“Ha! Then come to me and prove that you do understand Him, eh?” he suggested eagerly. “Caramba! why do you sit there like a mummy? Are you invoking curses on the bald pate of your desolate father?”
“No, Padre; I am thanking God all the time that He is here, and that He will not let you hurt me.”
The man’s lust-inflamed eyes narrowed and the expression on his evil face became more sinister. “Maldita!” he growled, “will you come hither, or must I––”
“No.” She shook her head slowly, and her heavy curls glistened in the sunlight. “No, Padre, God will not let me come to you.”
Panting and cursing softly, the man got slowly to his feet. “Madre de Dios!” he muttered; “then we will see if your God will let me come to you!”
Carmen rose and stood hesitant. Her lips moved rapidly, though no sound came from them. They were forming the words of the psalmist, “In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me.” It was a verse Josè had taught her long since, when his own heart was bursting with apprehension.
Diego stumbled heavily toward the child. She turned quickly as if to flee. He thrust out his hand and clutched her dress. The flimsy calico, frayed and worn, tore its full length, and the gown fell to the floor. She stopped and turned to face the man. Her white body glistened in the clear sunlight like a marble statue.
“Por el amor de Dios!” ejaculated the priest, straightening up and regarding her with dull, blinking eyes. Then, like a tiger pouncing upon a fawn, he seized the unresisting girl in his arms and staggered back to his chair.
“Caramba! Caramba!” he exclaimed, holding her with one arm about her waist, and with his free hand clumsily pouring another glass of wine. “Only a thing of thought, eh? Madre de Dios! Bien, pretty thought, drink with me this thought of wine!” He laughed boisterously at his crude wit, and forced the glass between her lips.
“I––am not afraid––I am not afraid,” she whispered, drinking. “It cannot hurt me––nor can you. God is here!”