“Padre––my babe?”
“Yes, child, it shall be cared for.”
“But not by the Sisters”––excitedly––“not in an asylum––Padre, promise me!”
“There, carita, it shall be as you wish.”
“And you will care for it?”
“I, child?––ah, yes, I will care for it.”
The girl sank back again with a smile of happiness. A deep silence fell upon the room. At the feet of the priest Catalina huddled and wept softly. Marcelena, in the shadow of the bed where she might not be seen, rocked silently back and forth with breaking heart.
“Padre––you will––say Masses for me?” The words were scarcely audible.
“Yes, carita.”