth the 
 priest, who had instigated the deed, but 
 wisely kept himself from view. 
 
 "And what dost thou here, leader of the 
 heretics? Begone!" 
 
 "I go when I take my brother with me!" 
 v,as the fearless reply. 
 
 (73) 
 
Then stood the missionary upan his 
 feet, and turning to the crowd: 
 
 "Is it thus that ye take the law within 
 your own hands? Ye, a law-professing 
 people! But you are the one responsible!" 
 turning to the priest, "and justice will be 
 meted out for you! Goa's justice never 
 fails!" 
 
 "Take the carcass of the dog with you 
 and begone!" angrily said the man in 
 the black roh-e as he disappeared from 
 view. The crowd began to scatter, some 
 with angry threats and muttered insults, 
 some with merry ridicule. But one came 
 and helped the missionary and the young 
 priest, as together they carried the man, 
 now regaining consciousness, into the 
 street, and lifted him into the hack which 
 they had called. Faithfully, these two, in 
 the house of the missionary, ministered 
 to their suffering friend. But he had not 
 long to suffer. 
 
 "Sit near me, >oung master, and rea-1 
 me once more these words." 
 
 The young priest opened and read: 
 
 "And there shall be no more death, 
 neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall 
 there be any more pain, and God shall 
 wipe away all tears from their eyes." 
 
 "Dear young master," whispered the old 
 man slowly, "this little book you now hold 
 
 (74) 
 
was the one your uncle held in death. He 
 bequeathed to you his little crucifix. I now 
 bequeath to you my Bible. May it lead 
 you and keep you till we meet again, 
 young master!" 
 
 (75) 
 
OHAPTEiR XI. 
 
 RELEASED. 
 
 Rudolfo had scarce refrained himself 
 before the suffering, dying Juan. But 
 when all was over his wrath could find 
 no words. 
 
 "Oh, senor! I hate them! I hate them! 
 The cruel deceivers! I would fight them! 
 Will you not send to your country, for your 
 people are strong, and bring men here, 
 and we will drive them from among us?" 
 
 "My kingdom is not of this world, for 
 then would my servants fight," responded 
 the quiet voice. 
 
 "My father said there would be battles 
 to fight for Mexico, and I am ready to be- 
 gin. Oh, that I might destroy them!" 
 cried the excited young man. 
 
 "Yes, even now is the battle waging. It 
 is between wrong and right, but the weap- 
 ons are not carnal. 
 
 "The armor of God is this: 
 
 " 'Your loins girt about with truth, and 
 
 having on the breastplate of righteousness, 
 
 and your feet shod with the preparation of 
 
 the gospel of peace. Above all taking 
 
 (76) 
 
the shield of faith and take the helmet 
 of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, 
 uhich is the Word of God.' 
 
 "Are you ready to put on this armor, my 
 young friend?" 
 
 For a moment the two looked into each 
 ether's eyes. Was there something that 
 spoke from the soul of one to the soul 
 of the other, for the missionary loved the 
 boy, and the proud young man, for the 
 first time, knew his master. 
 
 "No, senor, I am not ready yet; I am 
 not worthy yet," came the reply in hum- 
 bled tone. 
 
 "What are you going to do now, my 
 boy?" The question aroused the young 
 man. He raised his head, for with that 
 question had come the knowledge of his 
 release. He knew now that he was free. 
 He knew that he could no longer return 
 tc the college. He knew that he would 
 not be received there. He knew that his 
 mother even would refuse to receive him. 
 
 "Your home is here with us, until you 
 choose to find another," said the kind 
 voice. 
 
 "I will go first and see if my mother 
 will listen to me." 
 
 Meantime, the missionary went to ascer- 
 tain whether the law could be meted out 
 to those murderers. But nothing was done. 
 
 (77) 
 
Punishment of the offenders was prom- 
 ised, but they could not be found. He 
 sought permission to place the wrong be- 
 fore the public, through the press, but this 
 was refused. 
 
 Rudolfo found his mother much broken. 
 She had heard the story. 
 
 "To think that I should live to have 
 this disgrace brought upon me! And by 
 my own son! Oh, the shame, the shame!" 
 
 "Shame!" cried the young man hotly, 
 "shame! Then it is no shame that your 
 brother, my old uncle, was defrauded of 
 all, that our own home was taken from 
 us? No shame that all has gone from us 
 on the false pretense of liberating my 
 father's soul from purgatory? And is it 
 no shame that our faithful Juan was ban- 
 ished and now cruelly put to death? Oh, 
 mother, my mother, how can we who have 
 lived these years under this tyranny that 
 knows no shame, how can we talk of 
 shame? I have been living in intimacy 
 now with the priests of our Church, and I 
 can prove to you its falseness!" 
 
 Then the young man controlled himself 
 and in subdued tones told his mother about 
 the sufferings of their faithful Juan, about 
 his last words and about what the mis- 
 sionary had told him. He told her that 
 he was now about to identify himself with 
 (78) 
 
the Protestants, and begged her to come 
 with him. 
 
 The proud, beautiful woman wept, but 
 said, "No, son, it can not be! We have 
 not been deceived. Thou art the deluded 
 one! Thy soul will go to destruction and 
 thou wouldst take me with thee!" 
 
 "Mother!" again cried out the young 
 man. "The Church of Rome is responsible 
 for the shall I say death at least thb 
 disappearance of Elena!" 
 
 Then the mother said: "Then if you 
 loved Elena, how didst thou reconcile that 
 with thy intention to become a priest?" 
 
 "Ah, mother, that was the worst of all! 
 I was deceiving you all. I went there 
 first to please you, mother. But I never 
 did intend to become a priest until Elena 
 was taken from me, and then in my de- 
 spair I had about yielded myself! But 
 now I am free. God will forgive, and my 
 life shall be a warning to others!" 
 
 There was silence for a while. Then 
 the mother said: 
 
 "Then you must choose between me 
 and disgrace! I have no son who is a 
 heretic!" 
 
 "If you say so, I will choose, mother, 
 between you and not disgrace but 
 Jesus. As you say, mother!" 
 
 Rudolfo went to his own room. His lit- 
 (79) 
 
tie trunk was there. It had been sent 
 home from the college. He gathered up 
 his few belongings and placed them in his 
 trunk. His uncle's crucifix he still wore 
 on his bosom, under his garments. He 
 took it from him and placed it in the 
 trunk. The New Testament, the gift of 
 dying Juan, he placed by its side. 
 
 It was not the same proud, self-secure 
 young man, who later presented himself 
 at the home of the missionary. Rather, it 
 was the face of one who had met his foe 
 and the struggle still on. 
 
 "You are welcome," said the good man 
 with that quiet, reassuring smile of his. 
 "You know even the Son of God, when on 
 earth, had not where to lay his head." 
 
 "I have enlisted, senor," said the young 
 man. "I am ready for the fight, but 1 
 know not which way to turn." The tone 
 was low and humble. 
 
 "I know all about it, my young friend. 
 It is so because you are fighting alone! 
 But you need not battle alone! Your Cap- 
 tain is waiting only for you to call him 
 to your side!" 
 
 "Teach me how, senor!" 
 
 Then how lovingly the missionary 
 pointed out the way, straight to Jesus. 
 Together they kneeled, and both called 
 for help. 
 
 (80) 
 
When they arose there was a new look 
 in that face a new light in those eyes. 
 Both knew that the surrender had been 
 made. There was no need for words, for 
 such joy needeth no human speech. 
 
 (SI) 
 
CHAPTER 
 
 FOUND. 
 
 Rudolfo was now occupied with new 
 studies new studies that unfolded won- 
 derful things. The young man was the 
 missionary's companion, and together they 
 walked the streets, or traveled to other 
 villages to teach and preach. 
 
 But often his heart turned toward his 
 lost Elena. If he only could tell her that 
 now he shared her joy and hope! 
 
 And had his instructors in college 
 dropped him out of mind? By no means! 
 
 One day, a former friend and classmate 
 suddenly came upon him in the street. 
 "Amigo, I have been seeking opportunity 
 to give thee warning! Take it. For thy 
 life is hunted by thy former instructors! 
 Flee, I tell thee!" 
 
 But with his characteristic fearlessness 
 the young man paid little heed. He had 
 heard other threats. So the next day 
 Rudolfo entered, as he frequently did, a 
 little lunching room. 
 
 With the last course his coffee was 
 brought. Instantly another waiter en- 
 tered and swiftly removed the cup. Amid 
 (82) 
 
the loud talk and joking going on at other 
 tables, the waiter again came to his side. 
 Handing him another cup of coffee he hur- 
 riedly whispered. "There was poison in 
 that cup! Do not enter here again! And 
 if you value your life, escape from this 
 town!" 
 
 Rudolfo told the missionary. "Yes," 
 said the good man, "I have been aware 
 that thy life is in danger, and I have made 
 arrangement for thee to go away for a 
 while, to our school of preparation for the 
 ministry. There thou wilt learn, and be 
 safe, at least till danger here has passed." 
 
 The missionary accompanied him part 
 way, when by train he went to the cen- 
 tral part of Mexico. Here he was wel- 
 comed by fellow countrymen, who were 
 preparing for usefulness in their own land. 
 He was happy in his new surroundings, 
 but often, across it all, there fell a shad- 
 ow. His mother, alone and unhappy, if 
 she only could be with him! And Elena, 
 his beautiful one! Oh, if he could know 
 where she was! 
 
 A few days later an errand took him 
 into the other part of the town where was 
 a Protestant boarding school for girls. As 
 he neared the gateway he saw several girls 
 standing. Even at that distance the out- 
 line and movements of one of them at- 
 (83) 
 
tracted his attention. Suddenly his heart 
 gave a joyous bound, for before him he 
 saw his lost Elena, 
 
 The girl turned, looked, and cried out, 
 "Rufo! Oh, Rufo! -Can It be!" 
 
 "Elena, my own lost one! Tell me, I 
 pray thee!" 
 
 Instinctively the other girls withdrew. 
 "I can not tell you all now. Some other 
 time I will. I was deceived, and carried 
 to the Sisters Angelina's school. But I 
 was there only a short time. My Heav- 
 enly Father granted me speedy release. 
 One morning, the sister, who had come to 
 see me at early dawn, to learn whether 
 I would recant, left the door open. I think 
 she intended to return at once. Day was 
 just beginning to break. The hall was 
 still dark, but I fled through an open door 
 into the court, and found the back gate 
 unlocked, for the servant had just passed. 
 New strength was given me, and I ran and 
 ran, not knowing whether I was pursued 
 01 not. There was scarce any person on 
 the street. At last I reached an open 
 door where stood a foreign lady. I felt 
 somehow that she would protect me. I 
 fell before her, but she raised and led me 
 within, and though she could not talk with 
 me, her husband came, who understood 
 my words. 
 
 (84) 
 
"They kept me, so good and kind to 
 me were they. I was sick for a long time. 
 And after I recovered they sent me here. 
 I have been very happy, but so often think 
 of my mother. I have written to her sev- 
 eral times since coming here, but receive 
 no reply. Tell me of 'her!" 
 
 Then he told her what he knew, briefly, 
 o.f all that had happened since their sepa- 
 ration. 
 
 "You have changed!" each said to the 
 other. Tne girl was dawning into beauti- 
 ful womanhood, the lines of sadness in 
 that sweet face making it all the more 
 lovely; and he, as handsome as ever, but 
 with the flash of his black eyes under con- 
 trol, and a look of quiet repose upon the 
 strong face. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Years have passed; they have both 
 completed their course of study and are 
 once again in their own old home. There 
 are two old ladies who do not hesitate to 
 say that the bright black-eyed little boy 
 is their "grandson." Indeed, the little one 
 does not know which "grandma" or which 
 home is the best. 
 
 But Elena and Rudolfo are only home 
 for a visit. Their work is elsewhere, but 
 Rudolfo says he has a message for his 
 old friends and townspeople. 
 (85) 
 
The rented house of the missionary, 
 with its best room for the preaching serv- 
 ice, has now given place to the neat little 
 chapel, and this evening it is Rudolfo, the 
 young preacher, who is gathering a crowd, 
 for he has by no means been forgotten. 
 
 "Friends," he said, "you all know me 
 the once ardent, reckless boy, who sold 
 himself to the priesthood. I knew not my- 
 self then. But God has revealed himself 
 to me, and he has shown me myself, what 
 I am to him, and what I may do for him. 
 The years that God shall grant to me must 
 be given to this work to showing to you 
 the same wonderful way that has been 
 made plain to me. 
 
 "My old uncle, dying, bequeathed to me 
 the crucifix he had worn upon his bosom. 
 His life was a sacrifice to the crucifix. 
 Friends, our own land, our Mexico, long 
 has been a sacrifice to the crucifix the 
 crucifix we see upon our altars, upon our 
 walls, upon our temple spires. We wea* 1 
 them upon our bosoms, beautiful, golden 
 crucifixes. But, oh, how heavy they have 
 grown, till we are sinking, sinking, 
 crushed beneath their weight. Let us 
 arise! Let us throw their weight from 
 us! It Is not the crucifix we need, but 
 the cross the cross of Christ Oh, friends 
 and neighbors, come with me! Let us 
 ( 86) 
 
cease not to cry, to warn, to raise, all 
 over our Mexico, the fallen ones, and to 
 lead them not to the crucifix, but to th^ 
 cross of Christ!" 
 
 (87) 
 
THE HERETICS 
 
 A STORY OF WESTERN MEXICO 
 
 BY HARRIET CRAWFORD 
 
THE HERETICS. 
 
 CHAPTER i. 
 
 DONA ALICIA AND HER TREASURES. 
 
 "Thou wilt watch most carefully, Lola, 
 over these two! Do not allow them ouc 
 of thy sight!" 
 
 Thus spake the Senora Alicia de Peralta 
 to her maid, who was about to take in 
 charge the little six-year-old twins, 
 Mariana and Frederico. 
 
 They were to go to the Plaza, where 
 every afternoon gathered a merry crowd; 
 friends to meet, richly-dressed senoritas 
 Y'-ith their chaperons and novios (lovers) 
 to promenade together, venders of dulces 
 (sweets) and cooling drinks to press the 
 throng, strangers to sit and watch, while, 
 above all, floated strains of beautiful band 
 music, now soft and low, now free and 
 soul lifting, for the people of Mexico love 
 and make true music. 
 
 Dona Alicia watched the trio fondly till 
 they disappeared from sight, and well 
 might she be proud of her own, for there 
 u ere no lovelier children in all the city. 
 
 She herself was one of the loveliest of 
 (91) 
 
women when, as a bride, Don Fernando 
 Peralta had brought her, a few years be- 
 fore, from the Capital City to the new west 
 of Mexico. Hers was the beauty and 
 grace of high-born lineage, and hers the 
 same dark, mournful Moorish eyes for 
 which the women of her native Granada 
 have always been famous. 
 
 'Small wonder, then, that friends had 
 declared they knew apart these lovely 
 baby twins only by their eyes; Mariana's 
 black and shining like stars, the boy 
 Frederico's large and mournful like his 
 mother's, but with such a look of ques- 
 tioning wonder in their depths that she 
 was wont to exclaim as she gathered him 
 in her arms, "Tell me, little son, only 
 speak and tell me what thou wouldst 
 know!" 
 
 The maid, Lola, too, loved her beautiful 
 charges, but once down in the Plaza, seat- 
 ed under an oleander, her admiring and 
 handsome Antonio by her side, holding 
 her hand and whispering sly words of love 
 in her ear, alas! she forgot the twins and 
 their mother's parting admonition. 
 
 Frederico was safe, seated near the or- 
 chestra, filling his soul with the music 
 that he so loved. 
 
 Mariana, beautiful in white dress and 
 fluttering ribbons, was flitting from table 
 (92) 
 
to stand trying to decide from which of 
 the fruits and dulces to buy. 
 
 "This way, pretty one! Here is what 
 you want," she heard, and, looking up, 
 saw a woman, head and shoulders envel- 
 oped in her rebozo (cotton shawl). Her 
 eyes alone were visible. 
 
 "Right over here are lovely sugar birds 
 and flowers, too lifelike and sweet to eat, 
 but not too sweet for thee, pretty one. 1 ' 
 At the same time she took the child by 
 the hand and led her on. 
 
 It was only a moment's walk across the 
 street, where she lifted the girl into her 
 arms, wrapping about her the rebozo she 
 wore. As Mariana struggled to free her- 
 self, the woman told her of lovely things 
 they were soon to see. Once around the 
 corner, she quickened her pace, running 
 and talking the while. Into an alley sh 
 turned, and, lifting the door latch, en- 
 tered a low adobe room. 
 
 The child began to scream. "Callate ' 
 ("Keep quiet") was roughly spoken. 
 
 An inner door was opened and a face 
 peeped in. 
 
 "Go quickly," spoke the woman, "and 
 send hither 'El mozo del Diabolo' (the 
 devil's errand boy)." 
 
 "Mamma, oh, my mamma! Take me to 
 :/iy mamma!" cried the child. 
 (93) 
 
"Yes, yes thou shalt soon go, very 
 soon," meanwhile swiftly removing ear 
 and finger rings and a slender chain from 
 which a cross was pendant. 
 
 "Dost wish to see thy mother, child? 
 Yes very soon " 
 
 "But my rings my golden cross that 
 mamma gave me!" 
 
 '^Chit, nina! Thy mother will give thee 
 others!" 
 
 The door opened again and a man 
 slouched in. His eyes were narrow and 
 shifting, and he drew down his hat to 
 cover from view an ugly scar across his 
 temple. 
 
 At sight of him the girl screamed louder. 
 "Valgame! This noise will never do! 
 Vete!" exclaimed the woman. "Go and 
 call Jose to take thy place. See thou that 
 the horse be ready at once." 
 
 The screaming girl was told that if she 
 did not stop that noise, she would not be 
 carried to her mother. So, struggling witli 
 her sobs, she allowed herself to be lifted 
 tc the horse in front of a man who 
 wrapped about her hood and cloak. 
 
 "If thou dost make one noise, I will not 
 take thee home!" spoke the man in low 
 tone, as they emerged from the corral into 
 the street. 
 
 But the streets grew dirtier and nar- 
 (94) 
 
rower, the houses smaller and far be- 
 tween, till at length they were upon a 
 bare, dusty plain, 
 
 "My mamma," sobbed the girl. "You 
 said you would take me to my mamma!" 
 
 "Callate, else I will kill thee right 
 here!" 
 
 Several leagues were covered, the terri- 
 fied child daring to make no noise, till the 
 horse turned up toward the hills, entering 
 a narrow canyon, where, following a path 
 through the mesquite growth, they sud- 
 denly drew in before a shanty made of 
 branches and grass. 
 
 A lean yellow dog lying in the doorway 
 began to growl, only to be kicked aside 
 by a couple of ill-appearing men with 
 faces partly hid from view 'neath clouds 
 of tobacco smoke. 
 
 A woman stepped from within and lifted 
 the trembling child to the ground. 
 
 "My mother, oh, they promised to take 
 me to my mother!" broke out again the 
 girl. 
 
 "To-morrow, child! It be too late this 
 clay, to-morrow! Maria Santissima! What 
 a beauty! But how is this? Were there 
 no jewels, Jose?" 
 
 Jose shrugged his shoulders, spat and 
 said deliberately: 
 
 "Dona Petra might enlighten thee as to 
 (95) 
 
that. I took the child as she was handed 
 to me!" 
 
 "How happens it that thou hast dons 
 the carrying, and net 'El mozo del Diab- 
 olo'?" 
 
 "Quien sabe! Unless it be that this 
 lady was not so well pleased with his 
 Icoks as with mine. Quien sabe!" 
 
 "This richly-embroidered dress and un- 
 der garments and shining bootees ill fit thy 
 surroundings, child," said the woman, lead- 
 ing Mariana within the hut and removing 
 clothes and shoes and replacing them with 
 others, soiled and torn. 
 
 "To-morrow thou shalt have thy gar- 
 ments again and return to thy mother!" 
 
 "Those curls may be an undesirable 
 mark," gruffly spoke out one of the men. 
 At the same time, reaching up, he drew 
 from the entwining branches of the wall 
 a pair of shears which he handed to the 
 woman. 
 
 Back in a shadowed corner of the room, 
 all this time, there reclined upon a bed of 
 rags, a lad of perhaps ten or twelve years, 
 intently watching. He straightened up as 
 the woman began to clip the black glossy 
 curls. 
 
 "My hair! My curls! Papa's curls they 
 are!" screamed the child. "Oh, do not cut 
 them!" 
 
 (96) 
 
At that instant, up sprang the boy, with 
 blazing eyes, and, leaping across the 
 room, with one swift blow he knocked the 
 shears from the woman's hand. 
 
 "The devil is loose!" she screamed. One 
 of the men burst into a coarse laugh, while 
 the other, striding to the boy, seized him 
 by the arm, and, drawing from his side a 
 long knife, held it aloft. 
 
 "Kill me!" cried the boy. "But only 
 cowards harm a beautiful little girl like 
 this!" 
 
 Amid shouts of laughter the knife was 
 replaced and the boy pushed back to his 
 corner, while the curls were all removed. 
 And now, in place of Mariana, the beauti- 
 ful little daughter of Peralta, stood a 
 ragged, shorn, tear-stained, trembling lit- 
 tle creature whom even her own mother 
 would not have known. 
 
 Scarce knowing what she did, she stag- 
 gered toward the boy, and as none for- 
 bade her, fell down beside him. 
 
 "Do not cry, bonita," whispered the boy 
 as he reached out and drew her to him. 
 She clung to him, sobbing, "Mamma, oh, 
 my mamma!" 
 
 "You will see mamma, I think, in a few 
 days," he whispered again. 
 
 But night was creeping down the moun- 
 tain side, over the canyon and hut, as if 
 (97) 
 
 7 
 
to hide from view its cruelty and crime. 
 On the ground, outside, still glowed the 
 remnants of a few burning sticks of wood, 
 and on these coals stood an earthen Jar 
 ot atole (cornmeal gruel). The woman 
 poured from it into an earthen cup, and 
 carried it to the children. 
 
 "Drink, little one," said the boy, holding 
 to her the cup. But she refused. "Yes, 
 thou must drink! I want thee to. ' Thou 
 must keep well to see mamma again!" 
 
 :She took the cup and drank. "Now, do 
 not be afraid! I will not let them hurt 
 thee. Lie down and sleep." And he ar- 
 ranged more .smoothly the bed of rage. 
 
 The embers burned out. The stars, one 
 by one, awoke, peeping down through the 
 openings in the roof. The owls called to 
 each other up in the ravine, while further 
 up was heard the cry of a coyote. . . . 
 And through it all slept the hardened men 
 and women, each wrapped in a blanket, 
 lying upon the ground floor, across the 
 doorway. 
 
 But the boy lay upon his couch of rags 
 thinking thinking. He could not sleep. 
 He, too, had been stolen from home and 
 fond parents. (Several times he had at- 
 tempted escape, but each time had been 
 prevented. He knew not what was to be 
 his fate, and from fright and resistance 
 (98) 
 
hn had grown into a sullen despair. But 
 that night something new had come into 
 his life. This little helpless creature, and 
 he must arouse himself and become a man 
 that he might protect her. And as the 
 little fevered girl tossed and moaned in 
 her sleep, sobbing, "Mamma, mamma," he 
 reached up and laid his hand upon her. 
 
 ( 99) 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MOTHER OF GOD. 
 
 Meanwhile, there was great consterna- 
 tion down at the Plaza, when it was 
 known that Mariana was missing. The 
 terrified and conscience-stricken Lola r3- 
 fused to return to her mistress. An of- 
 ficer took the boy and the sad tidings to 
 the home. Through the night and through 
 the following days, search was made ail 
 over the city, while the mother lay in 
 swoons and critical iliness. But no little 
 girl was found. 
 
 As s-oon as able to arise from her bed, 
 she crawled to an inner chamber, where, 
 prostrate before the shrine and painted 
 image of the Virgin, she moaned: 
 
 "Oh, Holy Mother oi ! God, Holy Virgin, 
 bring to me my child!" 
 
 The boy, Frederico, who scarce had left 
 his mother's side these days of grief, stood 
 listening, and looking with those big, 
 questioning eyes. The mother continued 
 her pleading, the boy still watching, while 
 the candles burned on and the image still 
 looked down upon them. 
 
 "Mamacita," whispered the boy, draw- 
 (100) 
 
ing close to his mother. "Look, she heeds 
 not! Thou hast told me of God who made 
 us all. Isn't God the greatest? Why dost 
 thou not ask of him?" 
 
 "Yes, true, little son," replied the moth- 
 er, arousing herself. "Yet thou mayest not 
 speak thus lightly of our holy blessed Vir- 
 gin.'' 
 
 But continued supplications to the Holy 
 Virgin brought no little girl, no consola- 
 tion to the mother's breaking heart. In 
 despair she sought her priest at the con- 
 fessional. 
 
 "Oh, Father," she cried, "is it because 
 of isin of mine that I am thus punished? 
 Tell me, I beseech thee, what of penance 
 I may do, or of offering I may bring that 
 I may find my daughter!" 
 
 The priest looked a moment upon the 
 broken woman. He saw his opportunity 
 but he answered guardedly: 
 
 "No, daughter, thou hast committed no 
 sin. This is not a punishment. It is in- 
 deed a strange dispensation, but methinks 
 it is yet to be for good; for thine own 
 sanctification and to be for the greater 
 glory of our own blessed Virgin and 
 Mother. Sha 1 ! I make intercession to her 
 for thee? Surely thou dost know her 
 power, for 'many things are asked of God 
 
 (101) 
 
and are not granted; they are asked from 
 Mary and are obtained. And how is this? 
 It is because God has thus decreed to 
 honor his Mother.' (Glories of Mary, p, 
 113.) 
 
 " 'Why! Mary was made mediatress 
 even or our salvation. It is true, that in 
 dying Jesus wished to be alone; but when 
 God saw the great desire of Mary to de- 
 vote herself also to the salvation of men, 
 he ordained that by the sacrifice and of- 
 fering of the life of this same Jesus, she 
 might co-operate with him in the work of 
 our salvation, and thus become the Mother 
 of our souls.' (Glories of Mary, p. 43.) 
 
 " 'All who are saved are saved only by 
 means of this divine Mother' (p. 8'). 'God 
 has placed the whole price of redemption 
 in the hands of Mary, that she may dis- 
 pense it at will' (p. 85). 'Our salvation 
 is in the hands of Mary. He who is pro- 
 tected by Mary will be saved; he who is 
 not will be lost' (p. 144). 'At the com- 
 mand of Mary, all obey, even God' (p. 
 155). 
 
 "Then, daughter, if her power is thus 
 equal with God's in the soul's salvation, 
 she has power to bring again to thee thy 
 lost. Shall I invoke her aid?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, do, Father!" 
 
 ( 102 > 
 
"But thou dost know that before any- 
 thing can be done, money will be neces- 
 sary ?" 
 
 Dona Alicia raised her head. For the 
 first time the words of her priest grated 
 harshly on her ears. "Money, money! 
 Why was it always money! For pity, for 
 love of her and her child ought he to be 
 willing to aid, and not for money! He 
 was cruel!'' 
 
 Her heart smote her for this thought of 
 her priest, and she replied: 
 
 "Yes, Father, how much will be re- 
 quired?" 
 
 "Well," replied the man slowly, "a 
 great many masses will be required, for 
 our earnestness will be tested; six hun- 
 dred dollars say, five hundred, for thou 
 hast ever been a faithful daughter of the 
 Church!" 
 
 Dona Alicia did not reply. "My hus- 
 band, what will he think and say?'' flashed 
 through her mind. The only thorn in the 
 happy married life of Dona Alicia and 
 Don Fernando Peralta had been her priest. 
 
 "Thou art allowing another man, thy 
 priest, to come in between us! He it is, 
 and not thy husband, who holds the se- 
 crets of thy heart. Many a home has thus 
 been broken. Many lives have thus been 
 
 (103) 
 
separated. Thou dost know this, Alicia, 
 yet I love and trust thee, my wife. Nor 
 is this all; they have taken from me, too, 
 my money on false pretenses. I begrudge 
 it not when deserved, but when they de- 
 ceive to get it from me, I will refuse." 
 
 Thus had often said her husband to her, 
 and it was such words as these that 
 rushed to her memory as she stood, silent, 
 before her priest. 
 
 "Is it not worth the cost, my daughter?" 
 said the man, noticing her hesitancy. 
 
 "Yes oh, yes but my husband!" she 
 faltered. 
 
 "Need thy husband know? Is not the 
 money thine as well as his?" 
 
 The woman recoiled as from a blow. 
 Looking into her eyes, the priest knew he 
 had blundered. 
 
 Ere he could reply, she arose. "I will 
 tell my husband. He will send to you the 
 money.'' 
 
 (104) 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 THE RANSOM. 
 
 Mariana clung to her new found pro- 
 tector. They were continually watched, 
 not allowed out of sight; yet they often 
 had frequent opportunities for conversa- 
 tion, spending hours together sitting under 
 the trees near to tne nut. 
 
 Aurelio told her his story. His lovely 
 hacienda home was only ten leagues from 
 the city where Mariana lived. Indeed, he 
 remembered that the supplies from the 
 hacienda were bought at the big store of 
 Peralta, Mariana's father. Aurelio was an 
 only child, accustomed to the plain and 
 to long rides on his pony, accompanying 
 the peons or alone. On such occasion, 
 he was pursued and seized by a couple of 
 men and carried to this place. From 
 occasional words which he had over- 
 heard he had concluded that he was being 
 held for a ransom. This he supposed was 
 Mariana's situation also, and he comforted 
 her by assurance of their return in time. 
 
 "Can we not run away some dark night, 
 Aurelio, and find my home?" asked the 
 child. 
 
 (105) 
 
"No, no! It is far, leagues and leagues. 
 Thsou couldst not walk so far, and they 
 would soon find us again. If we try ito 
 run away, they may hurt us, for I have 
 tried it many a time. But if we keep 
 quiet, we will all the sooner be sent home. 
 They are waiting tor money.'' 
 
 "Oh, my papa is rich, he will send them 
 money. Shall I tell them?" 
 
 "No, we musit keep quiet and wait" 
 
 One morning Aurelio led her to a distant 
 rock where they often sat together. "Some- 
 thing is going to happen!" he said, speak- 
 ing hurriedly. "I have heard some words, 
 I am to be sent home!" 
 
 "And I, too?" interrupted the excited 
 child. 
 
 "Be very quiet!" continued Aurelio. "No, 
 queridita, I fear it is only I, but I promise 
 this, I will go at once and tell your papa 
 where you are." Mariana was crying and 
 laughing. 
 
 "Come here," said the boy, and stooping, 
 he drew from under the rock a little packet. 
 Unwrapping the rags, he disclosed a dainty, 
 slender golden chain with a little hanging 
 cross. 
 
 "Oh, it is just like the one they took 
 from me," said the girl, breathing hard. 
 
 "Yes, my mother gave it to me, she said, 
 because she had no girl. I was to wear it 
 (106) 
 
to remind me to pray morning and even- 
 ing to our blessed Virgin Mary. When they 
 took from me my clothes, as they did thine, 
 I snatched this from my neck and put it 
 in my mouith. Then when they did not see, 
 I slipped it into my shoe, till I could hide 
 it out of doors. I will give it to thee to 
 keep till I see thee again. But I must hide 
 it again, and do noit take it from this place 
 till thou art going, for they will see it and 
 take it from thee." 
 
 "Oh, I am &o glad. It is so pretty! 
 But I wish I had something (to give to 
 thee!" 
 
 "I have already something of thine!" 
 laughed the boy, pulling from under his 
 torn little shirt a shining black curl. "I 
 found this where they had thrown thine 
 hair, thy beautiful curls, and I will keep it 
 to make me think of thee. And I will 
 look for thy papa, and soon thou, too, wilt 
 be home again!" 
 
 "Oh, quickly, so quickly!" cried little 
 Mariana. 
 
 "They are calling us now," added the boy, 
 stooping to hide the packet, and ito pick up 
 a handful of pebbles as an excuse. 
 
 There was< no further opportunity for 
 wiordis. The boy was told to put on quick- 
 ly his own clothes, which had been hidden 
 from him. He saw two men on horses. He 
 (107) 
 
was told to climb behind one of the 
 men. Mariana shuddered, for she saw 
 again the fellow with shifting eyes and the 
 ecar across his forehead. But she had 
 learned to make no outbreaks. Only an 
 interchange of looks was there between 
 the children one of loving farewell, the 
 other of mute, longing appeal. 
 
 The boy saw they were approaching the 
 city, Mariana's city. 
 
 "I will cry out in the streets! I will 
 shout and tell them where she is, that 
 they may go at once and get her!" said 
 the boy to himself. 
 
 Jusit outside the wall they halted, by 
 the shrine of the Virgin, where travel- 
 ers were wont to stop and pray for safe 
 journey. One of the men, reaching under 
 the hollow pedestal, drew something forth. 
 His eyes gleamed. 
 
 "Well for thee, boy, that this is here!'' 
 he exclaimed to Aurelio. "Now run to the 
 inn of San Andres and find those who will 
 be awaiting thee." 
 
 Then looking again with gloating eye 
 over the money, he exclaimed, "And large 
 share of this is mine! I will get it!" 
 
 Reaching the inn, Aurelio saw his fath- 
 er standing. Rushing Inito his arms, he 
 oiied: 
 
 "Oh, here I am, but Mariana is still 
 there! Tell her father to go now now to 
 (108) 
 
get her back there in the canyon; she 
 is back in the hill!" 
 
 Then followed an hour of excitement, 
 friends gathering about the boy, others in 
 search of Peralta, Mariana's father, who 
 was to have an armed force and go to the 
 rescue of his little girl. 
 
 But none had taken special note of one 
 who stood by in the crowd, with apparent 
 indifference, his hat pulled low over an 
 ugly line across his temple, and who, dis- 
 appearing, secured a fresh horse and fled 
 with rapid pace across the plain, up into 
 the canyon. 
 
 Events had been moving rapidly the last 
 few days. As soon as Aurelio'is mother 
 knew that her son was released, upon the 
 deposit of money under the shrine, she, 
 too, formed her plan. She had not suc- 
 cumbed, as had Mariana' mother, and now, 
 as resolute as ever, she declared her inten- 
 tion to take her son, at once, with her by 
 train down to the seaport, from thence 
 by steamer down the coast, by caravan 
 across the country to Guadalajara and to 
 Mexico City, where lived her brother. 
 Nothing but death, she declared, could pre- 
 vent her departure from the scene of her 
 anguish. Her husband could dispose of 
 the property and follow. 
 
 They were to go at once. "But not till 
 
 (109) 
 
I see my dear little Mariana," cried th 
 boy. "I promised 'her, and I want to see 
 her again!" 
 
 But the Senor Peralffca agreed to write as 
 soon as Ms daughter could be recovered. 
 
 That afternoon, as the vessel bearing Au- 
 relio and his mother was steaming out of 
 the gulf, and as Senor Peralta, with his 
 armed force, was nearing the mouth of 
 ithe canyon, a little group was winding its 
 way around the foot hills beyond; a lean, 
 old horse, with a woman, seated thereon, 
 holding in front of her a little girl, while 
 a man and a hungry-looking yellow dog 
 walked by their side. 
 
 ( HO) 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A DESERTED CITY. 
 
 Several years had passed. A terrible 
 scourge was sweeping the west coast of 
 Mexico; "Fiebre Amarillo" men called it 
 (Yellow Fever). Sanitary restrictions 
 were feeble, and the pestilence spread 
 like fire across a dry plain. Many had 
 fled at once, by the one railroad, across 
 to Arizona. But when the trains were 
 cut off, the masses, now thoroughly 
 alarmed, sought escape to the mountains, 
 to the haciendas, anywhere, burying their 
 money and valuables till they might re- 
 turn. 
 
 Among these latter were the Senor 
 Peralta, his wife and little Frederico. 
 Her strange indifference to the danger had 
 prevented their earlier escape, and this 
 delay had proved fatal to the kind Senor 
 Peralta. 
 
 "Take my boy and his mother at once, 
 Juan," he had said to his faithful ser- 
 vant. "Hire a carriage, and take them 
 across the country, up over our northern 
 line, where they may take the train to the 
 City of Mexico. Thou wilt not lack for 
 (HI) 
 
means. Lift up the bricks under my bed. 
 and there thou wilt find the money and 
 the jewels which thou mayst sell. Hasten, 
 my good Juan!" 
 
 Only a few hours of intense suffering 
 and the good Don Fernando was borne 
 away to be laid in the hastily prepared 
 burying place, where lay, side by side, 
 the rich and poor alike. 
 
 Juan would not leave his master till 
 he was tenderly placed away. And when 
 he returned to search for the burie-1 
 treasures, he found the bricks upturned, 
 but nothing there. 
 
 He did not know that one standing 
 without, listening under the window, had 
 heard; one with narrow, glittering eye* 
 and a dark mark across his forehead. 
 And he had laughed aloud when he held 
 in his hand gold and pearls, rare pearls, 
 white, green and black, which the divers 
 had drawn from the deep Gulf waters. 
 
 "Ah, now," he had exclaimed, "now I 
 am rich! No longer need they call me 
 'Devil's errand boy,' nor anybody's errand 
 boy! My own master now I am, for rich 
 I am! I, too, may leave this city, and 
 live and travel and be a gentleman!" 
 
 Little did it matter that Juan had 
 found no gold, for his well loved mistress 
 had succumbed, and she, too, was carried 
 
 (112) 
 
away. But by strangers, for Juan himself 
 \\as prostrated. Recovering after a few 
 days, he found little Frederico crouching 
 by his side, they two the only occupants 
 of the once beautiful home of Peralta. 
 
 After a few months the pestilence had 
 spent itself, and the people began to re- 
 turn. But a strange city it looked, and 
 men wept as they looked into empty 
 houses and streets full of rubbish which 
 had been thrown away in hasty flight. 
 
 But the deserted houses began again t 
 be opened. Into the churches gather? ] 
 again the people, masses to be purchase 1 
 and said for the many dear departed, con- 
 fessions to be made and penance to uo 
 worked out. The Church took possession 
 o' homes where there were none to pro 
 U j ct. The house of Peralta was one. Tt 
 was renovated and refitted for a boys' 
 school, to be in charge of a new priest-. 
 "Father Lorenzo," just from the City oi 
 Mexico. Juan was to continue his minis- 
 trations and Frederico was to become a 
 member of the boys' school. His voice, 
 now recognized as a talent, placed him 
 at lead in the boys' choir in the bi'4 
 cathedral. 
 
 "La vos de un Angel" (The voice of an 
 Angel) men called it, for it was a wonder- 
 ful voice, and they gathered into the 
 (113) 
 
 8 
 
cathedral to hear it. Soft and sweet, ye* 
 clear, though far away, it sounded, as if 
 an echo from heaven above. Then burst- 
 ing forth, the music filled all space, till 
 listeners, far delight, could no longer keep 
 their seats, and, looking up to see the 
 singer, they saw only a lad, with thin, 
 small face, but whose big, dark eyes 
 looked far away. 
 
 (114) 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A VERY STRANGE THING. 
 
 But a very strange thing had happened. 
 Dona Alicia had been removed by stran- 
 gers' hands, who laid her upon the ground 
 among the dead, and quickly made their 
 own escape. Later on came others more 
 merciful, who were preparing to lay her 
 away, when they saw signs of life. 
 
 "For Dios! Que es este? (What is this?) 
 She still lives. A woman of high rank, 
 too! Is there no one who will have pity?" 
 and they lifted her to the nearest dwelling. 
 
 "We know not who this may be, but 
 will ye have mercy and care for her, that 
 she may yet return to those who mourn 
 her?" 
 
 And live she did, but it was weeks be- 
 fore she cared to ask where she was, or 
 to ask aught about her friends or family. 
 Then she was told that the family of 
 Fernando Peralta was no more, either dead 
 they were, or had left the city, her bene- 
 factors knew not which. Her home, too, 
 they told her, had become the new acad- 
 emy for boys. 
 
 The jewels found about her person re- 
 (115) 
 
paid these Good Samaritans and also paid 
 her passage, by stage, to the Hacienda 
 Roja, where merciful strangers had con- 
 sented to her stay for a while, which con- 
 tinued, for the inmates of the hacienda 
 soon learned to love the gentle, beautiful 
 woman, whose face was young, but whose 
 hair was white. No one knew other 
 name than Dona Alicia. But the children 
 loved to gather about and listen to her 
 stories of a far-away country beautiful 
 Spain, she called it where ladies wore 
 rich silks and jewels every day, and walked 
 on soft carpets; where knights in velvet 
 garments, and with white plumes in their 
 hats, walked beside them or kneeled at 
 their feet; where the houses were great 
 towered castles, and the cups from which 
 they drank were made of gold and silver. 
 Sometimes she told them of two beautiful 
 children, a boy and a girl, whose mother 
 loved them tenderly, but she never spoke 
 their names. She never laughed, but her 
 smile was so gentle that even the fretful 
 baby, whom no one else could quiet, loved 
 to lie in her arms and look up into her 
 face. Beautiful embroideries, too, she 
 stitched, which they took into the city 
 to sell in payment for their kindness. 
 
 "Why do you never go with us into the 
 city?" inquired the children. "It Is love- 
 die) 
 
ly there! The cathedral is so big and 
 grand! The padres and the bishop so 
 elegant In their fine garments, the boys 
 In the choir sing so beautifully, and oh, 
 there is one among them who sings oh, 
 so heavenly is his voice, that his name 
 is 'Voice of an Angel.' Will you not go 
 with us, Dona Alicia?" 
 
 "Some time, children, I will. Not this 
 time," was ever the reply. 
 
 But upon each return from the city 
 she watched to see if there might be a 
 letter, for she had written her brother in 
 Mexico, making inquiries. 
 
 But no letter ever came. 
 
 (117) 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "THE HERETICS" AND FATHEK LORENZO. 
 
 Several years had passed. The city was 
 fast growing into new life. The trains 
 from the North were bringing many for- 
 eigners who were learning that, in West- 
 ern Mexico, lay great wealth, gold and 
 silver and copper buried under the high 
 mountains. 
 
 Among these came two a man and his 
 wife who seemed in no great haste. They 
 were in no quest of gold or silver. They 
 rented a house, and soon those passing 
 along the street saw behind the barred 
 windows a display of books, large and 
 small, but mostly Bibles. Those who chose 
 to enter took away with them leaflets and 
 papers. 
 
 Then it began to be told about that these 
 newcomers were "heretics. 5 ' a dangerous, 
 godless people. The books they had sold 
 and given away were very harmful; the 
 Bibles, indeed, were not genuine, for they 
 were "heretic Bibles." As far as possible, 
 those who had bought were ordered to 
 bring them to the Cura, and they were 
 burned in front of the cathedral as a 
 (118) 
 
warning. From the pulpit, excommunica- 
 tions were threatened to such as should 
 have dealing with these heretics, said ex- 
 communications meaning the everlasting 
 loss of souls. Along the street walls 
 were posters whidi read: 
 
 "Beware of the heretics! They are 
 devils! Excommunication from the most 
 Holy Church to any who shall buy or sell 
 to them, talk or listen to them, or upon 
 wham their shadow even shall fall!" 
 
 But the heretic still walked the streets. 
 His was a kindly face, men said, and when 
 he smiled, they said, "Surely no devil can 
 smile like that!" 
 
 Amd though there were many who 
 shunned him, there \vere others, who, 
 standing in their shop doors, would say, 
 with a sly wink, as he passed: 
 
 "Come in here, Senor Heretic, buy of 
 me. The Holy Church will not think my 
 poor soul worth the cutting off!" 
 
 Gradually, people, losing fear, would 
 gather into the front room or listen out- 
 side the window while the heretic told his 
 story. The story of Him whose sacrifice 
 upon the cross was so complete that there 
 was no longer need for intercedence of 
 virgin, priest or saint. 
 
 Meanwhile, the boys' school, under the 
 direction of the new Father Lorenzo, 
 (119) 
 
growing. His pupils all loved him, for 
 there was something about the quiet man 
 which drew them. He seemed to have 
 passed through* some sorrow which made 
 him sympathetic. Frederico, the lonely 
 boy, was especially drawn toward him. 
 Father Lorenzo, in turn, took the boy into 
 his heart. So often were they seen to- 
 gether that they became known as uncle 
 and nephew. The boy loved nothing bet- 
 ter than to sit by his side and listen to 
 stories of the great City of Mexico, where 
 his life had been spent. 
 
 "A strong, wild people had lived there 
 once," he told the boy. "Then had come 
 men from Spain, in the name of the holy 
 Catholic faith, and had conquered these 
 bloody people, and had given to them, in- 
 stead of their idols, beautiful painted pic- 
 tures and images to worship." 
 
 But when the old priest told of the cruel- 
 ties by which the Spaniard drew from 
 the Indians their jewels and their gold, 
 his voice trembled and 'his dark eyes 
 burned darker. 
 
 "Tell me again of the Indian who fought 
 that his people might live," eaicl the boy. 
 
 Then springing to his feet and walking 
 
 the room, the old man would tell again 
 
 of Juarez, the fearless Indian, who for 
 
 fourteen years braved all dangers, though 
 
 (120) 
 
hunted like a wild thing, meeting the 
 enemy again and again, and conquering 
 at last, that his people might think and 
 worship as they pleased. He it was to 
 whom Victor Hugo wrote, "America has 
 two heroes, Lincoln, by whom slavery has 
 died; Thee, by whom liberty has lived." 
 
 "My boy," said the old man, still walk- 
 ing the floor and closing his lips in that 
 way Frederico had noticed of late, "my boy, 
 those were dark days for Mexico. For 
 three hundred years had she been under a 
 power (I will not say more of that power) 
 which kept her as a slave, till one man 
 one man rose and said, 'My people shall 
 think and worship as they please.' But 
 there were others then who thought and 
 fought with him. There be others now 
 who would dare the same, for even now 
 there be those who may not think and 
 worship as they please.'' 
 
 The ooy wondered, though little he un- 
 derstood. He did not know that in the 
 veins of Father Lorenzo ran the same 
 blood of the Indian Juairez and the same 
 deep love for liberty in all. Nor did he 
 know that, in the City of Mexico, strange 
 things had been said of him. That he had 
 dared to do his own thinking and his own 
 teaching, which the Church called "in- 
 subordination." For this he had been sent 
 (121) 
 
to the new field, in hope that new sur- 
 roundings, and new duties would bring him 
 to himself again, for he was too valuable 
 a scholar and a worker to lose. 
 
 But strange things were whispered about 
 him, even now. When the poor came to 
 him for baptism or for marriage, his fees 
 were very low. Fellow priests scoffed him 
 and called him "a fool,'' "not knowing 
 his own chances." 
 
 "They pay me what they are able! I 
 wish no more. Most of our poor live with- 
 out a marriage rite because they are not 
 able to pay what our Church requires of 
 them. Shall we, their priests, help them 
 on in their unholy living?" 
 
 It was also said that he had once told 
 a penitent, "I can not forgive thy sin! 
 Take it to God!" 
 
 "Why, man," exclaimed the angry bishop, 
 when calling him to account, "what dost 
 thou mean by thus belittling the power of 
 the priesthood?" 
 
 "I hear, too," said the bishop, "that thou 
 dost allow some of the students free ac- 
 cess to the Holy Scriptures. Have more 
 of a care! Only with explanations of the 
 priest is the Bible to be read by the laity!" 
 No one knew that in Father Lorenzo's 
 chest was a heretic Bible, a gift from a 
 boyhood friend in Mexico City, and that 
 (122) 
 
frieud a heretic. Nor did any one know how 
 often, alone in his room, the little book 
 was taken out and read. Father Lorenzo 
 was learning the truth about his Church 
 about himself and his duty. 
 
 ( 123 ) 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "Tnou HAST NOT DENIED My NAME." 
 
 One night there was a tap at the here- 
 tic's study door, which opened into the 
 street. He was surprised, at the instant, 
 as he saw, standing "before him, the smooth- 
 shaven face and the man gowned as a 
 priest. By his side stood a lad. The here- 
 tic recognized the boy singer and Father 
 Lorenzo, for they had exchanged saluta- 
 tions upon the street. 
 
 "You are surprised to see me!'' said the 
 priest. 
 
 "You are none the less welcome! " was 
 lie reply. 
 
 "Let me state my errand at once," said the 
 priest accepting the proffered chair. "For 
 a long time I have felt that I am living a 
 false life. I have been posing as one who 
 is able to forgive sin, when in reality I 
 know none but God' is able to forgive ain, 
 and none more needy of forgiveness than 
 I myself. My boy and I, for he knows 
 somewhat of my trouble, have come to you 
 for instruction." 
 
 "Thank God, my brother!" exclaimed the 
 heretic, grasping by the hand, his visitor. 
 (124) 
 
"We are all sinners, and in need of Divina 
 forgiveness!" 
 
 Long time and earnestly talked the two 
 together, the boy listening the while. 
 
 Then they kneeled together. His duty 
 they knew, but they prayed for strength 
 to do that duty. When they arose from their 
 knees, a new light shone upon each face. 
 
 "Your life will now be in danger!'' said 
 the Protestant. 
 
 "I know, but death even is preferable tn 
 the misery through which I have been pass- 
 ing these last few weeks. Yet I woute 
 live to make amends and to warn others!" 
 
 "Come to us if there is danger!" 
 
 "I will," said Father Lorenzo, gratefully, 
 "But in any case I beg of you, take charge 
 of my boy. I love him, and do not wish 
 him to lead such a life as mine. I will 
 come again and tell you my plans." 
 
 But little knew Father Lorenzo that 
 other plans had been laid for him. That 
 visit to the heretic's had not been un- 
 noticed!. 
 
 Upon entering his own doorway, he was 
 met by the bishop. Father Lorenzo saw, 
 at a glance, the conflict before him. 
 For a moment he felt weak, but a cry from 
 his heart to God brought calm and courage. 
 
 "Let our interview be in private, in thine 
 own room!'' sternly said the bishop. 
 (125) 
 
"Where hast thou spent this evening?" 
 
 "In the house of the Protestant minis- 
 ter." 
 
 "And what didst thou there?" 
 
 "Reverend Father and Bishop," replied 
 the priest, "long time I have known that 
 my life was a mockery. Yet I knew not 
 how to leave, and I feared to tell thee. I 
 know now my duty. I go now from this 
 place and henceforth avow myself a Prot- 
 estant, an heretic, if thou pleaseth." 
 
 The bishop's face showed surprise and 
 anger. 
 
 "It seems thy plans are well laid! But 
 thou dost forget my permission. Without 
 it thou canst not leave!'' 
 
 Then stepping to the door, he opened it 
 and called to him two men who waited. 
 
 "Here, take this man in charge and con- 
 duct him to my residence!" 
 
 "Do not touch me!" said Father Lorenzo 
 in a quiet tone. "I am not a criminal. I 
 go alone as a man. I am ready," he added, 
 turning toward the bishop. 
 
 But at that instant in rushed the lad 
 Frederico. Clinging to the priest he cried: 
 
 "Oh, what is it? where art thou to go?" 
 
 "Remove this boy! He is to remain 
 here!" spoke the bishop sharply. 
 
 But before the lad was taken away 
 Father Lorenzo whispered in his ear, "Tell 
 
 (126) 
 
Juan, and flee thou to the house of the 
 heretics, and stay there!'' 
 
 The streets were dimly lighted, and sev- 
 eral times came to him the thought to at- 
 tempt his escape. But he had given his 
 word and scorned to break it. He was 
 locked into a small back room in the 
 bishop's residence. Frederico had sought 
 the faithful Juan. 
 
 "Yes, go at once to the- house of the 
 Protestante. Stay there till I go for thee. 
 I will keep near to our padre, and if thou 
 dost hear strange things of me, do not be- 
 lieve them. I will save him if I can!" 
 
 The heretic was closing for the night, 
 when he heard a timid knock, and there 
 stood the lad, weeping out his sad story. 
 
 "Stay within this house," said the good 
 man. "Do not go upon the streets. I will 
 do all I can to save our dear Father Lo- 
 renzo." 
 
 "Why, here is Juan, servant of Father 
 Lorenzo! What seekest thou? News of 
 thy heretic master?" called one, as early 
 the next morning Juan stepped into the 
 court of the bishop's residence. 
 
 "Is it true that my old master has turned 
 heretic?" said Juan in bantering tone. "I 
 scarce believe it. "Yet if it is, he will here 
 find just reward for such an act!" 
 
 "What meanest thou, Juan?" 
 
 (127) 
 
"I mean this: it is a shame to be counted 
 a heretic, but for a priest a priest like 
 Father Lorenzo to turn heretic, shame 
 is no word. It is a disgrace to our Holy 
 Church, and the traitor, be it Father Lo- 
 renzo even, must suffer just consequences!" 
 
 "Why, listen. I'thought thou wast given 
 over soul and body >to the service of thy 
 master? What sort of talk is this?" All 
 day Juan stayed about the place, and as 
 they told him of Father Lorenzo's re- 
 peated refusals to recant, he shook hie 
 head, saying: 
 
 "The traitor; let him suffer!'' 
 
 All day, too, Father Lorenzo, locked in 
 that little back room, had tasted no food; 
 but upon his knees his soul had feasted 
 upon the heavenly manna, and though sev- 
 eral opportunities had been given to re- 
 nounce his false belief, he refused. 
 
 That night the door again opened. The 
 bishop, with two padres, stood before him. 
 
 "This is thy last chance to repent and 
 forsake this foolish course." 
 
 "I have nothing to repent, save my sins. 
 They are already forgiven," was the quiet 
 reply. 
 
 "Why waste further worde with this 
 stubborn heretic?" angrily exclaimed the 
 bishop to his companions. "Let us test 
 him in the room below." 
 
 (128) 
 
Silently they passed on down the back 
 corridor, lighted only by one dim hanging 
 lamp. There was no escaping now. Father 
 Lorenzo knew whither he was being led, 
 for he had heard of the underground dun- 
 geon from whence none had ever returned. 
 Yet he felt no fear. One instant he started, 
 for he thought, as a figure stepped out 
 from a shadow down in the corridor that 
 it was his Juan. But the figure drew into 
 the shadow again. 
 
 Through a narrow 'iron door they 
 passed, down a dark stone stairway, and 
 stood a moment upon the ground floor to 
 accustom themselves to the still dimmer 
 light. Two men were there in working 
 garments. As in a dream, the old prie&t 
 Lorenzo saw the gleam of metal, and heard 
 the clang of irons. The voices of the men 
 sounded strangely distant, as they ap 
 preached, tore from him his outer gar 
 ments, threw him to the ground and cm 
 him with their irons. He felt them cmnci 
 and tighten about him, and heard the or 
 ders given in quick, short words, by "holj 
 priest of God," to agonize, to torture a fel- 
 low being, because he dared believe what 
 the Holy Church of God called "heresy." No 
 cry he made; only low moans escaped those 
 thin, white lips which refused to deny 
 their Maker. 
 
 (129) 
 
Oh, Church of Rome! Holy Church of 
 Rome! Thou whited sepulchre! Thy walls 
 are spattered and stained with the blood 
 of many martyrs! Thou who liftest thy 
 head eo proud and high, and sayest "there 
 is no salvation outside my walls," how 
 will be thine own salvation? And what 
 wilt thou say for thyself in that last great 
 day, that day of justice, when the great 
 God of the Ages shall call thee to ac- 
 count? What wilt thou say for thyself? 
 
 (Not fewer than seventy Protestant Mex- 
 icans have been put to death in that coun- 
 try by the Church of Rome.) 
 
 Through the long, dark night and at 
 early morn, there lay upon the cold ground 
 floor a body, torn and mangled, but its 
 heart still beating acknowledgment of its 
 Maker, God; its soul still seeing its Sa- 
 vior, Jesus Christ. 
 
 Serenely walked the bishop of that most 
 holy Church up and down his corridor, 
 saluting and talking jovially with one and 
 another. 
 
 "Yes, it was true," he said; "the reports 
 were true. The devil had carried off 
 Father Lorenzo that night, soul and body, 
 and such would be like fate to any others 
 who might turn heretic. The noise as of 
 a scuffle in that room had been heard by 
 several, and others had heard the rustling 
 
 ( 130 ) 
 
and flapping of great wings as they passed 
 through the barred window and flew off 
 in the darkness. The room, when entered, 
 was found empty. So, of course, it was 
 true. A terrible warning thus to all!" 
 
 At first light of day a servant had been 
 dispatched, in secret, to the room below, 
 to report to the bishop. The messenger 
 objected not to one who suddenly joined 
 him in the dark corridor and walked along 
 by his side. Without a word the two de- 
 scended and leaned over the prostrate 
 form. 
 
 "He still lives," said the servant. 
 
 "Leave me here," said the other. "Tell 
 no word on me. It will be to thy ad- 
 vantage." 
 
 With an indifferent shrug the man 
 moved en, ascended the stairway and 
 locked the door behind him. 
 
 Then kneeled Juan, and tenderly raised 
 the martyr's head within his arms. 
 
 "My master, my master! what have they 
 done to thee?" he cried. Warm tears fell 
 upon the upturned face. The white lips 
 moved and whispered, "Juan, Juan, eres 
 tu?" (Is it thou?) 
 
 After some hours the same servant re- 
 turned. 
 
 "Bring me water quick oil and wine. 
 Let no one come here for a day of two; 
 
 (131) 
 
story, all about, though the press refused 
 him room, for they feared to print aught 
 against their priests. 
 
 The eyes of many were opened for the 
 first time to the cruelty and deceptions of 
 the "Holy Church of Rome." 
 
 Some said the earthquake was God's vis- 
 itation in anger for the cruel deed. Others 
 said the earthquake was a blow against 
 the heretics, though it was well known 
 that the heretics' premises had not been 
 damaged. 
 
 The lad Frederico clung more closely 
 than ever to his new-found protectors. 
 They, realizing his danger, kept him close- 
 ly sheltered. He did not go upon the 
 street. His grief found vent through his 
 music. 
 
 By the hours sat the boy at the organ, 
 his fingers drawing sweet melody from 
 the keys, and his voice, wonderfully ten- 
 der and pathetic now, floated out through 
 the windows, till passersby stopped to 
 listen and to say: 
 
 "Strange things are happening In our 
 city! A priest is murdered because he 
 turns heretic, and now here is that 'voice 
 of an angel' singing heretic songs. What 
 are we coming to, Jesus Maria?" 
 
 (134) 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TWO MOTHEES. 
 
 One day there came a visitor to the Prot- 
 estant's house, a woman whose hair was 
 white and whose face, though young and 
 beautiful, was strangely sad. 
 
 "Is this where the heretic lives?" she in- 
 quired. "Some months ago he left at our 
 hacienda some papers and this 'New Testa- 
 ment,' he called it. I have been reading 
 them, till they have brought comfort to 
 my sad heart. But I would know more. I 
 would talk with the heretic!" 
 
 And as they talked together, the songs 
 and wonderful voice of the lad at the organ 
 floated into the room. The woman ceased 
 her talking, hearing only the singing. A 
 strange look had come over her face. 
 
 "We will go into that room and listen," 
 said the missionary, stepping to open the 
 d'oor. But the woman was there before 
 him. She opened the door herself, stood a 
 moment looking, listening. 
 
 Frederfco turned his face. With a 
 scream she fell toward him, crying, "My 
 boy! oh, my "boy!" 
 
 (135) 
 
P'ar inito the night they talked, listening 
 and telling each to the other of the strange 
 things that had befallen. 
 
 "Let us kneel together and thank God 
 above for his love and kindness toward 
 us/' siaid the heretic. "And now," he 
 added, turning toward the happy Dona 
 Alicia, "stay with us for a few days, and 
 then let me accompany you both to El 
 Paso, where, for a few years, you both 
 may live; your son to escape danger here, 
 and fit himself for a life of usefulness, and 
 you to make for him a home. 
 
 The heretic missionary made frequent 
 trips to the miming villages, driving in his 
 little cart alone, over the rough mountain 
 roads. Holding services in these places 
 and leaving tracts and Bibles, his journey- 
 ings, though gladly done, were wearisome. 
 At such home returnings, nothing rested 
 the tired man better than to take into 
 his arms his own little laughing baby girl 
 First a merry tussle, soft little baby hands 
 tugging with might and main at papa's 
 hair, laughing and calling the while; then 
 a velvety cheek against his own, two little 
 arms creeping about his neck; then a little 
 stillness, for baby is tired, and soon a little 
 head is resting upon his breast. The big. 
 brown head above begins to droop, and 
 papa's cheek is resting now against the 
 (136) 
 
little head, breathing in the fragrance of 
 the silky hair. The two fluttering little 
 fists are quiet now, held tight in one warm 
 grasp; and mother, coming in just then, 
 finds them both asleep, the father and his 
 baby girl together. 
 
 But there came a day when there stood 
 in the middle of the room a little whita 
 coffin, and in that coffin lay his baby girl, 
 white and still as the pure white blos- 
 soms covering the little casket. 
 
 The mother kneeled, crushed with a new 
 great grief. 
 
 "Why, oh Shepherd above, didst thou 
 give this wee, white lamib, if only to take 
 her from us again? Only one we had 
 There are other folds where thou mightest 
 have taken, and they would not have been 
 missed. There are other wee lambs who 
 have no homes, who are cold and hungry; 
 why didst thou not send and gather there? 
 Why, oh why, didst thou take from us our 
 only one, and she so safe and warm and 
 well protected?" 
 
 Then in the soul was whispered; 
 
 "Daughter, be quiet! 'Why?' Thou wilt 
 know not now on,ly wait! Thy babe so 
 safety sheltered in her heavenly fold, thou 
 wo'uldlst not call back again to pain and 
 sin. And where thy treasure is, there will 
 thy heart be also!" 
 
 (137) 
 
But when they came to lay the little 
 one away for her long rest, then mother 
 grief broke out afresh. 
 
 "My bahy, to be left alone alone, and 
 she so little in the cold, dark ground! 
 Oh! she will waken and cry, because she 
 is alone and cold! Cruel are ye to take 
 her from me and cruel is God!" 
 
 Again, in her soul, was whispered: 
 
 "Be quiet. If thou oanst trust with me 
 th'at little spirit, canst thou not trust with 
 me its mortal frame? I gave them both 
 and take and keep them both!" 
 
 "Oh, father," sobbed the mother, "I 
 know I am to have my babe again; but tell 
 me, will she be my baby still, or will she 
 be so grown and changed I will not know 
 my own!" 
 
 "Daughter, he who is able to keep for 
 thee thy little one is able so to present 
 her to thee again that thou will be fully 
 satisfied. Trust! Cease thy mourning! 
 Thine is not the only grief on earth. 
 Arise, and carry comfort to other sorrow- 
 ing mothers; for, until now, thou hast 
 not known to comfort others." 
 
 ( 138 ) 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 MARIANA. 
 
 The little groiup that was winding 
 around the foothills at the same time that 
 AureMo and his mother were steaming out 
 of the bay and into the Gulf of California, 
 was now approaching a mountain mining 
 camp. 
 
 "Alight here and await my return," said 
 the man. 
 
 The pony began to graze, the hungry dog 
 threw himself in weakness upon the 
 ground, while the woman quieted the girl 
 with promising that to-morrow they were 
 surely going to the city. In about half 
 an hour the man returned, saying that 
 the rescue party was scattered all over that 
 region. 
 
 "I await thee here while thou takest 
 the child up toward the nearest house. 
 Leave her there. Thou and I must es- 
 cape! " 
 
 Just as Mariana was left alone In the 
 pathway leading to the house, the door 
 opened and a woman came out. Instinc- 
 (139) 
 
tively the girl ran up toward her, and see- 
 ing that the face was kind, burst out: 
 
 "Oh, take me to my mother; my father 
 will pay thee he is rich oh, take me, for 
 they stole me!'' 
 
 "Why, what is this?" said the woman 
 kindly. "This must be the little daughter 
 of Peralta. Searches were made here this 
 very day! But, Virgin Santisima those 
 eyes' just like my Ros'aria's, now in her 
 grave these six months! But thy hair; 
 what have they done to thee?" 
 
 "They cut it off my mamma; oh, my 
 mamma take me to her!" 
 
 "Yes, querida, but come in first," and 
 taMng the little frightened, sobbing child 
 kindly by the hand, she led her within: 
 and two hours later, washed, fed and clad 
 in Rosaria's garments, fast asleep in 
 Dona Refugia's sheltering arms, she looked 
 another girl. 
 
 "Just look here!" exclaimed the woman 
 to her husband, entering the door. "Just 
 come and look at this child! The very 
 image of our Rosaria, she is. Poor little 
 thing! She is the stolen child of Peralta. 
 We must return her to anxious parents, 
 but I would love to keep her, for she could 
 be to 'me in Rosaria's place!" And, wiping 
 off a falling tear, she drew the sleeping 
 child close to her. 
 
 (140) 
 
"She is, in truth, very like our Roaaria," 
 replied her husband; '"but I 'have come 
 with a message for thee. Pedro has come 
 from the ranch with news of thy father's 
 deaith. Thy mother is alone and sick, and 
 summons thee. We must go by morn to- 
 morrow, if possible." 
 
 Dona Refugia's sorrow because of her 
 father's death made her even more tender 
 toward the child. "What shall we do with 
 her?" asked the woman of her husband. 
 "Shall we leave her here till word may be 
 carried to her parents, or shall we take 
 her with us, and find a way ourselves to 
 send her home? What wiHt thou, little 
 one; wilt thou stay with us till we may 
 take thee to thy mother?" 
 
 Mariana gladly preferred to stay by her 
 new-found protector. 
 
 "See that word is sent to Don Feral ta 
 about his child," she said to several neigh- 
 bors who had come next morning to bid 
 farewell. "Tell him to send to 'El Rancho 
 del Agua Fresca' for his daughter/' 
 
 But there were no telephones or tele- 
 graphs in that mining camp only a week- 
 ly ita.ge, aind somehow no message was 
 sent to Don Fernando Peralta. 
 
 Dona Refugia's stay at 'El Rancho del 
 Agua Fresca' was prolonged. Her mother's 
 death and the passing into her hands of 
 ( 141 ) 
 
the ranch property made it their future 
 home. And the weeks and the months 
 went by, but no father came for his little 
 girl. Some tame they would carry little 
 Mariana themselves, but it -would (be a 
 trip, by horse, of several days, and the 
 journey was postponed from time to time. 
 
 Then came the news of the terrible 
 scourge, the "yellow fever," and among 
 those who had died was the family of 
 Seaor Peralta. Dona Refugia was, secret- 
 ly, not much grieved over the news, for 
 now she could give to Mariana her own 
 name. The grief of children can not al- 
 ways stay; and, though Mariana wept, she 
 in time forgot and grew happy and con- 
 tented with her foster parents. But she 
 loved to tell about her beautiful "first 
 mamma"; her little brother who could sing 
 like a bird, and about Aurelio, so strong 
 and tall and straight, who had protected 
 her, and who had given to her the delicate 
 chain she wore about her neck. She had 
 found the moment to snatch it from under 
 the rock before she was taken away, and 
 never since that day would she allow it to 
 leave her. 
 
 "Aurelio gave it to me. He told me to 
 keep it till he could come for it. I will 
 keep it till he comes, for some day I shall 
 see him again. My Aurelio, so brave and 
 
 (142 ) 
 
kind! I love him; he was my big 
 brother! 5 ' 
 
 Mariana Gavlna (for this was her name 
 now) grew fast in her out-of-door life, her 
 head covered again with glossy ringlets, 
 and she was happy. There were children 
 belonging to the peons of the ranch, with 
 whom she played. There was no school, 
 but Dona Refugia herself continued her 
 lessons in reading and writing, which ha1 
 been begun before she was stolen from her 
 parents. Of one little baby in particular 
 was Mariana very fond, and nothing 
 pleased her better than to care for her 
 while the mother was at her work. 
 
 But one day baby was very ill. "She 
 will die!" cried the agonized mother, "but 
 she has never been baptized, so will be 
 lost! What shall I do? There is no padr? 
 here to baptize my babe!" 
 
 "Bring the child to me," said Dona Re- 
 fugia. "I can baptize it. It will be just 
 as valid, if the right words are said, an-1 
 said in the right order." 
 
 So the babe and water were brought. 
 Dona Refugia made the sign of the cross 
 on the forehead of the little one, repeated 
 the formula, and the child was baptized, 
 and lived, for from that moment she grew 
 better, all said. 
 
 ( 143 ) 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 THE BISHOP AND His POWER. 
 
 The Reverend Bishop Rico was expected 
 at the ranch on his occasional tour among 
 the country folk. Mariana, now twelve 
 years old, was to receive, with several 
 other children, the rite of confirmation. 
 White dresses had been made whose beau- 
 tiful trimmings of hand" embroideries and 
 drawn work had occupied many months. 
 The materials, the white ribbons and the 
 veils which the girls were to wear, were 
 brought from the nearest town. The great 
 and long-loolted-for day at last arrived. A 
 forerunner, on horse, brought the tidings 
 of the near approach of the bishop. The 
 residents of the ranch gathered, while half 
 a dozen of the young men ran on to meet 
 the coach, and removing the horses, they 
 themselves drew the great man in his car- 
 riage into the yard, all the people falling 
 on their knees. 
 
 Mariana was awed, as she saw the "holy 
 man" step down upon the robes cast be- 
 fore his feet. His velvet gown and mitre 
 
 (144) 
 
were stiff with gold embroideries and 
 sparkling with precious stones. He gra- 
 ciously extended his finger tips for each 
 to kiss, after which they arose and fol- 
 lowed into Dona Refugia's private room, 
 which Bad been fitted up with altar, images 
 and appropriate belongings. The (cus- 
 todia) box, in which is carried the host, 
 was also richly decorated with gold and 
 silver and jewels, and was carefully borne 
 by an attendant. 
 
 At one side of the room kneeled those 
 who were to be confirmed, for they must 
 first make free and full confession to the 
 bishop of their sins. Mariana, in her 
 fright, could remember but few misdeeds. 
 The man, by way of reminders, questioned 
 her as to probable faults in deed, word or 
 thought, to all of which sh'e stammered 
 replies. 
 
 As they kneeled again before the altar, 
 and in front of the bishop, he extended 
 first his hands above them, then made 
 upon their foreheads the sign of the cross 
 with the chrism (the most holy of the 
 three sacred oils which are blessed by the 
 bishop every Maundy Thursday), and sol- 
 emnly pronounced the words: 
 
 "I sign thee with the sign of the cross, 
 and I confirm thee with the chrism of eal- 
 
 (145) 
 10 
 
vation, in the name of the Father, and of 
 the Son, and of the Holy Spirit!" 
 
 Then he gave a slight blow upon the 
 cheek of each, to remind them that they 
 must expect to meet hardships. 
 
 After a rest, and the dinner which had 
 been prepared for him, Bishop Rico had 
 other duties demanding his attention. 
 
 One of the peons had lately been buried, 
 and his wife was in great distress lest 
 his soul was still in purgatory. He had 
 worn the scapular all his life. The scapu- 
 lar is a bit of cloth, stamped with the Vir- 
 gin's image, and is worn upon the breast 
 under the garments. To those who wear 
 these all their lives the Holy Mother has 
 promised to "come down to purgatory the 
 Saturday after their death, and lift them 
 to the mountains of Glory." He had also 
 left money to pay for masses for his soul, 
 but the distressed widow feared that it 
 had not been enough. 
 
 "Let the woman be brought!'' said the 
 Reverend Bishop Rico, after listening to 
 a statement of the case. Leading by the 
 hand her little boy, she kneeled before 
 him. 
 
 "Hast thou wherewith to pay for the 
 masses for the soul of thy husband?" 
 asked the man. 
 
 (146) 
 
"Yes, Reverend Father Obispo. Antonio, 
 my husband, left two dollars with me, all 
 he had for we are poor, Senor!" 
 
 "Well," replied the man, "this is a very 
 low sum. Thou dost know, where there is 
 high money, there is high mass; low 
 money, low mass; no money, no mass." 
 
 The woman sighed. The bishop looked 
 indifferently in the other direction. 
 
 "Well!" he said, after a pause, "thou 
 hast no money; masses will be impossible 
 without money. But there is yet a way. 
 Thou hast friends. Hast thou some article 
 in thine house that can be raffled among 
 thy friends? This may take the place of 
 money." 
 
 The woman thought. She had nothing 
 of value in her house! Yes! there was 
 that table cover which she had been em- 
 broidering. She had been working on it 
 for months, and was intending, with the 
 sale of it, to get for herself and children 
 something to wear, for It would be worth 
 ten dollars at least. But she would be 
 glad to forego those garments if thus she 
 might secure the release of her husband's 
 soul in purgatory! 
 
 "It is not my concern," said the rever- 
 end coldly. "It concerns only thee and 
 the soul of thy husband!" 
 
 (147) 
 
"Oh, yes, Father! I have something!" 
 exclaimed the widow. 
 
 The people gathered. The Reverend 
 Bishop himself conducted the raffle. Each 
 paid for a draw, but it was Diego Mar- 
 tinez who received the table cover for his 
 wife, one hundred and sixty days of in- 
 dulgence for himself, and release from pur- 
 gatory the soul of his friend Antonio. 
 
 But there was yet a marriage ceremony, 
 confessions to hear, penances to impose, 
 offerings to receive, and the widow's babv 
 to be baptized. But, as she was absolutely 
 penniless now Dona Refugia paid the dol- 
 lar fee. 
 
 The sun was lowering in the west be- 
 fore the bishop and his attendants were 
 able to continue on their journey. They 
 were to be in a neighboring hacienda for 
 a special night function. 
 
 "It was not such a bad thing, after all, 
 this side trip, was it, Senor Obispo?'' said 
 his attendant in familiar tone, as they 
 rolled along. 
 
 "Not so bad!" murmured the bishop, as 
 he laid his hand on the money bag, lan- 
 guidly closed his eyes and leaned against 
 the cushioned back. 
 
 (148) 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 Ai/nzo TOWN AND ITS MAYOR. 
 
 Several days' journey by horse from El 
 Rancho del Agua Fresca, there stretched 
 a beautiful green valley. Following the 
 clear stream of water, which spread itself 
 in this valley, one had need to make a 
 gradual climb, till the valley narrowed to a 
 canyon, and up against one of its sloping 
 sides stood a town, built tier upon tier. 
 Borings in the mountain side, and miners' 
 huts and paraphernalia, revealed the metals 
 hidden there; while the stream below and 
 fields of maize and sugar cane and melon 
 patches showed industries of other kinds. 
 A thrifty little town this was, the town of 
 Altiza, busy and prosperous its people, and 
 safe to live among. But perhaps, this was 
 mostly due to Don Ramon, the Alcalde, or 
 town mayor. 
 
 Nothing of lawlessness would he allow. 
 The quarrelsome kept out of reach of those 
 strong arms, and flinched before the gaze 
 of those piercing black eyes. The Insolent 
 were silenced by words that fell like blows. 
 And yet the poor feared not to come to 
 him for justice or for money, while chil- 
 
 (149) 
 
dren ran across the street to meet the 
 jolly Don Ramon. 
 
 The young men respectfully saluted and 
 sought calling acquaintance at his house, 
 because of Constancia, his beautiful sev- 
 enteen-year-old daughter. 
 
 Constancia and her father were all In 
 all to each other; indeed, the girl could 
 scarce recall her mother, or her death. 
 Aunt Eulalia might order his house for 
 him, but Constancia must sit by his side 
 at the table, meet him at the door, an.l 
 give to him her farewell kiss and blessing. 
 
 "Admirers may sit about the sala and 
 look with languishing eyes upon my daugh- 
 ter; I claim none of such mute appeals. 
 But when (they speak I too must hear 
 Their words must be for both of us. Es 
 verad, hijita?" would say the father, a 
 merry twinkle in those keen eyes. 
 
 "But dost thou never expect the girl to 
 find a husband?" would ask Aunt Eulalia 
 
 "Certainly, sister mine! When he comes 
 who is strong enough and brave enough to 
 take and keep her." 
 
 So came the wooers, one by one, and 
 went again, wondering, each in turn, what 
 deed of valor he must do to show himself 
 "strong enough and brave enough/' 
 
 Aunt Eulalia fondly loved her brother 
 
 (150) 
 
and his lovely Constancia. For this rea- 
 son she often chided. 
 
 "How can't thou, brother, thus endanger 
 the soul of thy daughter? Thou dost not 
 allow her to attend mass, nor go to con- 
 fession. How can she be saved? Her soul 
 will be forever cast out!" 
 
 "My daughter confess to a man and to 
 a man who, though pretending to live a 
 holy life, in reality lives a life of open 
 shamelessness! I allow no priest to come 
 between me and my daughter, as did priest 
 between her mother and myself. Her con- 
 fession shall be made to God and not to 
 man!" 
 
 "Ah, now I know thou art an heretic, 
 for thus do they blaspheme our holy priest- 
 hood!" said his sister sorrowfully. 
 
 "Whether heretic or not, I do not care! 
 This I do know, nothing of priest for my 
 daughter or for me. Our God cares not 
 for vain words counted upon each bead, or 
 whispered into the ears of saint or vir- 
 gin!" 
 
 "La Virgin Santisima forgive thee, If 
 possible! I fear thy soul is already lost!" 
 
 The only reply would be a shrug of those 
 broad shoulders, and a merry burst of 
 laughter, always especially irritating to 
 poor Aunt Eulalia. 
 
 ( 151 ) 
 
the mayor had his enemies, the Cura 
 Father Jacinto. 
 
 "Thou keep order in thy church, and I 
 will keep order in my town!" Don Ramon 
 had dared to say, for the priests in Mex- 
 ico expect to control in affairs both re- 
 ligious and civil. 
 
 The mayor's open defiance had angered 
 the cura. Don Ramon was too strong and 
 too popular a man for the priest to chas- 
 tise, so he quietly and shrewdly awaited 
 opportunities. Yet he was not blind to the 
 growing popularity of the town mayor and 
 his own decline. 
 
 Don Ramon was also a good story teller 
 Scarce a day passed that a crowd could not 
 be found, gathered in some public place, 
 laughing at some tale of the mayor's, 
 often at the expense of the cura or of his 
 church. 
 
 "Now, I am not an heretic," Don Ramon 
 would declare, "nor do I wish my town 
 to be called a heretic town; but we do 
 protest against the absurdities taught and 
 imposed by our cura! For example: these 
 devotas (devout women) who are about 
 our streets now soliciting funds with which 
 to buy an embroidered skirt for the Holy 
 Virgin. Now, what does the Queen of 
 Heaven, the 'Mother of God,' need of a 
 
 ( 152 ) 
 
petticoat, unless it be to present it to ouf- 
 oura! 
 
 "We protest also against their lives of 
 shameless immorality, for all know who 
 in reality are the women they keep in 
 their homes under names of sister, aunt, 
 cousin or niece! 
 
 "And then this falsehood about purga- 
 tory! Why, men! Ye know that the 
 priests get out of us, poor ignoramuses in 
 Mexico, a great big pile of money, through 
 purgatory, and this doctrine was not in- 
 vented till by Pope Gregory, in the year 
 fourteen hundred. Ye have heard me tell 
 of young Rafael Gomez. Well, it seemed 
 that after the death of his father, a few 
 years ago, he had to pay repeated sums of 
 money to get his father' soul from pur- 
 gatory. The lad began to think, after a 
 while, that his father was a good while 
 getting out, so he asked the priest how 
 much longer the job was going to be. 
 
 " 'Well,' was the reply, 'your father is 
 very nearly out now all but his legs!' 
 
 "'Oh, well!' said the son, 'I know my 
 father pretty well, and if he is that near 
 out he can get out by himself mow!' 
 
 "It was this same youngster who decided 
 he wanted to marry his cousin. Now, the 
 fellow did very wrong to wish to do such 
 
 ( 153 ) 
 
a tiling (to marry his cousin, I mean}, 
 'because that is a great sin against the 
 Holy Church. But the Church, seeing its 
 advantage in keeping his favor, granted 
 in his case a special dispensation. By pay- 
 ment of two thousand dollars the wrong 
 in marrying his cousin would become a 
 right. But he told them his money had all 
 been sent to purgatory, so he and his 
 cousin went across our northern boundary 
 for the ceremony, where they now live, 
 selling his property in Mexico to prevent 
 it falling into the care of the Church. 
 
 "Now," continued Don Ramon, "we are 
 told again and again instances of how bap- 
 tism will save not only the soul, but the 
 body. Indeed, in many cases where breath 
 has almost left the body it returns again 
 upon the rite of baptism. I was told, the 
 other day, a story like this : 
 
 "A certain noted robber suddenly ex- 
 pressed alarm for his soul. He asked per- 
 mission to meet the cura privately. He, 
 with a few witnesses, were taken to the 
 cura's house. The priest told him that 
 baptism was the first essential. Imme- 
 diately then, upon the baptism, there was 
 a sudden commotion, and the robber fell 
 to the floor; 'The Devil has gone out of 
 
 (154) 
 
him, and carried off his sins!' was the cry. 
 'The Devil it was, sure, for they know 
 him by his sulphur smoke and fumes!' 
 But, alas! enough of the Devil had re- 
 mained in the man to help him up to his 
 feet and to escape through the back door 
 during the excitement. And some of the 
 cura's valuables were missing, too, from 
 the back room. 
 
 "We all know, too, the advantage of sup- 
 plications to our saints! Have you ever 
 heard of good old Juana Remit? She was 
 blessed with one of those affectionate 
 spouses, the kind that kick and beat when 
 dinner is a little late. Well, one day the 
 charcoal would not burn, the frijoles and 
 tortillas were not in time, and what to do, 
 Juana did not know. Suddenly a thought 
 hit her, and knocked her down under the 
 image of her saint, and she begged of him 
 help in some way. Just then the door 
 opened, and in walked her spouse. The 
 poor woman trembled when, to her amaze- 
 ment, she not only saw the tortillas a deli- 
 cate brown, and the frijoles juicy and ten- 
 der, but the cloth was also spread, and 
 everything ready. The man declared he 
 never had tasted better. Well, the next 
 day the thankful Juana laid the charcoal, 
 
 (155) 
 
a tiling (to marry his cousin, I mean?, 
 'because that is a great sin against the 
 Holy Church. But the Church, seeing its 
 advantage in keeping his favor, granted 
 in his case a special dispensation. By pay- 
 ment of two thousand dollars the wrong 
 in marrying his cousin would become a 
 right. But he told them his money had all 
 been sent to purgatory, so he and his 
 cousin went across our northern boundary 
 for the ceremony, where they now live, 
 selling his property in Mexico to prevent 
 it falling into the care of the Church. 
 
 "Now," continued Don Ramon, "we are 
 told again and again instances of how bap- 
 tism will save not only the soul, but the 
 body. Indeed, in many cases where breath 
 has almost left the body it returns again 
 upon the rite of baptism. I was told, the 
 other day, a story like this: 
 
 "A certain noted robber suddenly ex- 
 pressed alarm for his soul. He asked per- 
 mission to meet the cura privately. He, 
 with a few witnesses, were taken to the 
 cura's house. The priest told him that 
 baptism was the first essential. Imme- 
 diately then, upon the baptism, there was 
 a sudden commotion, and the robber fell 
 to the floor; 'The Devil has gone out of 
 
 (154) 
 
him, and carried off his sins!' was the cry. 
 'The Devil it was, sure, for they know 
 him by his sulphur smoke and fumes!' 
 But, alas! enough of the Devil had re- 
 mained in the man to help him up to his 
 feet and to escape through the back door 
 during the excitement. And some of the 
 cura's valuables were missing, too, from 
 the back room. 
 
 "We all know, too, the advantage of sup- 
 plications to our saints! Have you ever 
 heard of good old Juana Remit? She was 
 blessed with one of those affectionate 
 spouses, the kind that kick and beat when 
 dinner is a little late. Well, one day the 
 charcoal would not burn, the frijoles and 
 tortillas were not in time, and what to do, 
 Juana did not know. Suddenly a thought 
 hit her, and knocked her down under the 
 image of her saint, and she begged of him 
 help in some way. Just then the door 
 opened, and in walked her spouse. The 
 poor woman trembled when, to her amaze- 
 ment, she not only saw the tortillas a deli- 
 cate brown, and the frijoles juicy and ten- 
 der, but the cloth was also spread, and 
 everything ready. The man declared he 
 never had tasted better. Well, the next 
 day the thankful Juana laid the charcoal, 
 
 (155) 
 
put the frijoles and tortillas in their 
 places, and asked the saint to again do the 
 cooking. 
 
 "The man came in but, alas the poor 
 woman limped for several days. The poor 
 saint, too, had lost his head. A new one 
 stands in his place! 
 
 "One more story," declared Don Ramon, 
 "then I must go. When I was a boy I re- 
 member how proud some of the old women 
 were of bits of bone which they hung 
 about their necks. 'These are bits of the 
 very bones of St. Peter,' they said, 'brought 
 here clear from Rome. If we will wear 
 them no harm will ever come to us!' Peo- 
 ple were buying them and wearing them 
 all over the country, till I used to wonder if 
 St. Peter had a bigger supply of bones than 
 common folks. 'Suddenly it was found out 
 that those bones had come from the 
 bleached carcasses of horses out on the 
 mesa near by. Then people stopped buy- 
 ing horses' bones, but the priests had al- 
 ready made quite a little pile of money." 
 
 (156) 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 SAINT FRANCISCO. 
 
 It was nearing the time for the yearly 
 pilgrimages to the great Saint Francisco, in 
 the town of Magdalena. 
 
 Aunt Eulalia would make one more ef- 
 fort to save the soul of her darling Con- 
 stancia. A visit to this holy saint would 
 bring the maiden to her senses. 
 
 "Next week falls the yearly feast to our 
 great iSaint Francisco," said Dona Eulalia 
 to her brother. "Wilt thou accompany thy 
 daughter and myself to the place?" 
 
 "And why should we go to visit that 
 person, my sister? He has been dead this 
 long time, ha he not?" and again that 
 merry laugh which always so irritated his 
 sister, and never more than just then. 
 
 But she controlled herself, for she was 
 not to be baffled. 
 
 "Ramon," she said severely, "thou dost 
 keep thy daughter a perfect prisoner. She 
 knows nothing outside her father's house 
 and this town. Dost thou wish her to grow 
 up so completely ignorant?" 
 
 No words could better have touched her 
 brother. Whatever was to Constanoia's 
 advantage must be accomplished. 
 
 (157) 
 
"Yes, yes," was the reply. "Certainly, 
 we will go!" 
 
 But when the day for the departure ar- 
 rived there was some trouble in the town, 
 and the mayor could not leave; but his 
 daughter and sister must not be disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 It was quite a sight, the starting, for 
 Don Ramon owned the only carriage in 
 town; and many watched, as far as they 
 could see, the carriage with its escort on 
 horse, of Constancia's admirers, as It 
 wound down the hillside out into the val- 
 ley and plain, mingling in with many other 
 processions. 
 
 "Saint Francisco is the great image 
 which was let down from heaven," ex- 
 plained Aunt Eulalia as they journeyed. 
 "He was lifted, by men, to be carried to 
 the city, but he suddenly became so heavy 
 that they were obliged to drop him, and 
 no number of men could lift him again. 
 By this sign they knew that the saint 
 wished to remain on that spot. Hence, the 
 church was built about him, and the town 
 has grown into existence. Every year mul- 
 titudes flock thither to be cured, to be for- 
 given, or to receive some blessing." 
 
 "What is he made of, Aunt?'' inquired 
 the girl. 
 
 "Of wood." 
 
 ( 158 ) 
 
"How can a piece of wood cure disease 
 or grant petitions?" asked the incredulous 
 child. 
 
 "I can not explain to thee, child, but it 
 must be true, for the priests so tell us." 
 
 It was night when the caravan entered 
 the town, and Constancia and her aunt 
 were carried to the meson (inn). 
 
 The next day brought many new sights 
 to the young girl, among them the shriek- 
 ing, puffing steam engine, that iron 
 monster, which the men of the Northland 
 had made, to carry them and their burdens 
 back and forth into Mexico. 
 
 But they must fall into line with the 
 crowds seeking the church of Saint Fran- 
 cisco. They passed some who were low- 
 ly and painfully making their way, crawl- 
 ing on bleeding and torn hands and knees, 
 or rolling their bodies over and over, every 
 little distance. 
 
 "These are poor penitentes," explained 
 Aunt Eulalia, "doing penance for sins, 
 which the saints will forgive!" 
 
 In the doorway of the church, upon 
 a low table, lay the recumbent wooden 
 image of the saint. The body was cov- 
 ered with a richly-embroidered velvet 
 spread. The face was visible, and one foot, 
 the big toe, quite clean, washed by many 
 kisses and tears. 
 
 (159) 
 
A heavy iron chest, with slit in the cover, 
 received the offering, before admittance 
 could be gained to the side of the image. 
 At each side of the door stood a priest 
 selling candles which had been blessed, and 
 which the purchaser was to send up to the 
 altar to be burned, as masses were being 
 said. Only a very few noticed that the 
 same candles were passed in to the altar 
 and out again, to be resold for twenty-five 
 cents apiece. 
 
 "Dear child," said the aunt to Con- 
 stancia, as they stood in the throng near 
 to the image, "forget now thy father's 
 blasphemous teachings, and yield thyself 
 to the holy influence w<hich already I feel 
 stealing over me! Wilt thou kneel with 
 me?" 
 
 "I await thee here, Aunt," said the girl, 
 withdrawing, and could Aunt Eulalia have 
 seen the raising of those eyebrows and 
 the merry twinkle in those bright eyes, 
 so like her father's, her prayers would 
 have been distracted with conflicting 
 thoughts. 
 
 The grounds about the church were a 
 babel of noises. Vendors shouting their 
 sweets and drinks, a merry-go-round, 
 roulette, and other games of chance to 
 draw the crowd. The girl's lips curled 
 with scorn as she noted the worship and 
 
 (160) 
 
supplication within, barter and commerce 
 without. 
 
 Suddenly she heard a voice singing, a 
 man's voice, clear and sweet, above the 
 din of the crowd. It seemed to call her, 
 and without thought she started toward it. 
 
 Under a tree, in one corner of the yard, 
 was a table covered with books and papers. 
 Besides the table stood two men. One with 
 a book, the Bible, in his hand, reading and 
 explaining as he read, while ever and anon 
 the voice of the singer broke out: 
 
 " There is something better than this, my 
 friends, 
 
 It is Jesus, Jesus' love; 
 Come to him now and listen while >he calls, 
 For he calls thee from above." 
 
 "There are the heretics," she heard one 
 say, "from the city below us. The young 
 one is the 'Angel Voice/ whom the here- 
 tics kidnaped several years ago." 
 
 It was Frederico, now having completed 
 his studies, and he and his mother were 
 back again with the missionary. 
 
 Still Constancia drew nearer, and stood 
 and listened, while the voice sang on. The 
 song had touched her soul. Or was it the 
 eyes of the singer which had found her 
 heart? 
 
 The song was ended, and the crowd be- 
 
 (161) 
 11 
 
gan to scatter. Some stopped to listen 
 further to the missionary, or to accept his 
 leaflets. Noticing Constancia, he pleasant- 
 ly drew her into conversation, learning 
 her name and home, the singer meanwhile 
 silently standing by watching the beauti- 
 ful face. The searching, questioning look 
 of those big, mournful eyes had found at 
 last their answer in the face of Con- 
 stancia. 
 
 Then the heretic teacher presented these 
 two young people, each to the other, but 
 while they talked together, Aunt Eulalla 
 hurriedly came up, and snatching the girl 
 away whispered excitedly: 
 
 "Child, child! What hast thou done? 
 These are those accursed heretics oh, 
 alma mia, what hast thou done?'' 
 * But to the aunt's horror, the next day 
 Constancia again sought the heretics. 
 All through the day she stayed where she 
 could listen to the singer, could hear and 
 talk to both. 
 
 "Alas, alas! How am I thwarted!" 
 cried poor Aunt Eulalia to herself. "I 
 bring my girl here to be drawn back into 
 the fold of her holy Church, and here she 
 is drifting farther than ever, right into the 
 arms of these dreadful heretics!'' 
 
 That night brought a messenger from 
 Don Ramon, instead of the man himself, 
 
 (162) 
 
saying he could not come, and that they 
 were to return the next day, early, before 
 Constancia could again see her new-found 
 friends, the heretics. 
 
 Aunt Eulalia was glad in her heart that 
 the girl would be prevented further inter- 
 course with them. And Constancia was 
 glad in her heart, for the promise they had 
 made to her to visit iher town, if her father 
 would send to them the permission. And 
 she carried, hidden in her belongings, the 
 New Testament, which the heretic teacher 
 had sent as a present to her father. 
 
 That night, as Constancia sat by her 
 father's side, she showed him the little 
 book which the heretic had sent, and told 
 him the story which the heretic told, ancl 
 gave him the request for permission to 
 visit the town. 
 
 "Yes," said Don Ramon, "he must be a 
 good man, and I like what he tells. I will 
 write him to come!" 
 
 But not a word had the maiden told of 
 the songs or of the singer that had found 
 her heart. 
 
 (163) 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 STRONG ENOUGH AND BRAVE ENOUGH. 
 
 In due time they came the heretic mis- 
 sionary, with his Bibles and his papers, 
 and the young singer, with his beautiful 
 voice and songs. 
 
 "Why didst thou not tell me, too, of the 
 singer, my daughter?" inquired Don 
 Ramon. 
 
 But the maid, dropping her eyes, could 
 not reply. Yet there was something about 
 the quiet, slim young man that the mayor 
 liked. He, himself, placed at their disposal 
 an empty hall where they might preach and 
 sing the gospel story. He, too, accom- 
 panied by his daughter, went to the meet- 
 ings and invited them both, the preacher 
 and his singer, to visit them in his home. 
 Ah, why was Don Ramon so blind! It so 
 happened that the town school was with- 
 out a teacher, .he having been summarily 
 dismissed a few days before by the mayor 
 because of intemperate habits. It was de- 
 cided that Preclerico, the singer, could take 
 the school until the close of the year. His 
 mother was to come to him by next stage, 
 
 (164) 
 
and they were to occupy a little house Don 
 Ramon selected for them not far from his 
 own home. 
 
 Ah, why was he again so blind and so 
 blundering! 
 
 When it became known that a heretic 
 was in charge of the public school, many 
 of the children were taken out, and the 
 cura established a parochial school. But 
 most of them returned one by one, to learn 
 the beautiful songs that the new teacher 
 taught; songs of their country, their own 
 beloved country; the songs of Jesus, too, 
 were sweet, though the mothers wished 
 there were some to the blessed Holy Vir- 
 gin. The cura found, alas, the town was 
 growing heretic, spite of all he could do. 
 
 One morning, while the young teacher 
 was occupied with classes, the priest stood 
 suddenly in the door. 
 
 The children, startled, drew together. 
 Prederico stepped to meet him and bade 
 him enter. 
 
 "Yes, I enter!" was the reply, "even the 
 abode of an heretic, that I may warn these 
 dear young children. These innocents 
 know not their danger. Their parents are 
 the guilty ones. Their souls are already 
 condemned! But, children, I do not my 
 duty if I warn not once again! Terrible 
 
 (165) 
 
things will happen if ye continue to receive 
 instruction from this heretic teacher. He 
 teaches contrary to the doctrines of the 
 Holy Church, and she says that no one can 
 be saved outside the Church. This teach- 
 er, then, will bs lost, and ye, too, if ye con- 
 tinue to listen to him. This man teaches, 
 moreover, from the Protestant Bible, which 
 is false. This is not the true Bible. Let 
 me prove it to ye. For example" 
 
 "Children, what is the first command- 
 ment?" 
 
 " 'Thou shalt have no other gods before 
 me.' " 
 
 "Right now the second?" 
 
 " Thou shalt not make unto thee any 
 graven image' " 
 
 "Stop there, children! Thus teaches the 
 Protestant Bible, and this shows Its false- 
 ness. The second commandment Is, Thou 
 shalt not take the name of the Lord thy 
 God in vain.' " 
 
 "What is the third, children?" 
 
 " 'Thou shalt not take' " 
 
 "No, no that is the second command- 
 ment. Let me repeat the third command- 
 ment Is: 
 
 " Hemember the Sabbath day,' etc. 
 
 "The fourth is, 'Honor thy father and 
 thy mother.' 
 
 (166) 
 
"The fifth is, 'Thou shalt not kill.' 
 
 "The sixth is, 'Thou shalt not commit 
 adultery.' 
 
 "The seventh is, 'Thou shalt not steal.' 
 
 "The eighth is, 'Thou shalt not bear false 
 witness.' 
 
 "The ninth is, 'Thou shalt not covet thy 
 neighbor's wife,' etc. 
 
 "The tenth is, 'Thou shalt not covet 
 anything that is thy neighbor's.' 
 
 "This, children, shows ye how the Prot- 
 estants have perverted even the Ten Com- 
 mandments, inserting as the second com- 
 mandment what is not in the original, or 
 true, Bible. 
 
 "Even the true Bible is not to be read 
 alone by common people. It must be ex- 
 plained by the priests, much less, then, is 
 the Protestant Bible to be read. This 
 teacher uses not the catechism of the Holy 
 Church. How, then, can he teach the 
 truth? The Bible does not contain all in- 
 struction necessary for salvation. Indeed, 
 were every copy in the world to be de- 
 stroyed, it would not matter. The tradi- 
 tions and other teachings of the Church are 
 inspired and contain the doctrines of eter- 
 nal life fully as much as does the Bible. 
 
 "I see thou hast one of these heretic 
 Bibles here!" added the cura, turning to- 
 
 ( 167 ; 
 
ward the teacher's desk. "I will take it!" 
 
 But the young maestro was too quick 
 for him. 
 
 "Hand it over to me!" demanded the 
 priest. 
 
 "It is my property," was the quiet reply. 
 
 The whole town was astir with the story 
 of the encounter and how the slim young 
 man ordered the priest to leave in such 
 tone that he obeyed. 
 
 "That quiet young man was strong 
 enough and brave enough to meet and to 
 conquer the cura!" said Don Ramon that 
 night, while his daughter sat by his side. 
 
 "Then he is strong and brave enough to 
 take and to keep my daughter/' he added 
 in husky tone as to himself. 
 
 And she, listening, bowed her head and 
 blushed. 
 
 Oh, the old man had not been so stupid 
 and so blind after all. 
 
 (168) 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 THE POWER OF THE PBIESTHOOD. 
 
 The next Sabbath, there was read, from 
 the church pulpit, the names of those ex- 
 communicated; and, heading tihe list, was 
 the town mayor and the young heretic 
 teacher. 
 
 "Oh, my people!'' cried the cura, in trem- 
 ulous tones. "Terrible things are yet to 
 be visited upon this town because ye dare 
 defy God's holy priest. Ye defy not me, 
 but the Holy Church and the Almighty, 
 wihose representatives we are. Ye seem to 
 have forgotten the powers of God's holy 
 priests. 
 
 "In order to give to his priests the power 
 of saying mass, our Lord Jesus had to die. 
 To redeem the world, it was necessary that 
 our Lord should die. A single drop of his 
 sacred blood, a single tear, a single prayer 
 of his would have sufficed. But in order to 
 establish the priesthood, our Lord Jesus 
 had to die. 
 
 "On Mount Calvary, the priest that of- 
 fered the sacrifice was our Lord Jesus 
 Christ himself, and in the holy sacrifice of 
 
 (169) 
 
the mass, the priest that offers sacrifice is 
 also our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 
 "Great was the power which God gave 
 to man, but the power given by Christ to 
 his priests is infinitely greater. Whenever 
 they say mass, they hold in their hands 
 after the words of consecration, Jesus 
 Christ, their Lord and God, to receive him 
 and to give him to all those who wish to 
 receive him in holy communion. This 
 power of the priest surpasses even the 
 power of creation. By creation, God pro- 
 duces the substance of bread, out of noth- 
 ing, by his word. But, by words of priests, 
 in consecration, the substance of bread and 
 wine is changed into the most sacred body 
 and blood of Christ. To whom shall I 
 compare the -priest? Next to God, his 
 equal can not be found even in heaven or 
 earth. 
 
 "And more, power is given to priests 
 to free men from their sins. Seek where 
 you will, through heaven and earth, you 
 will find but one created being who can for- 
 give sins, and that is the priest, the Cath- 
 olic priest. 
 
 "Who can forgive sins except God? was 
 the question which 1 the Pharisees sneering, 
 ly asked. Who can forgive sins? is the 
 question which the Pharisees of the present 
 day also ask; and I answer, There is a 
 (170) 
 
man on earth who can forgive sins, and 
 that man is a Catholic priest. The sinner 
 who goes to the priest in confession will 
 be just as well absolved as the sinner who 
 goes to the blessed Lord himself. The 
 priest not only declares that the sinner is 
 forgiven, but he really forgives him. Th^ 
 priest raises his hand, he pronounces the 
 words of absolution, and in an instant, 
 quick as a flash, the chains of hell are 
 burst asunder and the sinner becomes a 
 child of God. So great is the power of the 
 priest that the judgments of heaven itself 
 are su'bject to his decision. The priest 
 absolves on earth, and God absolves in 
 heaven. The priest is the ambassador, the 
 plenipotentiary of God. He is the co-opera- 
 tor, the assistant of God in the work of re- 
 demption. 'We are the co-operators and as- 
 sistants of God' (I Cor. 3). 
 
 (These words are quoted from "God the 
 Teacher of Mankind," Michael Muller.) 
 
 "To the priest also is given the power of 
 preaching the Word of God, and governing 
 the faithful. They also have power to 
 bless or consecrate things for the divine 
 service, as altars, chalices, vestments, 
 churches, holy water and the bread and 
 wine." 
 
 Many were so impressed with the pow- 
 ers of the priesthood that they removed 
 
 (171) 
 
their children from the heretic school. 
 Aunt Eulalia felt obliged to leave her 
 brother's roof and eeek another abiding 
 place. 
 
 But time passed on, and a second year 
 found Frederico and his mother still in 
 the town of Altiza and the heretic maestro 
 still directing the town school. 
 
 (172) 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 TESTED. 
 
 The old town church 1 stood backing 
 against the rocky mountain slope. Its front 
 tower looked down over the houses, and 
 from this tower the bell called the devout 
 to worship. The back tower was seldom 
 entered. 
 
 Up the dark stairway, leading into this 
 tower, there stepped slowly, one evening, 
 two men. They were lifting, or rather 
 leading, something between them. It was a 
 girl. It was Constancia. 
 
 Reaching the landing, they paused a mo- 
 ment, when one took from his pocket a 
 key. The door grated on rusty hinges as 
 it opened before them. 
 
 "Madre Santisima! How I hate to en- 
 tomb so beautiful a creature here! Foolish 
 maident, recant! I will bear thy word to 
 the priest, that thou spend not this night 
 here!" 
 
 The girl made no reply, but she shud- 
 dered, and closed her eyes as they drew 
 her within, locking the door upon her. 
 (173) 
 
She wondered why she had not called for 
 help as they led her along the passage- 
 way. None could hear her now! But 
 sinking upon her knees, there went up 
 from her heart a strong cry to her God, 
 the God she had learned to love since she 
 had known and loved her Frederico. Then 
 looking about her in the twilight, she saw 
 the dusty cobwebs hanging, and above her 
 the iron-grated window, so high that she 
 could only reach her fingers through the 
 bars as she stood upon hr tiptoes. In 
 one corner of the little room was a piece 
 of native mat, and near it a brazero (earth- 
 en jar), with bits of half-burned charcoal. 
 An earthen cup lay upon the floor, and 
 Constancia shivered as she wondered if 
 the poor unfortunate who had been allowed 
 to warm her "atole" on these coals had 
 been a girl like herself, and whether she 
 had escaped. 
 
 Night had filled the room, but still she 
 crouched upon the floor waiting and think- 
 ing. 
 
 She understood it all now. Why Aunt 
 Eulalia had sent for her on pretext of ill- 
 ness. How she had begged her to renounce 
 her heresy, and how at last she had in 
 anger bade her return home, but as a last 
 favor, asked her to go to see little Rosita, 
 Constancia's little protege, who was sick 
 (174) 
 
in the priest's house in care of the house- 
 keeper. Aunt Eulalia had arisen from her 
 bed, dressed herself and accompanied her 
 to the back door of the cura's dwelling, 
 where the housekeeper had met Constan- 
 cia, and led her in to Rosita's bedside. 
 Aunt Eulalia had promised to return soon. 
 
 But as time passed and no return, Con- 
 stancia asked to be shown to the door. 
 
 "Yes, chulita, this way to the side exit," 
 said the housekeeper, leading. Suddenly 
 the girl found herself in a room facing 
 the priest, her father's enemy. 
 
 There were, at first, a few words of greet- 
 ing, then expostulations, warning and 
 finally two servants were called, and she 
 was led through an inner passage, by 
 way of the church, up into the back church 
 tower. 
 
 She understood the plot, yet she held 
 no ill-will against her aunt, for she knew 
 how anxious was that aunt that she return 
 to the fold of the Church, and she knew 
 that priests taught that any means what- 
 ever were right to bring thereby the er- 
 ring back again. 
 
 More easily could she have forgiven her 
 Aunt Eulalia had she known that at that 
 hour Eulalia's heart was filled with re- 
 morse, and she had taken to her bed, sick 
 in truth this time. 
 
 (175) 
 
But the girl's heart would have been 
 more filled with alarm had she known that 
 at that time, also, sat the priest full of re- 
 joicing, for at last had come the hour for 
 which he long waited, the time for his 
 revenge upon Don Ramon, her father. 
 
 Meanwhile, as night came on and no 
 Constancia in the home, her father sought 
 her at Eulalia's dwelling. 
 
 "Yes," replied the sick woman, "Con- 
 stancia was here, but she has gone home 
 with Dona Rita's girls, They took her 
 with them in their carriage. I was to 
 let you know, Constancia said, but I was 
 suddenly taken too ill to go or send any 
 one, as thou dost see, brother. Forgive 
 me!" 
 
 Don Ramon was ill at ease. The whole 
 affair was unlike his daughter. But he 
 could not doubt his sister. He would wait 
 till morning. The old man who had un- 
 willingly helped in conducting Constancia 
 to the tower resolved to let toer father 
 know. But, upon reflection, he knew this 
 would be an unwise step, for the girl was 
 completely in the power of the priest, who 
 could even put her to death- before the 
 father might arrive with help. He re- 
 solved to watch and wait. 
 
 Her lover passed an anxious night. Call- 
 ing at her home and not finding her there, 
 
 (176) 
 
Don Ramon with apparent unconcern told 
 him she was out of town. But the young 
 man detected the hidden tone of anxiety, 
 and could not quiet a certain unrest in his 
 own mind. 
 
 Constancia could not tell how she herself 
 passed the night. Her dreams and waking 
 thoughts seemed one. Would her father 
 and her lover miss her, and would they find 
 her? Had her God, whom she trusted, for- 
 gotten her? 
 
 At light of day, she arose and moved 
 about, though she felt weak and ill. She 
 strained herself to reach her fingers 
 through the window bars, looking through 
 to the sky and the few morning clouds 
 floating past. Suddenly there flew across 
 her vision a flock of birds. Pigeons, they 
 were, flying and circling about the tower 
 where were their nests. She watched them 
 intently as they passed again and again. 
 One, there was, a snow white pigeon among 
 them. They all drew nearer, when sudden- 
 ly she cried out, "Oh, oh! There is Puris- 
 imo, Frederico's Purisimo!'' and reaching 
 her fingers through the window bars, she 
 called the little, low cry by which she had 
 often called him to her side and held him 
 while Frederico had called them both "his 
 purisima." 
 
 The bird circled round and round, drew 
 (177) 
 
 12 
 
nearer and lit upon her fingers. She 
 turned them about his feet and drew him 
 within, clasping him to herself, kissing 
 him and crying. Then, with a sudden 
 thought, she sprang, holding him the while, 
 and tearing the hem from her handker- 
 chief, snatching a bit of charcoal, wrote, 
 "Constancia Torre." Then fastening this 
 around Purisimo's wing, she kissed him 
 again and pushed him through the win- 
 dow. 
 
 Frederico was restlessly walking up and 
 down the back yard. He had risen early 
 that morn and walked out to town, to the 
 house of Dona Rita. They knew nothing 
 of Constancia. He had resolved to keep 
 his anxiety from her father. He had asked 
 a friend to take charge of his school for 
 the day, and was about to start on hie 
 quest, when Purisimo flew over the wall, 
 settled upon the ground and began to pick 
 at his wing. 
 
 Frederico noticed the bird and the white 
 strip and removed it. When to his horror, 
 he deciphered the words and understood. 
 He must not even tell his mother or her 
 father. All caution was necessary. He 
 knew the old man, the church guardian, 
 who had the keys. 
 
 "Yes," replied the old man, "I, too, am 
 keeping watch of that fair maid up there. 
 (178) 
 
I had said to myself, 'She is not to be left 
 there much longer. There have been oth- 
 ers sent there, who have never returned, 
 'but this one comes down!' Keep the front 
 door of the cura's residence in sight, and 
 when thou dost see him take his departure, 
 slip thou into the church, and there I will 
 find thee and we will bring her out.'' 
 
 The priest himself had visited the tower 
 that morning. The brave girl refused to 
 recant. Her "obstinacy" alarmed the man. 
 If it should be known that she was im- 
 prisoned, his life would be in danger. Yet 
 he had undertaken the case and he must 
 isee it through to the end. He would wait 
 till night; hunger, thirst, loneliness and 
 fright would surely conquer then. Still, in 
 his anxiety, he stayed about the place a 1 .! 
 day. Toward evening, in answer to an 
 urgent call, Frederico, still on watch, saw 
 him depart. 
 
 Through the long day the girl had in 
 turn scanned the sky, walked the floor and 
 sank upon her knees. 
 
 As darkness again came on, she 
 crouched, faint and sick, upon the mat. 
 Surely, surely, her God would not forget 
 her. Then she thought, or dreamed, that 
 her lover had come and taken her in his 
 arms and borne her off, so swift and strong. 
 She heard steps without, the door opened 
 
 (179) 
 
and a man in a long black cloak leaned 
 toward her. 
 
 "It is the priest again!" she thought. 
 But she had no strength to cry out. She 
 closed her eyes. He lifted her quickly into 
 his arms. She opened her eyes, looked 
 into his, knew her lover and fainted. 
 After she had come out from her long 
 illness, they told her how Aunt Eulalia had 
 scarce left her bedside, begging for forgive- 
 ness and to be taken again into her broth- 
 er's home. "No more of priests for me!" 
 she said. 
 
 They told her, too, how her father, Don 
 Ramon, had from that day been searching 
 town and country for the cura, but never 
 yet had he been found, and the town of 
 Altiza had need to find another priest. 
 
 (180) 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 A WEDDING GUEST. 
 
 Not very long after the events recorded 
 in the last chapter, there ca'me to the town 
 of Altiza some strangers. People of high 
 birth, it was said, amid t)he daughter was a 
 beauty, more lovely than even Constancia. 
 So said the discarded admirers of Con- 
 stancia. The two girls had become ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 "She is one of those condemned here- 
 tics. Thou must not associate with her!" 
 so said friends to the newcomer. But in 
 spite of warning, the two girls became 
 fast friends. Frederico, too, was much 
 drawn toward this new friend. 
 
 "She makes me think of a queen, so 
 beautiful and stately she is!" said Fred- 
 erico one day. "And yet, there is some- 
 thing about her that makes me feel as 
 though I have always known her. I won- 
 der what it is. Perhaps it is because 
 her name is Mariana, the name of my 
 long-lost sister. Whenever she is here 
 talking with us, there comes over me a 
 strange feeling, as though I had known her 
 
 (181) 
 
when we were children. Yet, Constancia, 
 with all her beauty, she is not one-half as 
 lovely as thou art!" 
 
 The marriage day was now fast ap- 
 proaching. The Protestant minister was 
 to come to perform the service. 
 
 "Mariana Gavina must be present, for 
 she is one of us now, and she must find 
 an heretic husband, too," exclaimed Con- 
 stancia. 
 
 "Methinks there would be more than 
 one young man willing to turn heretic 
 for that fair hand!" said Aunt Eulalia. 
 
 Dona Alicia, Frederico's mother, sighed 
 as she sat and listened. She had heard 
 so much of the beautiful Mariana Gavina, 
 yet she had not met her. The name made 
 her think as of her own little Marianita 
 who left her on that summer afternoon, 
 never to return. She hardly knew wheth- 
 er she cared to know another with that 
 same name. 
 
 Not even the bride Constancia was 
 more beautiful that wedding eve than the 
 guest Mariana, and Dona Alicia could not 
 remove her gaze from that lovely face. 
 
 "Oh, what is it, what is it!'' she kept 
 saying to herself all the eve. "What can 
 it be! Those eyes are tihe eyes of my own 
 little girl." Ah, who can explain a 
 mother's instincts? 
 
 (182) 
 
"Child," she exclaimed, at last approach- 
 ing and taking her by the hand. "Tell me 
 thy name! Is it Mariana Gavina?" 
 
 "Why, yes, senora that is, it is now. 
 But it used to be Mariana Peralta. I 
 was stolen" 
 
 But the mother was weeping, with her 
 arms about the girl. Then Frederico un- 
 derstood why he felt that he had always 
 known Mariana, his sister. 
 
 "A strange ending," all said, "for a wed- 
 ding feast. Strange, yet happy!" 
 
 But majny strange things had been hap- 
 pening lately in that little heretic town. 
 
 "How rich I am now; I have two daugh- 
 ters!" exclaimed Dona Alicia. 
 
 But Mariana's foster parents could not 
 truly rejoice because she had found her 
 own mother. 
 
 "Come and live with us!" said Dona 
 Refugia to Dona Alicia. "For a while, at 
 least; for we can not part at once with 
 her. She has grown to us as our very 
 own." 
 
 So the young couple were left to begin 
 life together in the pleasant new home 
 which Don Ramon had finished for his 
 daughter. 
 
 "She still must stay near by!" said the 
 fond father. And the young heretic teach- 
 er still managed the town school. 
 
 (183) 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 AUBELIO. 
 
 Far across the republic, in the great cap- 
 ital city of Mexico, had been growing up 
 all these years, a young man, tall, straight 
 and handsome. 
 
 Aurelio Mendez he was, who, when a 
 boy, had been stolen for a ransom. 
 
 He was now left an orphan, but had 
 learned to carefully keep the money left 
 to him. He had traveled much, over his 
 own country and in other lands. In Eu- 
 rope he had fitted hlmseilf for a phyisi- 
 cian, and again, Ifi his home city, was 
 known as the skillful and popular Dr. 
 Mendez. 
 
 "Favored man!" his companions were 
 accustomed to say to him. "Talented, 
 traveled and handsome! BlusTiing senor- 
 itas and covetous mammas follow thee 
 with longing eyes, and yet to none of their 
 charms dost thou yield. Thy heart is of 
 stone. Or hast thou a heart?" 
 
 "Ah, ye have at last guessed aright. I 
 have no heart! It was left long, long ago 
 in a little shanty in a canon's mouth far 
 ir the wilds. It has not since returned! 
 PercTiance I may yet run across it!" 
 
 (184) 
 
And the young doctor would gaily laugh, 
 and move about as if to rid himself of 
 some clinging shadow. But in his own 
 room, and alone, a quiet mood would steal 
 over hfm, and opening his chest, he would 
 draw from it a paper box, and lift from 
 thence a long shining curl. And again he 
 would see those eyes, like stars, looking 
 up into his, and could feel a little shorn 
 head against his shoulder, and a child's 
 voice saying, "I love thee, Aurelio! I 
 trust thee, and thou will come again and 
 take me hence!" 
 
 There were many Protestants in the City 
 of Mexico, so many that they were not an 
 unpopular people. And some of the doc- 
 tor's best friends were of their number. 
 Still, he prided himself in belonging to 
 "no church." "Religion is good enough 
 for women," he said. "A man, and espe- 
 cially a doctor, can get on without it!" 
 
 And yet he took great interest in all 
 that counted for his country's good. 
 
 President Diaz, Mexico's good, grand 
 man, was then in his young strength, and 
 Dr. Aurelio courted every opportunity to 
 see and to hear him. Mexico's past his- 
 tory and her struggles were to him a fas- 
 cinating study, and his leisure hours oft- 
 en found him admiring anew the stately 
 monument of. Hidalgo or the wonderful 
 (185) 
 
recumbent statue of Benito Juarez. He 
 found, too, that in Mexico was worshiped 
 two Virgins, "La Virvin de los Remedies," 
 which Spain had brought to Mexico, and 
 the "Lady of Guadalupe," benefactress of 
 the native Mexicans. She it was who had 
 appeared to the Indian, Juan Diego, and 
 for whom the shrine at Guadalupe had 
 been built. Her paintings represent her 
 in blue cloak, covered with stiairs, her Coot 
 on a crescent and her hands clasped. On 
 either side of her, within the frame, are 
 strings of gold and jewels. Above all 
 hangs a silver dome. 
 
 The Spanish "Virgin de los Remedies" 
 is dressed in embroidered satin, strings 
 of pearls hanging from neck to knees, her 
 crown inlaid with emeralds and her belt 
 with diamonds. She wears three skirts, 
 the first embroidered with pearls, the sec- 
 ond with emeralds and the third with dia- 
 monds. Aurelio was told that her skirts 
 alone are valued at three millions of dol- 
 lars. The great cathedral, too, was grand 
 and imposing, the altars within, gorgeous 
 and glittering, the images and paintings, 
 expansive and wonderful. 
 
 He made a study of other cities, also, 
 among them the famous city of Puebla, 
 where he saw the old convent which the 
 Protestants (Methodists) have purchased 
 
 (186) 
 
and converted into their mission. He was 
 told how, when the walls were broken Into, 
 there were revealed cells, and skeletons 
 of men and women who had been cemented 
 alive, prisoners within their cells. Ex- 
 cavations revealed underground apart- 
 ments where were strewn the bones of in- 
 fants. Passages, too, there were, secret 
 passages within the walls leading to the 
 apartments of the nuns. Thus was re- 
 vealed to him part of the workings of 
 the Holy Church of Rome. In one of the 
 churches in this city, his attention was 
 called to a printed prayer, framed and 
 hanging near the door, which, translated, 
 read as follows: 
 
 "Most Holy Virgin of Guadalupe, glo- 
 rious Daughter of God, the Father, Mother 
 of God, the Son and Wife of God, the 
 Holy Spirit, my lady consecrated and 
 sanctified before thou wast created, I pray 
 thee my patron saint and lady, that if 
 to-day, if this moment, if this hour, or if 
 during the remainder of my life, or in 
 death, any sentence should be passed 
 against me, or against anything of mine, 
 it may be, by thy inltertcession, revoked, 
 and by the hand of thy Son, Jesus Christ, 
 be turned aside. Amen. Jesus.'' 
 
 There was also a notice pasted near, 
 "His Holiness and the Bishops have 
 
 (187) 
 
granted indulgence, for this mass, thirty- 
 two thousand years, ten days and six 
 hours." 
 
 In some of the cities, in Mexico, thert 
 was continued warnings against incroach- 
 ing heretics. 
 
 One day he heard read from the pulpit, 
 extracts from one of the standard au- 
 thorities of the Church of Rome, and 
 therefore safely quoted all over Mexico. 
 ("God, the Teacher of Mankind," "The 
 Church and Its Enemies," by Michael Mul- 
 ler.) 
 
 "We need not fear these heretics," be- 
 gan the preacher; "they will, in God's 
 own time, come to naught. Let me read 
 to you from our own safe authority: 
 
 " 'Protestantism has never been able to 
 convert a heathen nation, although it has 
 every human means in its power. It had 
 a vast number of ministers, plenty of 
 ships to carry these ministers to every 
 country, boundless wealth and great arm- 
 ies and navies to terrify the heathen, also 
 its merchants scattered through every 
 quarter of the globe; with all this, Prot- 
 estantism has not converted a nation, nor 
 even a city or tribe of heathens, to Chris- 
 tianity after these hundred years of exis- 
 tence. It has been ascertained that, dur- 
 ing the last fifty years, Protestantism in 
 
 (188) 
 
Europe and America has collected and 
 spent over one hundred and twenty-five 
 millions of dollars for the purpose of con- 
 verting the heathen. One hundred mil- 
 lion Bibles, Testaments and tracts have 
 been printed in various languages and 
 scattered throughout the world. Five 
 thousand missionaries, with large salaries, 
 varying from one hundred to five hun- 
 dred pounds each, and also an additional 
 allowance for their wives and families, 
 are kept annually employed in the work, 
 and yet all to no purpose. No result 
 whatever can be shown. 
 
 " 'During every month of May, the va- 
 rious sects of Protestants hold their anni- 
 versary meetings in London and New 
 York. At these gatherings speeches are 
 made land reports reafl, in which the peo- 
 ple are told of the wonderful conversions 
 which are just going to take place; of 
 pagans stretching, or about to stretch, out 
 their hands to God; of schools to be 
 opened; of sums spent in Bibles, Testa- 
 ments and tracts. Every promise is made 
 for the future, but nothing whatever is 
 shown for the past. The meetings are 
 ended, votes of thanks given to the vari- 
 ous chairmen, prayers said, subscriptions 
 received, and the huge delusion lives on 
 from year to year. 
 
 ( 189 ) 
 
" 'Some /of the ^isetottaries -givs up the 
 work in despair; others in disgust; others 
 fly from persecution, being terrified at 
 the very idea of martyrdom. One mis- 
 sionary comes back to his native country, 
 because of the sudden death of his wife; 
 another to bury his youngest daughter in 
 her mother's grave; another leaves the 
 field of his labor to console his dear 
 mother on her death bed; another comes 
 home to look after some small property 
 left to him; another comes home because 
 his wife has quarreled with the wives of 
 some of the other missionaries. 
 
 " 'Many Protestant missionaries give up 
 the work of saving souls for more lucra- 
 tive positions, or to become merchants on 
 their own account, or for some good gov- 
 ernmental situation. 
 
 " 'Protestant travelers and writers who 
 have visited the fields of Protestant mis- 
 sionary labor, have themselves furnished 
 the world with these details. They tell 
 of a few converts, here and there, who re- 
 lapse into paganism whenever the mis- 
 sionaries withdraw. They tell us that the 
 missionaries become tyrants, and perse- 
 cute the people when they get the chance; 
 that they drive the natives into the Prot- 
 estant meeting houses by force, and make 
 them more brultail, profligate, crafty, 
 
 (190) 
 
treacherous, impure and disgusting than 
 they were before. One writer states how 
 he found, in the Sandwich Islands, that 
 the Protestant missionaries had civilized 
 the people into draught horses, and evan- 
 gelized them into beasts of burdens; that 
 they were literally broken into the traces 
 and harnessed to the vehicles of their 
 spiritual conductors, like so many beasts 
 of burden. The missionaries are dwelling 
 in picturesque and prettily furnished coral 
 rock villas, while the miserable natives 
 are committing all sorts of crime and im- 
 mortality about them. (Quoted from Mul- 
 ler.) 
 
 " 'Now, why can not Protestants con- 
 vert the heathen? Because they have no 
 power. They are a false sect. They have 
 no head; every Prote&tiajit believes wthat 
 he chooses. Indeed, the founders of thia 
 sect were all wicked men, and they only 
 immitate their leader, Martin Luther, who 
 was a licentious man and left the Church 
 because he wished to marry. There is no 
 such thing as salvation to a Protestant. 
 No one is saved out side of the Holy 
 Mother Church. She is the only one true 
 and living apostolic church. I say apoa- 
 tolic, because she can show precisely how 
 she obtained possession of the divine au- 
 thority of the apostles. The Roman Pon- 
 
 (191) 
 
tiff, Pius IX, can name the two hundred 
 and fifty-three popes, who, without a 
 break, handed down the authority of St. 
 Peter, the head of the apostles, even to 
 himself. He can tell the day and hour of 
 his election and consecration, which are 
 consigned to imperishable monuments.' " 
 
 Ofiten the young docttor hiad felt a de- 
 sire to see again the scenes and home of 
 his boyhood. He had read, years before, 
 of the ravages of the yellow fever along 
 the Western Coast, and among the list of 
 its victiims was the family of Peralta. 
 This knowledge had prevented his putting 
 into execution his long-felt desire. But at 
 length he yielded. His old hacienda home 
 he would not have recognized. The city, 
 too, the home of his boyhood friend, Mari- 
 ana, he would not have known. He re- 
 mained some time in the city, and here 
 learned 1 'to know arid admire the her- 
 etic missionary. From him he too learned 
 to know and . to love the heretic's 
 God. "I will make amends ,for my life 
 of indifference and infidelity. I will 
 do all I can in this, my childhood coun- 
 try, to help and to heal both body and 
 soul." 
 
 And so the young heretic doctor was 
 much in demand. 
 
 One day he was telling the Protestant 
 
 (192) 
 
missionary of the time when he was kid- 
 naped. 
 
 "Why, yes," wa's the reply; "I .have 
 been told all about it, too. It is a story 
 well known still. And the young man, 
 Peralta, brother of the stolen girl, is our 
 loved and esteemed school teacher in the 
 town of Altiza." 
 
 "And has nothing ever been known of 
 his sister?" asked the doctor. 
 
 The heretic was about to relate to him 
 the story of the wedding night and its 
 wonderful discovery. But what spirit of 
 mischief was iti which so suddenly .pos- 
 sessed the good man! for he answered 
 with apparent indifference: 
 
 "Why, yes, something has been known 
 about the girl. But I am going to the 
 town next week where lives her brother. 
 Thou must accompany me, and he will tell 
 thee what they have learned about the 
 young lady, for she still lives." 
 
 And of all the happy findings of mother 
 and children, of sister and brother, per- 
 haps none was more sweet or more tender 
 than the finding again of the little child 
 lovers of the robber haunts. 
 
 And the little slender gold chain and 
 the long shining curl found their right- 
 ful owners. 
 
 (193) 
 13 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 A WORK WELL FINISHED. 
 
 Meanwhile, down in the city below, many 
 changes had taken place. The best front 
 room, for preaching, in the heretic's dwell- 
 ing, had been exchanged for a neat chapel, 
 largely the gift of friends in his own home 
 land. The man himself, "leader of the 
 heretics," he was still called, had grown 
 older, a few silver threads scattered 
 through the brown hairs. But still, with 
 that winning smile of his, he walked the 
 streets, or traveled in his littte cart over 
 the mountains, preaching in the villages 
 and mining camps. He never carried 
 weapons. He said they were never an ad- 
 vantage, rather a disadvantage. 
 
 "Are you not afraid, as you travel back 
 and forth alone, and walk these streets 
 alone at night?" had asked his wife. 
 
 "Why should I be afraid? I am safe 
 till my work is done." 
 
 "You are reckless, are you not?" 
 
 "Call it what you please, but I am not 
 afraid. This work my Master has given 
 me to do i his. And I know I am per- 
 
 (194) 
 
fectly safe till my work, not his, is fin- 
 ished." 
 
 The woman made no reply, though there 
 came to her mind how he had told her of 
 repeatedly being followed on the streets 
 by some one, who, whenever he turned, 
 had fled. The last time he had caught 
 sight of a dark line across his forehead, 
 and there was a gleam of metal thrust 
 quickly under his long cloak. 
 
 One sultry summer afternoon he was 
 nearing the city from a neighboring vil- 
 lage. From the west, where rolled the 
 broad Pacific, he saw clouds arise. Rapidly 
 they grew, higher and 1 blacker, cleft ever 
 and anon with flashes of lightning. 
 
 "God pity the mariner in his ship this 
 night!" prayed the man in his heart. 
 
 He hastened his horse, for there was fast 
 approaching one of those tropical storms he 
 knew so well. 
 
 Already, over the city before him, swirled 
 clouds of dust, thrown high and driven 
 along by the mighty wind. Birds were 
 scuttling along with tilted wing, rabbits 
 scurrying to the bushes. Then the storm 
 struck the woods he was entering. The 
 trees along the roadfeide tossed their 
 branches and lashed each other as if in 
 fury. Tall alamo trees bowed and bent 
 till their plumed branches swept the 
 
 ( 195 ) 
 
ground. Surely they will snap and break! 
 But no after a moment, shivering, they 
 slowly rise and straighten themselves to 
 await the next mighty breath. The black- 
 ness had shut down close upon him, when 
 suddenly there was a blinding flash of 
 light, a crash and roar, and the horse 
 leaped to one side, while at the same in- 
 stant were emptied the clouds, not in gentle 
 drops, but torrents that deluged and swept 
 from under feet, almost the ground itself. 
 
 Again the horse leaped to one side, for 
 across the path lay a man dead or fright- 
 ened. 
 
 "Should he pass him and leave him 
 there he was in such haste?" 
 
 But no, a part of his work was to quiet 
 his terrified horse, arouse the man and lift 
 him into the seat by his side. The man 
 leaned heavily against him, well nigh un- 
 conscious from his fright, and as his hat 
 fell, the missionary saw an ugly scar acroiss 
 his temple. 
 
 The storm had spent itself. They were 
 nearing the city when the man, drawing a 
 dagger from his side and throwing it into 
 the bottom of the cart, cried out: 
 
 "Oh, Senor; take this! With it I meant 
 to kill you! I have followed you time after 
 time to kill you. But some power has al- 
 ways restrained me. I never could reach 
 
 (196) 
 
you. I am 'El mozo del Diabolo' (the dev- 
 il's errand boy). For any bloody deed I 
 have ever been ready, because they pay me 
 money. I do not hate thee. I sought not 
 thy life for hatred, but because I loved 
 the money they gave me. I have listened 
 to your words, Senor, and they are good. 
 I thought once to give up this life, and 
 when I found money, jewels and pearls 
 in the house of Peralta, I thought to be 
 a man and go away and live like men. 
 But alas, I spent it all in riotous living. I 
 came back again to this city, hungry and 
 poor, and became again 'the devil's errand 
 boy' because of money which they give 
 me. But I can not touch you. Oh, can you, 
 can you forgive me!'' 
 
 The heretic forgave by taking him to his 
 home, where, dried and fed, they talked 
 together of Jesus and his forgiveness. 
 
 " 'The devil's errand boy' has turned 
 heretic!" was the news. "Who will be 
 the next?" 
 
 But all noted the changed man, the new 
 man, in his right mind. And never was 
 there a follower more loyal, more loving 
 to the heretic, than this same "Mozo del 
 Diabolo.'' 
 
 But there came a strange, sad day into 
 the heretic' home. From one of the min- 
 ing camps he had brought a fatal fever's 
 
 (197) 
 
germs, and for days its fires burned and 
 burned and would not be quenched. 
 
 His little daughter and the woman who 
 loved him kneeled by his bedside while 
 there crept over them the strange, awful 
 stillness. Even the little boys, talking to- 
 gether in the corridor, lowered their voices, 
 while the baby lisped, "Where is papa go- 
 ing?" 
 
 The little mourning dove that had been 
 nesting in the big fig tree down in the 
 garden, had left her home, and all day 
 long, flitting hither and thither, had kept 
 up her mournful call: 
 
 "Come back to me. Come back to 
 me!" 
 
 The woman shuddered and hid her face 
 as she listened to its cry. All day long 
 she had felt that strange presence in the 
 room, yet she had refused it recognition. 
 Nearer and still nearer it crept, silently, 
 waiting to claim and bear away its victim. 
 Then in her desperation, she turned and 
 cried: 
 
 "Depart, oh, depart, grim Death! Thou 
 who didst take from me my little one, my 
 first born! Art thou come again to take 
 from me my husband, him whom I need, 
 him whom I lean upon? Go, go; for I 
 need him; his little ones need him! Leave 
 us at least till his children are older, till 
 
 (198) 
 
his baby may know to remember his father. 
 Oh, spare us!" 
 
 But there came no answer, save the little 
 moaning dove. 
 
 Then the woman threw her arms about 
 the dying husband, as if to hold him back. 
 He opened his eyes and looked) at her, then 
 looked beyond and smiled. 
 
 "It is Jesus/' he whispered. "Let me go, 
 but do not let God's work stop!" 
 
 Ah, he was glad to go! Then Death was 
 no terrible thing. It was Jesus himself 
 come to take to rest his servant, hia 
 loved one, whose work was finished. 
 
 "Ah, Death, thou art no longer terrible 
 to me. Thou art no longer cruel. Thou 
 art welcome. Oh, take me, too!" she cried. 
 
 But in her heart she heard, "Not yet, my 
 daughter; thy work is not yet finished. 
 Thy little ones need thee, and there is 
 much yet to be done for my dear children 
 of Mexico!" 
 
 That night, silently, there came into 
 the room, one by one, those whom he had 
 loved 1 ; those for whom he had gladly left 
 home and dear ones; silently, one by one, 
 they came into the room, till the room was 
 full. 
 
 "We will stay with thee all through the 
 night and watch with thee!" they said. 
 
 "Oh/ 1 cried the woman in her heart, 
 
 ( 199) 
 
"can ye not leave me alone, alone with 
 my dead this last, last night this last 
 night!" 
 
 Again there was an answer, "Daughter, 
 thou mayst not be selfish, even in thy grief! 
 He was theirs, as well as thine!" 
 
 At midnight the door opened softly, and 
 two young men stepped in, Aurelio and 
 Frederico. Silently, they stood and looked 
 upon the face of him they loved. 
 
 "We have journeyed all day and into 
 the night that we might see once more and 
 speak to our much loved teacher. But we 
 are too late!" 
 
 Then it was Frederico, the quiet one, 
 who kneeled and prayed. 
 
 "Great God, thou hast seen fit to take 
 from us our well-loved teacher! He who 
 taught us the way to thee. He lived for 
 us; his last thought was for us, for Mexi- 
 co. 
 
 "Then, oh, God, wilt thou now teach 
 us, that we and others, many others, may 
 take up the work he has laid down; that 
 we may carry it on, and on, and on, till 
 all in our own dear Mexico may know and 
 acknowledge Jesus, Jesus only, as Savior; 
 that Mexico may know no priest, no Virgin, 
 no saint as, mediator; but Jesus only, and 
 God, as Father, above all." 
 
 ( 200)