"She has sent me to you."

"Hum," he considered. "First of all, this Medina affair. Let him do the challenging. She says you do not fence. 'Twould be butchery for you to meet him with swords."

"That is a small matter, padre. What I wish to know--"

"Is whether you can conscientiously become a Christian," he put in.

"No, padre. That is not the question. It is of no use for me to hedge. I know I cannot become what you call a Christian. My religious principles are too near those of our famous President, Thomas Jefferson."

"Jefferson--that atheist!" he exclaimed, frowning.

"Not so, padre," I insisted with much earnestness. "It is an injustice to term Mr. Jefferson an atheist."

"And you?" he demanded.

"Your Reverence, I differ from most men of the age in this: I am content to leave creeds and ceremonies to the theologians; to walk as upright a life as lies within my power; and to trust in the great Author of all to judge my deeds with the clemency of a father for his child."

"You do not acknowledge G.o.d's vicar?"

"I have not the faith which enables me to believe your dogmas. It is no use to argue, padre. I am already sufficiently informed to know that a man of my refractory mentality cannot accept many of the fundamentals of your faith,--and I will not make false pretence by complying with the outward form."

Instead of flushing with anger, as I had expected, he looked grieved.

It was apparent that my position was a bitter disappointment to him. For several minutes he sat gazing at the crucifix on the wall across, in sorrowful meditation, forgetful even of his wine.

"Padre," I at last said. "I love her with a love that dwells much upon my own happiness, but more upon hers. I now know she loves me. Do you not think such love G.o.d's will?"

He crossed himself. "G.o.d give me light! I am not among those who believe that the love of man and woman is of necessity an impure desire. G.o.d, not Satan, made Eve to be a companion unto Adam. Therefore true love is sacred in the eyes of G.o.d, and marriage a sacrament."

"In effect, if not in form, Your Reverence, that is the belief and practice of my people. With us a wife is the dear life companion who shares our triumphs and our defeats, our joys and sorrows, who brightens our pleasures, purifies and enn.o.bles our impulses, and inspires us with the highest aspirations."

"Such, alas! is not the att.i.tude of my people toward women," he sighed.

"Yet to give a daughter of the Church to a heretic! _Santisima Virgen!_ It is a knotty problem."

"To me, or to such a man as Medina," I argued--"which would be the greater sin?"

"Her uncle is set upon giving her, not to Medina, but to one as bad--one as bad!" he repeated. "My son--my son! if you could but become a Christian!"

"G.o.d gave me my reason, padre. If it is wrong to use my reason as I use it, I trust that He will forgive the error."

"You are a true, clean man, and you love her as no man in New Spain can love her."

"I do, padre."

"Yet it is against the canons of Holy Church--to give a true believer to an outright heretic!"

"She should be free to believe and practise her religion without change," I argued.

"True, but the children?" he demanded. "How as to the children?"

The wine spilled from my upraised gla.s.s, and I bent my head quickly aside to hide the strange emotion which overcame me. Children! Never had my thoughts dared roam so far into the future. Children--my children and hers! From the depths of my heart there gushed up such a flood of tenderness and adoration that I could not speak.

Despite his gouty toe, he came around before me, and with a finger beneath my chin, raised my head until he could look down into my eyes.

Whether or not he read my thoughts I do not know. But I do know that he raised his hands above me and gave me his benediction.

"Padre," I murmured as he drew back a little way, "believe me, if I could do what you wish--"

"Swear that your children shall be raised in the Church," he demanded.

"I cannot swear that, padre. It would be against my conscience."

"Your word is enough."

"Nor that. But if this will satisfy you, I give you my word that she shall decide upon the rearing of--of our children throughout childhood."

"Good!" he exclaimed, again all smiles. "You have won me over, my son.

Let us hope I may aid you to overcome your graver difficulties."

"Her uncle--Don Pedro?" I asked.

"Beyond hope, I fear, Juan. Yet I will try. For the present we must avoid that problem, and bend every effort to mollify one who sits in a high place."

"Outface, not mollify," I returned. "Lieutenant Pike and myself are resolved to show him how fully we rely upon our country to defend, and, if need be, to revenge us. We have already pointed out to those who will bear our words to His Excellency the fact that the Floridas are within easy striking distance of our turbulent frontiersmen."

"_Por Dios!_ You dared send such a message to Salcedo?"

"You may call it a message. We spoke in the presence of Lieutenant Walker. Nor is it the only one. Since the first, we have been loading him with similar information."

"Yet Salcedo has not incarcerated you? _Poder de Dios!_ It is a miracle!"

"Rather, it is merely that we have outfaced him."

"G.o.d gave you the wisdom to be bold! Yet the danger is by no means past.

He may free your companions, but detain you for years, as he has detained the men of Captain Nolan."

"I could fancy a harsher fate, padre. To remain a prisoner, yet have Alisanda to comfort my captivity--"

He raised his hand warningly at the sound of sandalled feet sc.r.a.ping along the brick pavement of the corridor.

"Let us hope for the best, my son. Go now, and G.o.d be with you!"

I thanked him with a glance, and hastened out past the withered old priest who was shuffling across the threshold.

CHAPTER XXVI

A DEFEAT