“The Bishop! But––the old man––”
“Na, Señor Padre, but the Bishop is fairly young, you know. That is, the new one––”
“The new one!” cried the uncomprehending Josè.
“To be sure, Señor Padre, the new Bishop––formerly Señor Don Wenceslas Ortiz.”
Josè beat the air feebly as his hand sought his damp brow. His confused brain became suddenly stagnant.
“Bien, Señor Padre,” put in Fernando gently, pitying the priest’s agony. “You had not heard the news. Don Mario received letters to-day. The old Bishop of Cartagena died suddenly some days ago, and Don Wenceslas at once received the temporary appointment, until the vacancy can be permanently filled. There is talk of making Cartagena an archbishopric, and so a new bishop will not be appointed until that question is settled. Meanwhile, Don Wenceslas administers the affairs of the Church there.”
“And he––he––” stammered the stunned priest.
“To be sure, Señor Padre,” interrupted Don Mario, laughing aloud; “the good Don Wenceslas no doubt has learned of the beautiful Carmen, and he cannot permit her to waste her loveliness in so dreary a place as Simití. And so he summons her to Cartagena, in care of his agent, Padre Diego, who awaits the girl now in Banco to conduct her safely down the river. At least, this is what Padre Diego writes me. Bien, it is the making of the girl, to be so favored by His Grace!”
Josè staggered and would have fallen, had not Fernando supported him. Don Mario turned into his house. But as he went he spitefully hurled back:
“Bien, Señor Padre, whom have you to blame but yourself? You keep a child from her suffering father––you give all your time to her, neglecting the other poor children of your parish––you send Rosendo into the mountains to search for La Libertad––you break your agreement with me, for you long ago said that we should work together––is it not so? You find gold in the mountains, but you do not tell me. Na, you work against me––you oppose my authority as Alcalde––Bien, you opposed even the authority of the good Bishop––may he rest with the Saints! You have not made a good priest for Simití, Señor Padre––na, you have made a very bad 227 one! And now you wonder that the good Don Wenceslas takes the girl from you, to bring her up in the right way. Caramba! if it is not already too late to save her from your bad teachings!” His voice steadily rose while he talked, and ended in a shrill pipe.