There in the forest, no leaf stirring, all nature hushed, that lone woman, her soul racked with doubt, fearing equally to violate her own pure impulses and the faith which bade her crucify them, plead piteously to her Father in heaven for strength to calm her soul, and to know the right. Never before, in that land, had a truthful, earnest woman’s heart poured forth its passionate griefs in words of childlike simplicity, seeking sympathy and aid direct from its Maker. Well might we call that spot hallowed through all after time. Long and deeply she prayed, with her sad, sorrow-convulsed face upturned to heaven, into the vault of which her full mild eyes seemed to pierce with a bright light, as if like Stephen, she saw the crucified one amid his angels. Gradually her features softened, a tear stood in either eye, the spirit she sought entered her soul, and she rose from her forest altar, if not a happier, for the time a calmer woman.
CHAPTER XII.
“’Tis one thing to be tempted,
Another thing to fall.”
Shakespeare.
Since the evening by the seaside so eventful to each, Olmedo had not seen Beatriz. Indeed he had avoided it, because with his present feelings he dared not trust himself alone with her. His profession having been chosen for him by his parents, he had been subjected when so young to the discipline of his order, that he had been screened from the usual temptations and experiences of ordinary life. Under any circumstances he would have been an upright man. In his convent he had early acquired an excellent character for strict compliance with the ritual of his faith, benevolence, and study. Some of his brethren, jealous perhaps of his greater influence among their flock, had hinted occasionally to their superior, that his opinions were somewhat liberal, and that he had displayed at times an independence and energy that betokened a more active mind than was consistent with their order. Whatever truth there may have been in these insinuations, such was the general respect in which he was held, that no harm came to him or even notice of them, except now and then a good-natured suggestion to be cautious in his expressions before certain of the brethren.
Olmedo was born for a wider sphere than a monastic life. His passions were active, but pure. There had always existed within him a silent protest to forced celibacy, for he felt that the family was an institution of God, while the convent was only of man. His mind, in all questions that affected the welfare of the human race, naturally took a broad and correct view, but so thoroughly grounded had he been in the faith and practices of his church, that when his opinions really differed, he preferred outwardly to submit to what he considered the highest authority. Whenever, however, his good sense could consistently be active in opposition to the narrow or fanatical views of other members of his order, he had invariably spoken, and in general with effect; and on all occasions which required self-devotion or the exercise of a stricter rule of conduct, he had been the most prompt among them.
He was eminently qualified to be a missionary. His sincerity of faith had not cramped his sympathies of human action. Active and thoughtful, self-denying, yet charitable, firm to his convictions while obedient to lawful discipline, with a winning, quiet manner, that commanded respect and confidence, he was just the man to go forth to the world as an example and preacher of the pure tenets of Christianity. The newly discovered continent of America, with its novel races, greatly interested him. There he could be freer than in Spain. Accordingly he had obtained permission to embark for this new field of religious enterprise.