"But you are crippled, helpless, in continual pain!" She crossed hastily to him, dropping upon her knees at his side. "Oh, père, we cannot leave you; it would mean death."
His slender fingers stroked her brown hair, his eyes alight with the fire of enthusiasm.
"Whether or not I am worthy of martyrdom, God knows. All I see is my plain duty, and the beckoning hand of the bleeding Christ. Daughter, you are a child of the true Church; your pleading should never retard the labor of the priesthood. My suffering is nothing, my life nothing, if only through such sacrifice souls may be rescued from the consuming flames of hell."
She could not speak, but sobbed, her face hidden.
"Where do you go seeking other tribes?" I asked hoarsely, scarcely believing his words.
He arose with difficulty to his feet, holding himself erect on the rude crutches. I noticed now, for the first time, a bag of woven grass hanging at his girdle.
"Yonder, Monsieur, to the westward," a new dignity in his manner as he pointed up the narrow canyon. "There are tribes a few days' journey away. I have learned of them, without being told their names. To such, under God, I bear my message of salvation."
"But you will starve on the journey."
"I carry food here," touching the bag. "It will suffice; if not, there are berries and roots in abundance. My Master has always fed me in the wilderness."
What more could I say or do to change his purpose? It was a girlish face fronting me, yet the thin lips were pressed tightly together, the dark eyes fearless and resolute. I laid my hand on Eloise's shoulder.