“I––señor, she cannot be Diego’s child––and I––I would save her!”
Don Jorge nodded his head. “Bien,” he said, “to-morrow I leave for San Lucas. I will return this way.”
After the evening meal the guaquero spread his petate upon the floor and disposed himself for the night. He stubbornly refused to accept the priest’s bed. “Caramba!” he muttered, after he had lain quiet for some time, “why does not the Church permit its clergy to marry, like civilized beings! Do you know, Señor Padre, I once met a woman in Bogotá and held some discussion with her on this topic. She said, as between a priest who had children, and a married minister, she would infinitely prefer the priest, because, as she put it, no matter how dissolute the priest, the sacraments from his hands would still retain their validity––but never from those of a married minister! Caramba! what can you do against such bigotry and awful narrowness, such dense ignorance! Cielo!”
The following morning, before sunrise, Don Jorge and his boatmen were on the lake, leaving Josè to meditate on the vivid experiences of the past few days, their strange mental origin, and the lesson which they brought.
CHAPTER 22
“Padre dear,” said Carmen, “you know the question that we put under the altar of the old church? Well, God answered it, didn’t He?”
“I––why, I had forgotten it, child. What was it? You asked Him to tell us why the people thought they had to die, did you not? Well––and what was His answer?”
“Why, He told us that they were frightened to death, you know.”