"The things are buried in the cloister," José blurted out. "There are graves there, under the stones, but they haven't all got monks inside. I lifted up a gravestone with no printing on it and I put the boxes in. It's on the north side, to the left, just opposite the little Moses in the bulrushes."
"I thank you, José, and I admire you," said Antonio, pressing the huge hand. "All the same, we will swear our oaths. It will make both of us easier in our minds."
A small book of the Gospels, printed in the vernacular, lay on the table. Antonio placed his hand upon it, and swore in clear words and solemn tones that he would keep the secret of the buried boxes. The oath he dictated to José was longer and more picturesque. Before framing it he elicited the names of the saints whom José's family had most delighted to honor. Eventually the young peasant swore himself to secrecy by the holy Gospels; by the true faith of a Christian; by Nossa Senhora dos Remedios de Lamego; by San Torquato of Guimarães; by San Braz; by San Pedro d' Alcantará; by the Pope's three crowns; by his mother's memory; and by his own hopes of eternal salvation. Antonio felt a qualm or two in enouncing such a formula: but did not the success of his life's work demand that José should be held back from his own impulsiveness by every chain his faith could forge?
When the oaths had been sworn, Antonio went to the door. The rain had ceased and a few stars were glinting weakly in the watery sky.
"Hadn't you better go, while it is fair?" he said to José. "Never mind about the clothes. Bring them back when your own are dry, and we will finish our talk."
But José did not hasten forth. "If you please, Father," he said awkwardly, "I'd ... I'd rather stay here."
"Stay here?"
"Yes. I'd like to be your servant, Father. And I'd like to learn to be a monk."
Antonio stopped on the brink of half-derisive, half-angry laughter. He remembered the apostle's injunction: "Strengthen the feeble-minded." This dull-witted hind had acted, after all, like a Christian hero; and Antonio suddenly said to himself: "He has the mind of a little child; but of such are the Kingdom of Heaven."
"A monk, José?" he echoed, kindly. "Not yet, I fear. Why, only to-night you tried to murder me. Even Saint Dominic, who founded his Order to fight against the enemies of our religion, would not have approved of you up there in the rain. But you say you would be my servant. How? What about your own farm?"