Josè had begun to see that discord was the result of unrighteousness, false thought. He began to understand why it was that Jesus always linked disease with sin. His own paradoxical career had furnished ample proof of that. Yet his numberless tribulations were not due solely to his own wrong thinking, but likewise to the wrong thought of others with respect to him, thought which he knew not how to neutralize. And the channels for this false, malicious, carnal thought had been his beloved parents, his uncle, the Archbishop, his tutors, and, in fact, all with whom he had been associated until he came to Simití. There he had found Carmen. And there the false thought had met a check, a reversal. The evil had begun to destroy itself. And he was slowly awaking to find nothing but good.
The night hours flitted through the heavy gloom like spectral acolytes. Rosendo sank into a deep sleep. The steady roll of the frogs in the lake at length died away. A flush stole timidly across the eastern sky.
“Padre dear, he will not die.”
It was Carmen’s voice that awoke the slumbering priest. The child stood at his side, and her little hand clasped his. 92 Rosendo slept. His chest rose and fell with the rhythmic breathing. Josè looked down upon him. A great lump came into his throat, and his voice trembled as he spoke.
“You are right, chiquita. Go, call your madre Maria now, and I will go home to rest.”
CHAPTER 13
That day Rosendo left his bed. Two days later he again set out for Guamocó.
“There is gold there, and I must, I will find it!” he repeatedly exclaimed as he pushed his preparations.