“And your mother––she expects you to keep your word?”
“Yes, chiquita.”
The girl sat in pensive silence for a moment. “But, Padre,” she resumed, “honesty––it is the very first thing that God requires of us. We have to be––we must be honest, for He is Truth. He cannot see or recognize error, you know. And so He cannot see you and help you if you are dishonest.”
“I know, child. And I tried to be honest, even when circumstances and my own poor resistive force combined to direct me into the priesthood. But––since that day I have lived a life of hypocrisy, not knowing how to shape my course. Then, at length, I met you. It was––too late!”
“But, Padre, the Church has not put you out? You are still a priest?”
“Yes,” sadly; “and no.”
“But, if you went to the States––with me––would you be put out of the Church?”
“Possibly, chiquita.”
“And what would that mean, Padre?”
“The disgrace that always attaches to an apostate priest, child.”