“And, Padre––your mother––what would she say?”
Josè hung his head. “It would kill her,” he replied slowly.
Carmen reflected long, while Josè, with ebbing hope, waited. “Padre dear,” she finally said, “then you have not yet worked out your problem––have you?”
No, he knew that. And he was now attempting to solve it by flight.
“I mean, Padre, you have not worked it out in God’s way. For if you had, no one would be hurt, and there could not be any disgrace, or unhappiness––could there?”
“But, chiquita,” he cried in despair, “nothing but excommunication can release me! And I long ago ceased to look for that. You do not understand––you are young! What can I do?” His tortured soul pleaded in agony.
“Why, Padre dear, you can work it out, all out, in God’s way.”
“But––must I remain here––can I let you go alone with the Americans––?”
“Yes, you can, if it is right,” she answered gently.