“Na, amigo,” said Don Jorge soothingly, “nothing can come of it. Bien, you take things so hard!” But when Don Jorge again set out for the mountains he left the priest’s heart filled with apprehension.
A few weeks later came what Josè had been awaiting, another 222 demand upon him for the girl. Failure to comply with it, said Diego’s letter, meant the placing of the case in the hands of the civil and ecclesiastical authorities for action.
Rosendo’s face grew hard when he read the note. “There is a way, Padre. Let my woman take the girl and go up the Boque river to Rosa Maria, the clearing of Don Nicolás. It is a wild region, where tapirs and deer roam, and where hardly a man has set foot for centuries. The people of Boque will keep our secret, and she can remain hidden there until––”
“No, Rosendo, that will not do,” replied Josè, shaking his head in perplexity. “The girl is developing rapidly, and such a course would result in a mental check that might spell infinite harm. She and Doña Maria would die to live by themselves up there in that lonely region. What about her studies? And––what would I do?”
“Then do you go too, Padre,” suggested Rosendo.
“No, amigo, for that would cause search to be instituted by the Bishop, and we certainly would be discovered. But, to take her and flee the country––and the Church––how can I yet? No, it is impossible!” He shook his head dolefully, while his thoughts flew back to Seville and the proud mother there.
“Bien, Padre, let us increase our contributions to Don Wenceslas. Let us send him from now on not less than one hundred pesos oro each month. Will not that keep him quiet, no matter what Diego says?”
“Possibly,” assented Josè. “At any rate, we will try it.” They still had some three thousand pesos gold left.
“Padre,” said Rosendo, some days later, as they sat together in the parish house, “what do you think Diego wants of the girl?”