Then Josè collected himself. While his heart burned within his breast, he opened its portals and revealed to Rosendo all that lay within. Beginning with his boyhood, he drew his career out before the wondering eyes of the old man down to the day when the culmination of carnal ambition, false thought, perverted concepts of filial devotion and sacredness of oath, of family honor and pride of race, had washed him up against the dreary shores of Simití. With no thought of concealment, he exposed his ambition in regard to Carmen––even the love for her that he knew must die of inanition––and ended by throwing himself without reserve upon Rosendo’s judgment. When the tense recital was ended, Rosendo leaned over and clasped the priest’s trembling hand.
“I understand, Padre,” he said gently. “I am dull of wit, I know. And you have often laughed at my superstitions and old family beliefs, whether religious or otherwise. They are strange––I admit that. And I shall die in the Church, and take my chances on the future, for I have tried to live a good life. But––with a man like you––I understand. And now, Padre, we have no time to be sorrowful. We must be up and doing. We are like fish in a net. But––my life is yours. And both are Carmen’s, is it not so? Thanks be to the good Virgin,” 301 he muttered, as he walked slowly away, “that Lázaro got those titles from Don Mario to-day!”
Nightfall brought an unexpected visitor in the person of Don Jorge, who had returned from the remoter parts of the Guamocó region.
“Bien, and what news?” he called cheerily, as he strode into the parish house, where Rosendo and Josè were in earnest conversation.
Josè embraced him as a brother, while a great sense of relief stole over him. Then he quickly made known to him the situation.
Don Jorge whistled softly. He ceased his task of scraping the caked mud from his bare limbs, and drew up a chair near Josè.
“So you wrote a book, no? And rapped the sacred priesthood? Hombre! That is good! I never did think you a real priest. But, amigo, lend me a copy, for I doubt not it is most excellent reading, and will serve to while away many a weary hour in the jungle.” His eyes snapped merrily, and he slapped Josè roundly upon the back when he finished speaking.
“But,” he continued more seriously, “things seem to be setting against you, friend. However, let me but canvass the town to-morrow, and by evening I can advise. Caramba! this old hole a military depot! Who would have thought it! And yet––and yet––I wonder why the Governor sends arms here. Bien, we shall see.”
Don Jorge needed not a full day to correctly estimate the situation in Simití. His bluff, hearty manner and genial good-nature constituted a passport to every house, and by midday he had talked with nearly every man in the pueblo. He called Josè and Rosendo for consultation during the siesta.