“My son,” he advanced with paternal unction, “you have been taught––or should have been, ere this––that the healing miracles of our blessed Saviour belong to a dispensation long past. They were special signs from God, given at the time of establishing His Church on earth, to convince an incredulous multitude. They are not needed now. We convince by logic and reason and by historical witnesses to the deeds of the Saints and our blessed Saviour.” As he pronounced this sacred name the holy man devoutly crossed himself. “Men would believe no more readily to-day,” he added easily, “even if they should see miracles of healing, for they would attribute them to the human mentality, to suggestion, hypnotism, hallucination, and the like. Even the mighty deeds of Christ were attributed to Beelzebub.” The complacent Father settled back into his chair with an air of having disposed for all time of the mooted subject of miracles.
“That begs the question, my Father!” returned the boy quickly and excitedly. “And as I read church history it is thus that the question has been begged ever since the first century!”
“What!” The Archbishop was waxing hot. “Do you, a mere child of sixteen, dare to dispute the claims of Holy Church?”
“My Father,” the boy spoke slowly and with awful earnestness, “I have been four years in the Seminario. I do not find the true Christ there; nor do I think I shall find him within the Church.”
“Sanctissima Maria!” The Archbishop bounded to his feet “Have you sold yourself to the devil?” he exploded. “Have you fed these years at the warm breasts of the Holy Mother, only to turn now and rend her? Have you become a Protester? Apostate and forsworn!”
“My Father,” the boy returned calmly, “did Jesus tell the 34 truth––or did he lie? If he spoke truth, then I think he is not in the Church to-day. She has wholly misunderstood him––or else she––she deliberately falsifies.”
The Archbishop sank gasping into his chair.
Josè went on. “You call me apostate and forsworn. I am neither. One cannot become apostate when he has never believed. As to being forsworn––I am a Rincón!”
The erect head and flashing eyes of the youth drew an involuntary exclamation of approval from the anxious secretary, who had stood striving to evolve from his befuddled wits some course adequate to the strained situation.
But the boy’s proud bearing was only momentary. The wonted look of troubled wistfulness again settled over his face, and his shoulders bent to their accustomed stoop, as if his frail body were slowly crushing beneath a tremendous burden.