“Bien, Padre, it is for her sake that I have done it. Say no more. It will work out in some way. I go back to-morrow. But, if the titles should come from Cartagena during my absence––and, Padre, if anything should happen to me––for the love of the Virgin do not let them out of your hands! They are for her.”
Yet Rosendo departed not on the morrow. He remained to mingle his tears with those of the sorrowing Ana. For the woman, whose heart had been lighter since the arrival of her babe, had come to the priest that day to have the child christened. And so, before the sun might fill the plaza with its ardent midday heat, Rosendo and his family repaired to the church. There before the altar Josè baptised the little one and gave it his own name, thus triumphantly ushering the pagan babe into the Christian Catholic world. The child cried at the touch of the baptismal water.
“Now,” commented Rosendo, “the devil has gone out of him, driven out by the holy water.”
But, as Josè leaned over the babe and looked into its dark eyes, his hand stopped, and his heart stood still. He raised his head and bent a look of inquiry upon the mother. She returned the look with one that mutely voiced a stifled fear and confirmed his own. “Padre!” she whispered hoarsely. “What is it? Quick!”
He took a candle from the altar and passed it before the child’s eyes.
“Padre! He sees! Santa Virgen! Do not tell me––Dios mío!” The mother’s voice rose to a wail, as she snatched her babe away.
A loud exclamation escaped Rosendo. Doña Maria stood mute; but Josè as he looked at her divined her thought and read therein a full knowledge of the awful fact that she had never voiced to the heart-broken mother.
“Padre!” cried the perplexed Rosendo. “Maria!” turning in appeal to his wife. “Speak, some one! Santa Virgen, speak! Ana, what ails the child?”
Josè turned his head aside. Carmen crowded close to the weeping Ana. Doña Maria took Rosendo’s arm.