The wonderful unselfishness of the Padre had a greater power to stir Buck’s heart than any other appeal. His sacrifice must not be permitted without a struggle. He knew the man, and he knew how useless mere objection would be. Therefore his duty lay plain before him. Joan must decide, and on her decision must his plans all be founded. He had no reason to hope for a return of his love. On the contrary, it seemed absurd even to hope, and in such an event then the Padre’s sacrifice would be unnecessary. If on the other hand—but he dared not let the thought take shape. All he knew was that with Joan at his side no power of law should touch one single white hair of the Padre’s head, while the breath of life remained in his body.
It was a big thought in the midst of the most selfish of human passions. It was a thought so wide, that, in every aspect, it spoke of the great world which had been this man’s lifelong study. It told of sublime lessons well learned. Of a mind and heart as big, and broad, and loyal as was the book from which the lessons had been studied.
With the morning light came a further steadiness of decision. But with it also came an added apprehension, and lack of mental peace. The world was radiant about him with the wonder of his love, but his horizon was lost in a mist of uncertainty and even dread.
The morning dragged as such intervening hours ever drag, but at length they were done with, and the momentous time arrived. Neither he nor the Padre had referred again to their talk. That was their way. Nor did any question pass between them until Cæsar stood saddled before the door.
The Padre was leaning against the door casing with his pipe in his mouth. His steady eyes were gravely thoughtful.
“Where you making this afternoon?” he inquired, as Buck swung into the saddle.
Buck nodded in the direction of Joan’s home.
“The farm.”
The Padre’s eyes smiled kindly.
“Good luck,” he said. And Buck nodded his thanks as he rode away.