"Instinctively he raised the casket with both hands."
Who was Padre Antonio? Involuntarily his thoughts traveled back over the stream of years when, as a youth of twenty, he bade farewell to old Spain forever and with a heavy heart set forth alone to find God and peace in the wilderness of the new world. Fifty years had passed since then and with them, the secret and tragedy of his life lay buried.
He heaved a deep sigh and, picking up the casket, turned toward the door. Chiquita listened to the sound of his footsteps as he slowly descended the stairs, and gazed in wonderment at the casket he held in his hand when he reëntered the room. Without a word, he deposited it upon the table in the center of the room and, raising the lid, displayed its contents to the dazzled eyes of his ward. Never had she beheld such wonderful jewels—what did it mean?
"Padre mio!" she gasped, her eyes wandering questioningly from the casket to his face, which appeared a little paler than when he left the room but a few minutes before.
"I never imagined that another woman would ever be created worthy to wear them," he said quietly, picking up the bracelet and fastening it about her left wrist, and winding the necklace twice round her throat, the ends falling down over her bosom to her waist. "May God's
blessing forever rest upon you, my child," he added, making the sign of the cross above her, and stooping, he kissed her lightly on the forehead.
Involuntarily her hand went out for the fan, and as her eyes fell on the name upon it, her woman's instinct told her all.
"Padre—Padre mio!" she cried, and throwing her arms about his neck, burst into a passionate flood of tears on his breast.
"There, there, my child!" he said at last, regaining his accustomed composure. "I now know why I was never able to part with them—not even to the Church. I was keeping them for you."