“Padre dear,” she continued softly. “Why didn’t you cure Feliz?”
His soul withered under the shock.
“You have told me, often, that Jesus cured sick people. And you said he even made the dead ones live again––didn’t you, Padre dear?”
“Yes,” he murmured; “they say he did.”
“And you read to me once from your Bible where he told the people that he gave them power over everything. And you said he was the great rule––you called him the Christ-principle––and you said he never went away from us. Well, Padre dear,” she concluded with quick emphasis, “why don’t you use him now?”
She waited a moment. Then, when no reply came––
“Feliz didn’t die, Padre.”
“Hombre! It’s all the same––he’s gone!” he cried in a tone of sullen bitterness.
“You think he is gone, Padre dear. And Feliz thought he had to go. And so now you both see it that way––that’s all. If you would see things the way that good man Jesus told you to––well, wouldn’t they be different––wouldn’t they, Padre dear?”
“No doubt they would, child, no doubt. But––”