“That, I reply, is impossible.”
“Presume not—dare not to interfere with a priest in the duty of his office. It is a mortal sin. The curse of the Church will rest upon you.
“The curse of the Church will not trouble me. But to treat my father’s known wishes with contempt—that is an act of dishonor and disobedience which I will not be guilty of.”
“Santa Maria! Suffer not my spirit to be moved by this wicked one. Out of my path, Satanas!”
The last word was not one which Thomas Worth had expected. He flushed crimson at its application, and with a few muttered sentences, intelligible only to the priest, he took him firmly by the shoulder, led him outside the door, and closed and barred it.
The expulsion was not accomplished without noisy opposition on the part of Fray Ignatius, and it pained Thomas deeply to hear, in the midst of the priest’s anathemas, the shrill cries of his mother’s distress and disapproval.
The next domestic movement of Thomas Worth was to rid the house of Molly and Manuel, and the inferior servants. It was not as easy a task as may be supposed. They had been ordered by Fray Ignatius to remain, and the order had not been countermanded. Even if the Senora and her daughters were going east, and their services were not needed, they had no objections to remain in the Worth house. They understood that the Church would take possession, and the housekeeping of the Church was notoriously easy and luxurious.
However, after exorbitant compensation had been made, and Molly had given in return “a bit of her mind,” she left for the Irish colony of San Patricio, and Manuel immediately sought his favorite monte table. When he had doubled his money, he intended to obey Molly’s emphatic orders, and go and tell the priest all about it.
“I would rather, face a battery of cannon than Fray Ignatius and the servants again, Antonia.” Antonia looked at her brother; he was worried and weary, and his first action, when he had finally cleared the house, was to walk around it, and bolt every door and window. Antonia followed him silently. She perceived that the crisis had come, and she was doing as good women in extremity do—trying to find in the darkness the hand always stretched out to guide and strengthen. As yet she had not been able to grasp it. She followed her brother like one in a troubled dream, whispering faintly, with white lips, “O God, where art Thou? Help and pity us!”
Thomas led her finally to his father’s office. He went to a closet filled with drugs, removed them, and then a certain pressure of his hand caused the back of the closet to disappear in a groove, and a receptacle full of coin and papers was disclosed.